“Dean…”
His smile only grows.
“Time’s a-tickin’,” I say.
He tips his head and sits up, placing his cup on the coffee table and resting his forearms on his thighs. “You’re right.”
His eyes dip to the rug on the floor. His fingers clasp together. Then having pieced the words together his eyes lock with mine.
“I know sorry isn’t enough, but I am. I could give you some excuse, but I’m not going to because no matter the shit I was going through you should’ve been my number one priority.”
“I know what you were going through. I tried to help.” I can’t help it. I sound bitter.
He shakes his head. “You couldn’t have. It wasn’t you, it was me. Besides you were dealing with your own shit and I wasn’t there for you.”
He better not want to talk about that because I’m not going there with him.
“Chels, I fucked this up and I know it’s a shit-ton to ask, but will you give me a second chance?”
My heart rises in my throat and lodges there. It begs me to let it do the speaking for us. Fuck that. I push it back down, rise to my feet and disappear into the kitchen.
“Should I not follow you?” he asks without an ounce of sarcasm.
“Just give me one minute.” My hands grip the counter edge, I lean forward, shutting my eyes, trying to compose myself.
Why did I let him in? That DVD is getting destroyed as soon as he leaves.
“Chels?” he calls out after a minute. “I’m coming in.” He’s already at the small opening into my kitchen. That’s how small my place is, but it’s cozy and homey and I love it despite the size. It’s mine and I paid for it. “I’m not trying to upset you,” he says in a soft voice.
I circle around, my back on the edge of the counter. “I don’t know if I can answer you.”
“Fair enough.” He steps in and the room shrinks. His one hand lands next to my hip, but he doesn’t break the distance further. Instead, he hovers over me. “Being indecisive is a maybe, right?”
The one corner of his lips tick up.
I say nothing because I’m conflicted, but unlike him, I’m not going to give him hope if there really is none.
“What are you thinking? That we just head to Vegas and get married again? Give this a go around once more?” I break away from him, walking into my family room. “Do you honestly expect me to say yes? It’s been five years. Where the hell have you been?”
There was a time I would’ve died to hear him say those words to me.
He follows but stays against the wall to keep his distance. “I had to get myself right.”
“Why me? Go find some new girl.” I wrap my arms around myself.
“You’re kidding, right? It’s always been you, Chels. Always. I don’t want anyone else. Never have.”
“I’m a bitch.”
“You are.” There’s not one ounce of humor in his tone.
My head whips around.
He shrugs. “I’m not gonna lie. You can be difficult sometimes, but it’s something I love about you. I don’t want some woman who’s going to have my favorite dinner on the table at five o’clock when I get home. Someone who lets me watch whatever I want on television without a fight. I want someone with their own dreams, their own thoughts and opinions. Because you’re not really a bitch, Chels, you’re a fighter.”
I swallow down the words that wanted to go after him.
“I love our banter, I love the way you don’t let me get away with jack shit.”
“You didn’t like it once upon a time.” I cock my hip and put a hand on my waist.
“Once upon a time I was an asshole.”
“And that’s changed now?”
He chuckles to himself like he’s living his fucking dream life right now. “It hasn’t. I’m not making a promise of lifting the toilet seat, washing my dishes, and doing laundry. Truth is, I might just let a t-shirt miss the hamper just to piss you off, because when you fight with me Chelsea, it means you care, that you love me.”
The room grows quiet, me remembering when I lost the will to fight. When I didn’t care about unmade beds or dirty dishes. When I was so mentally exhausted, I gave up. But he’s wrong, the love was still there. Maybe buried really, really deep, but the part of me that would never admit to it was there.
“I’ll tell you what?” he asks, pushing off the wall. “Hannah’s party next weekend...let me take you.”
Hannah’s hosting a get together for all the people who are involved, even indirectly, in RISE. As a thank you of sorts.
When I don’t say anything, he continues to talk. “Just as an escort. Nothing more.”
“You can meet me there.” I cross my arms again and realize I have no bra on, so I quickly let them hang back down at my sides.
“Not a chance. You’ll have your friends there, but I want to pick you up and bring you home. You gotta see that’s a small start. I’m not asking for dinner or drinks. Just a car ride together in an Uber.”
He approaches me, and I step back, needing space to think this through.
Hannah’s party is at her penthouse in the city and it shouldn’t take long to get there.
“Fine,” I say.
“Not exactly the enthusiasm I was hoping for, but I’ll take it. Pick you up at six.” He steps toward me one more time, but I place my hand out in front of me.
“Not happening.”
He nods. “What about Ann Sathers tomorrow?”
“We already hashed this out.”
“I kind of wanted the cinnamon rolls and you know I hate dining alone.”
“Order it and pick it up.” I walk to my door opening it for him.
“My time is up I see.”
“You got more time than you deserve.” Truth is I don’t want him to go, but I can’t let him think he can walk all over me.
“Kiss?”
“NO!” I screech.
He laughs and his hand slides over my hip as he leans in and places his lips on my cheek. Shivers run along my body.
“Goodnight, Dean.”
He winks and steps out the door. “Oh, Chels?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you enjoy Rambo?” he winks.
Shit. I forgot the movie case was sitting on my table.
I slam the door in his face before he sees how pink mine is.
Sitting back down on the couch, I pull the box of donuts onto my lap and take a big bite of one, then gulp down the chocolate milk, leaving the McDonalds alone.
He’s already under my skin. I cannot let him get under my panties.
Chapter Ten
“I’m sorry, what?” Victoria asks, sitting next to me at Torrio’s Table, the speakeasy Hannah is a member of.
“We talked.”
“In other words, you hashed your shit out?” She’s looking at me like she’s waiting for me to tell her she may have been right.
“Yeah, and now the bastard wants a second chance.” I run my finger across the condensation on the outside of my drink while Victoria and Hannah exchange a look.
This is our regular Monday night at Torrio’s that Hannah now insists we have. Usually it keeps me going through the Monday morning gloom, but not when the subject of our conversation is me. Especially when it’s me and Dean.