He begrudgingly takes it from my hands and tosses it in his own bin. “No. I would not like that.”
“I’m a grown, modern woman. I’m allowed to read smut and look at cartoon penile diagrams if I want.” I reach over and try to pick the book back up, but Dean deflects my arm out of the way and I almost go spinning in the opposite direction.
“I don’t want you to get the wrong impression about…” He trails off, looking for a defense as to why he whacked my arm out of the way, other than he doesn’t want me reading any sexually explicit material in his presence.
“About what?”
“About how sex with pensies should be,” He decides.
“Are you trying to say I should only date women?” I raise my eyebrows and cross my arms. “It’s a book, you weirdo. Why are you acting like I’ve never had sex before? I used to bone all the time! Sex with Andy was fine.”
“Sex with Andy was fine?” The look on Dean’s face twists into something incredibly goofy, and the tips of his ears are turning red. “I don’t need to know how sex with your dead husband was.” He almost laughs, but it comes out like a scoff.
“Why? Are you jealous?” I feel a laugh bubbling up on me. My comment was not exactly a ringing endorsement of Andy—who was more than just fine, he was my husband after all.
“Jealous of a dead guy?” Dean chuckles. “Hell no. I think sex with me outranks sex with a ghost.”
I can’t help but bark out a laugh at that comment. “It’s not really a fair contest. I thinkanyone alive,even you, would beat a ghost.”
Dean takes the three steps to be at my bin, and whispers to me. “Have you ever had a one-night stand, Madeline?” He reaches over my shoulder to grab a book, his chest brushing up against my back.
I blush straight to my toes, and I feel butterflies forming in my stomach, ready to be coughed up and released into the air. “What kind of question is that?”
“Since Andy died,” His voice in my ear is rough and dark, instead of rough and grumpy. “Have you slept with anyone?” He clarifies.
“No,” I answer honestly.
“Then how can you sayanyonealivewould be better than Andy?”
“I—I don’t know.” I stammer at the implication that having sex with Dean would be better than Andy.
“Is it because you think there might be someone just as good out there, or even better?” He speaks it into existence. I swallow the lump in my throat. “Are you trying to find out?”
“No, so give me my book.”
He takes a step back, out of my personal space zone. “Fine.” He tosses the book towards me and I catch it much like a football with both arms.
“This is mine,” I announce it to anyone who will listen and return to my bin. Nothing quite catches my eye like my romance novel, so I move onto the next, and onto the next again. Before I know it, half an hour has passed, and Dean and I are at opposite ends of the store.
I keep my eyes on him from across the way, and he towers over the bins of books. He’s lean, even under the thick layer of his coat, which he refused to take off and carry around.
The more I look at him, the more he reminds me of the color navy blue and not just because his sweater is that shade of blue—he is stark and stoic instead of relaxing and calming like other shades. He is the strong and steady boat in my hurricane, my tropical storm.
I think I like Dean as a person. He is stuck in his ways, but they are mostly good ways and usually not without reason.He has a kind heart and that is where it counts. He must have noticed me starting from across the way, because he’s taking long strides towards me now.
“Give me your porn if you still have it,” Dean holds out his hand as we approach the cashier.
“What? No.” I refuse. “You probably won’t give it back.”
“I’m buying it for you, dummy.” Dean shakes his hand again.
“I thought you didn’t want me to learn how penises work,” I snark.
“I’d rather you learn it through literature than on the street.”
“Har-har. Very funny.” I shake my head disapprovingly.
“And you bought me a record.”
