He looked up to see Dean in the doorway.
Serena had given it to him, a sterling-silver roadster—the kind of flashy, ostentatious gift she was fond of. He’d always felt like a douchebag driving it, a feeling that had been confirmed when he’d pulled up to set in it for the first time. Lilah had passed as he was getting out, looked him up and down, and smirked without saying anything. After that, it mostly sat in his garage.
“Sure. You know you don’t have to ask.” Shane dug around in his hamper, looking for his favorite pair of jeans. “What are you doing?”
Dean shrugged. “I’m just going out.” His shifty, faux-casual demeanor made Shane do a double take.
“Oh yeah? Where?”
“Dinner. Carlo’s.”
“With who?”
Dean shrugged again.
“Okay, then.” Shane returned his attention to his suitcase, pulling out everything he’d haphazardly thrown in and sorting and rolling it. “Just don’t trash the place while I’m gone.”
Only the six principals and essential production staff would be traveling to Vancouver, with most of the crew—including stand-ins—hired locally.
Dean grinned. “You’ll never even know I was here.”
“What are you talking about? You’re always here.”
It was meant to be a joke, but when Shane looked up from his suitcase, the amusement had faded from Dean’s face.
“I mean—not in a bad way,” Shane quickly amended. “I like having you here. Obviously.”
“Of course you do,” Dean said, his expression lightening, to Shane’s relief. “Someone’s got to keep you company. Since you’re so sad and alone these days.”
“I’m not sad,” Shane protested. He went into his en suite bathroom to pack up his toiletries, and Dean came into the bedroom, taking a seat on the bed next to Shane’s suitcase.
“But you are alone.”
“So?”
“So, I’ve never seen you single for this long. I think it might be a record.”
Shane opened his mouth to protest but realized Dean was right. His last relationship had ended in May—almost six months ago, making it the longest stretch of time since high school he’d been not only single but celibate.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Just trying to look out for you, man. You’re not getting any younger, and I’m not gonna be around forever.”
“What? Why? Are you okay?” Shane asked, poking his head out of the bathroom in alarm. Dean laughed.
“Living here, I mean. Sorry. I don’t know why I said it like that.”
Shane laughed, too, ducking back inside the bathroom.
“I’ve been busy,” he said, zipping up his dopp kit andreturning to the bedroom to drop it into his suitcase. “I don’t know if I want to try to date again until after the show’s over. It’s kind of pulling all my focus right now.”
“Right,” Dean said. “The show is what’s pulling your focus.”
Shane looked up at Dean, who held his gaze, as if daring him to ask what he was talking about—to try to deny it, force Dean to say her name first.
Shane exhaled, shaking his head.
“Listen,” he said, closing his suitcase. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. When you said nothing happened with her back then. That was really fucked up of me.”
