His brows rise. "You want a hot dog?"
"I LOVE hot dogs."
He stops and turns to me. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah. Why? You don't like them?"
"I love them. Chicago dogs are the best."
"Let's get one." I grab his hand.
"What are you doing?" He glances at our joined hands.
"Trying to get you to move." I pull on his hand. "I'm starving."
I keep hold of his hand as we make our way across the street. We each get a hotdog and drink, and a bag of chips to split. It costs fifteen dollars, which I know is a lot for him so I reach in my pocket to get money but he's already paid the guy.
"Let's go over here," I say, heading to a picnic table.
We sit across from each other, which is good because it means I can stare at him without it seeming weird. He's so good-looking that I find my eyes wandering to him during class, then I realize what I'm doing and quickly look away.
Dean is so different than Chad. So much more like a man. Just looking at him turns me on. I keep having dirty thoughts about him—thoughts I never had about Chad. I don't even feel an attraction to Chad anymore, which is another reason I need to end things with him.
"What's wrong?" I ask Dean as he finishes his hotdog. He ate it in three bites.
"Nothing." He gets up to toss out his trash.
"You seem angry," I say as he sits back down.
"I'm not angry." He looks down, rubbing the back of his neck. "Believe me, you'd know when I'm angry."
"What do you mean?"
He points to my hotdog. "You almost done?"
"I only ate half, so no. Are you in a hurry?"
He doesn't answer as he gets out his phone.
What is going on with him? He completely changed after we left that hamburger stand. Is he angry I made us leave? I was trying to be considerate and save him from using all his grocery money on a couple hamburgers.
"Dean, I'm sorry if I did something that—"
"You didn't do anything," he says as he swipes through his phone. "I'm not angry."
"Well,something'swrong. You're acting like the Dean I know from school."
"Maybe that's who I am and you should just get used to it."
"Fine." I stand up, picking up my napkin and what's left of my hotdog. "Want the rest of this?"
He looks up from his phone. "You don't want it?"
"I'm full. Here." I hand him what's left of my hotdog and he finishes it in one bite.
"We can go," I say, tossing away my trash.
He rises from the bench, his eyes still on his phone as we head back across the street.
