I cozy up and put a blanket over my lap, grabbing the Mongolian beef. It’s been a five-year stretch without it. Too many memories.
“My mom.” My face morphs into the annoyed expression I always wear whenever we’re around each other.
“How is Babs?” He opens a container, grabs the remote.
How my mom doesn’t put the fear in him as it does me baffles me. She went to our apartment after I left and from what I heard from our old neighbors, ripped him a new one. It was the one and only time my mom and I were on the same side.
“She’s the same. Still pissed I didn’t allow her to throw me some elaborate wedding.”
He turns to me, his lips down. “I did apologize to her for that.”
“What did she say?”
“She said that your next one will be huge when you marry the right man.”
I nuzzle into his arm and lay my cheek on his shoulder. “She’s just protective.”
“Uh huh. She was right you did marry the wrong man the first time. But the second time I’ll guarantee you marry the right one.” He clicks on the television and it illuminates the dim room.
It takes me a moment to process his words. “I don’t plan on ever getting married again.”
He doesn’t even look my way. Just clicks through the channels.
“You heard me, right?” I ask.
“I heard you.” He brings a forkful of Lo-Mein noodles to his lips.
“But?”
“But nothing.”
“Fine. Don’t tell me.” I stab a piece of meat in the carton.
He chuckles. “I’m not going to waste my breath. You’re not there yet.”
“Not where?”
His eyes are still focused in on the television, never veering to me once. “Ready to see us.”
“Speak English, Dean.”
He swivels in his seat and places his container down on the table. “You’ve let me in and I’m not going to scare you, but Chelsea, I won’t give up until that ring is back on your finger.”
“Dean,” I sigh trying to ignore the flipping and flopping of my heart like it’s screaming he wants us, he wants us.
“See.” He points to me. “This is why I wasn’t going to say anything. You’re not ready for that declaration.”
I laugh. “Are you sure we didn’t warp back to the seventeen hundreds? Maybe you want to go ask Barb and Ted for my hand. Do you have a dowry? Or is it me who is supposed to have the dowry?”
His lips tick up. “Relax, Chelsea.” He winks again. “I’m not going to push you into something you don’t want.”
He’s so smug. He thinks because he landed me in bed that he’s going to convince me I want to get re-married? Who is he kidding?
“I have to go to the bathroom.” I stand, leaving my fork in the Mongolian beef. He had to go and ruin that for me by talking about the future. I’m still processing that I’m even here right now. That I just slept with him.
Deciding on his en suite bathroom instead of the one in the hallway, I step in and turn on the lights.
Again with the dreary black, gray and white. Who decorated this place?
I shut the door and head to the toilet, but a flash of color on the monochrome canvas of his bathroom walls draws my attention. In slow motion, my feet move forward and my need to use the bathroom suddenly vanishes.
It slides off the towel rack when I clutch it in my hands. The Moroccan style towel my grandma sent us after she heard the wedding news. I thought I took them all. They weren’t the most beautiful things in the world. More colors than a kaleidoscope, but it was the only domestic wedding gift we got.
Bringing it up to my nose, I inhale and smell Dean. Memories float through my brain of the happy times I’d pushed as far back as they could go. Placing it back down, I open the bathroom door, ready to tell Dean he’s right, I’m not there yet, but yet doesn’t mean never.
He’s sitting on the edge of the bed watching me with a schoolboy look to him. As though, I’m the principal and he’s been sent to the office.
“I shouldn’t—”
“No. Don’t say anything,” I say, stepping into the opening of his legs.
His hands run up and down my thighs, sneaking under the back tail of his button-down.
“Let’s just let this play out, okay? I know it’s hard, but date me all over again,” I say. I place one leg on either side of his waist and straddle him with my hands around his neck. “I’m not saying no.”
His lips touch my collarbone, his hands growing more firm on my ass.
“Deal.” His tongue slides up my neck. “To think it was only weeks ago you said I’d never lay a hand on your body again.” A light chuckle comes out of him.
“Watch it, Bennett.” I do nothing to refute him. He’s not lying. I move my head down and he doesn’t miss a beat, smashing his lips to mine.
My mind says I’m playing with fire, but my body overrules it. I always liked the danger that came with Dean Bennett.
Chapter Twenty-One
The following Saturday, I’m watching a little girl dancing to some YouTube-gone-viral movie in my living room.
“You must be thirsty, Jade.” I put the root beer on the table.
She falls into my couch, catching her breath. “Thanks, Aunt Chelsea,” she sips it.
My heart warms at her use of the word aunt, because I’m not. But I look at it as a term of endearment.
“That’s an interesting dance.” I look at the kid on the television swinging her hips and her arms. I don’t really understand it, but whatever.
“It took me a long time to figure out. My friend Henry still can’t get his hips right.” Jade sits on the edge of the couch sipping her drink and watching the television.
“Your mom lets you watch this?”
Babysitting Jade for the night was a win-win for me. First, it does Victoria and Reed a favor so they can have a guilt-free night, not leaving her with Vic’s mom again. Second, I get to see how Dean will fit into my life. I’m not a partying college kid anymore. I’m not exactly domesticated, but Jade and my niece and nephew are a part of my life now.
“Yeah, Reed can do the floss. Mom.” She cringes.
I stand up, pressing the button to start another video. “If Reed can do it, I can do it.”
The video starts and some ten-year-old boy is swinging his hips so hard I swear he’s going to tear a muscle.
I move my hips and my hands, but they’re not going where they’re supposed to.
“No, Aunt Chelsea.” Jade giggles, falling onto the couch.
Being the perfectionist I am, I continue trying, but the only thing I accomplish is Jade spitting out her root beer all over my coffee table. Like mother like daughter.
A knock lands on the door as I’m scrambling back from the kitchen with a roll of paper towels.
“Here.” I hand Jade the roll of towels and then head to the door, checking the peephole to see Dean.
I open the door and he holds up a brown paper bag. “Sundae supplies. I got extra cherries.” He winks, and I open the door wider.
“Great, Jade loves cherries.”
Dean’s jaw drops slightly, but he recovers fast replacing his disappointment with a smile.