“Thanks for saying that.” He runs a jerky hand through his hair. “But I still need to head out. I’ll call you about Saturday.”
He doesn’t wait for my response. Confused by his impolite behavior, I watch him walk to his car and slip inside. Within seconds, he’s speeding off—as if his own demons are chasing him and he’s determined to outrun them.
Max
It’s been two hours since I left Rio de Wheaton and I’m still unsettled. I’m also itchy and jumpy as hell. Not even a cold shower made a difference. And if all that isn’t enough, Dean’s ignoring my texts.
A beer would help, but I’m holding off on drinking one, because if Dean ever answers, I’m driving over to his place. He’ll know what to say to get my brain in proper order. As of now, synapses are misfiring and my lobes are working against each other.
I scramble to grab my phone when I hear the text alert.
Dean: Sorry, man. Was on a date. What’s up?
Me: Got someone with you?
Dean: Nope. Weren’t feeling each other. The search for my perfect partner continues.
Me: Can I stop by? Need to talk.
Dean: We’re talking now.
Me: We’re texting.
Dean: R u ok?
Me: I’m fine.
Dean: Is this a booty call?
Me: Fuck you. Can I come over or not?
Dean: Sure, come on over.
I’m there within fifteen minutes.
When Dean opens the door, he crowds the threshold. “What the hell is that?”
I raise the items in the air. “An overnight bag and a pillow. Just in case.”
Dean scratches the side of his face and lets out a heavy sigh. “Get your ass in here.” He stalks away, then plants himself on a stool in his kitchen, watching me set my stuff down in a corner. “It’s late, and I need to be at work bright and early. What’s going on?”
I pace the length of his living room, trying to formulate my thoughts. “I need to hear those reasons again.”
I’m not sure how long he stares at me, but it feels like a long time. A minute, maybe?
“What happened?” His voice is resigned, as though he has his suspicions and only wants me to confirm them.
“Nothing happened. I’m trying to make sure that remains true.”
He stands. “Don’t bullshit me, Max.” Shaking his head, he gestures in my general direction. “This is not what ‘nothing happened’ looks like. What’d you do?”
I slow my steps and face his skeptical gaze. “I had inappropriate thoughts about Lina.”
“Just thoughts?”
I nod. “Just thoughts.”
He throws up his hands and plops back onto the stool. “What’s the problem, then? We all have inappropriate thoughts from time to time. It’s called being human.”
Dean’s not getting it. I’ve been thinking inappropriate thoughts about Lina for the past two and a half hours. I’m having them now. And I don’t want to get in bed because I’m worried about where those thoughts will take me. It would be a slippery slope—literally and figuratively. “Thoughts are one thing, but what if I do more?”
He blows out his cheeks, then releases them, peering at me with a puzzled look on his face. “What does that mean?” Several seconds later, his jaw goes slack and he falls over in laughter. “Oh damn. You’re scared you’re going to think about her as you jerk off?”
Hearing him say it out loud sounds so much worse than I imagined. I pull on my hair, zigzagging across his living room like a Ping-Pong ball. “It’s not funny. I’m trash. Complete trash.”
“What set you off this time?” he says on a chuckle.
“She was dancing at her family’s shop, oblivious to the fact that I was watching her. And Dean, I’m telling you, I was fucking mesmerized.” I whimper at the memory of the way she moved her ass and hips in the middle of that store. “Christ, she was going to be my sister-in-law at one point.”
Dean purses his lips at me. “But she isn’t your sister-in-law now, so calm the fuck down.”
“Tell me what to do,” I say.
He ponders my request, and then he asks, “Is she showing any signs that she’s feeling the same way? Is this a two-way thing?”
“I’m not even sure she likes me. As a person, I mean. She said we could be friends. Said I was a great guy. I felt like I’d won the lottery. Freaked me the fuck out. To her, though, it’s nothing. She tolerates me, probably for the sake of this big-deal job she wants to get. I mean, she wanted to marry my brother. She couldn’t possibly be interested in me.”
“Then tie your hands behind your back and go the fuck to sleep. My couch is your couch. Sheets and blankets in the hall closet. We can talk more tomorrow.” He ambles toward the hallway leading to his bedroom. “Good night.”
Grumbling at Dean’s lack of support when I need him the most, I stomp to the bathroom, where I brush and floss my teeth. Still pissed, I throw a sheet on the couch, turn off the hall light, and dive under the comforter I grabbed from the closet, one that smells like a woman’s perfume. I don’t even get fresh linens. Some host he is.
And with nothing else to do, I settle in to consume the images of Lina that won’t stop flashing in my restless brain. The way she moaned her appreciation for her lunch. The moment she brushed crumbs from my face. The dance of torture.
She’s always in control. Detached. Not mean, exactly, just reserved. Face blank, voice even. Everything and everyone has a place. That’s the planner in her, I suppose. But God, I want to disorganize her to within an inch of her life. Disorient her so thoroughly she throws on her clothes inside out afterward. Extra points if I can get her to a state where she’s incapable of telling the difference between a button and a boutonniere.
I picture us together, in high-definition resolution with surround sound and memory-on-demand playback capabilities. It’s only a vision of my hand slipping underneath her pencil skirt as she squeezes her eyes shut and gasps, but it’s enough to make me jump off the couch, drag the lavender-smelling comforter down the hall, and knock on Dean’s door.
“What?” he barks.
I peek inside. “Let me stay in here tonight. Your bed is huge. It’ll guarantee I won’t . . . you know . . . and I promise to stay on my side.”
He slaps a hand on his forehead. “Jesus Christ. Are you incapable of self-control?” After a few seconds more, he says, “Anything I’ve ever owed you is repaid tonight. Understood?”
“Yeah,” I say, relieved he’s not tossing me out.
“And if I sense any rocking motion, I will shove your ass onto the floor and permanently ban you from visiting me.”
“No problem.” I jump on the bed and fall onto my back, rearranging the comforter over my lower half. “Thanks, man.”
“Fuck off,” he says, turning to his side. “You need to figure your shit out, because this is not going to be a regular thing.”
“I know.”
I’ll worry about that later. For now, I can rest easy knowing I’ll be able to look Lina in the eyes the next time we’re together. That’s something, at least.