With a big exhale, I pick up my phone again and stare at the text once more.
Drew: Levi’s in rehab. A thirty-day alcohol detox program. I thought u should know. Let’s hope he gets the help he needs.
I’ve read it a hundred times and still don’t know how to feel about it.
Tears prick my eyes. Rehab. He finally did it. He got help.
Or maybe he was made to get help.
I want to be there helping him, supporting him, telling him he can do it. But then why did I walk away? Why did I break our hearts?
Whatever the case, I hope this is a turning point for him. I hope he gets sober and stays that way even with his music career soaring to new heights.
I type out thank u but then erase it again for the tenth time. What do I say to Drew?
Do I ask the questions I so desperately want to know?
Like where is he? How is he? How did he end up in there?
My phone buzzes with a new text, and Dean’s name pops up at the top of the screen.
These new feelings wash over me, guilt mixed with a fondness, a weird combination I can’t quite put my finger on.
Dean: I can’t wait to see u tonight. T minus 2 hours!
And therein lies another problem.
Dean.
He’s nice, he’s sweet, and he’s offered to help with my music. We’ve hung out a few times now, and I enjoy his company. Besides Mable, I haven’t found many friends—not that I go looking—and while I wasn’t sure before, I’m beginning to look forward to our plans. Dean keeps things casual, and his easygoing personality is one that’s easy to like. His body language tells me he wants more, but he’s never acted on it.
Until last night.
Dean video chatted me, something I didn’t expect. I was already in bed, studying as usual, when he asked me to dinner.
He said he wanted to take me out properly, but the look on his face told me this was anything but platonic.
Without thinking, I said yes, not wanting to decline him even though a part of me screamed I should.
But nope, I said yes like an idiot.
Why? I don’t know. I love Levi.
Yet being with Dean makes me forget. Makes me hurt a little less.
Makes me laugh a little more.
Dean hides the pain. But it doesn’t come without a price. Heavy shit eats at me, keeping me up at night while I debate all the reasons I should or shouldn’t talk to Dean.
I can have friends, right?
But I know Dean wants more. I can tell by the way his eyes land on me, stopping at my curves as a smile plays on his lips.
He doesn’t have to say it. I see it.
And no matter how many times I tell myself it’s completely platonic, I know otherwise. At least for him, anyway.
Levi is who my body craves, who my mind needs. But he hurts too much to love. I hide it away, pushing it deep down inside and covering its tracks as much as I can.
Still, I stare at these two texts and have no clue what to answer.
Levi’s getting help on his own while I’m going to dinner with Dean.
How shitty am I?
“You look beautiful tonight.” Dean’s eyes take me in from head to toe as if he’s undressing me in his head.
A blush creeps up my neck and turns my cheeks warm, but I ignore it, offering a smile as I take in his appearance.
Khaki trousers fit nicely on his narrow frame, a button-down dress shirt hugging his large shoulders and biceps. The top two buttons are undone, along with the sleeves which are rolled up to his elbows.
He’s clean shaven, all neat lines and angles, his cologne subtle yet intoxicating at the same time.
Dean’s handsome, especially in a business sense, but I’ve seen him casual, and I know he looks just as good in a pair of jeans.
“Thanks for meeting me here. Was it hard to find?” Dean holds open the door, the warm restaurant inviting us inside.
When he asked me where I wanted to go, I told him to surprise me with the best Italian he knew, seeing as he grew up in the city and hasn’t left. He said he knew just the place.
“Nope, you gave me good directions.” As soon as we step inside, I know Dean made the right choice. It smells like an authentic Italian paradise in here.
A few moments later, we sit at a private table in the corner. Dean pulls out my seat and helps me with my jacket. “Thanks. It smells delicious in here.”
Sitting across from me, Dean scoots his chair in and rests his forearms on the table. He grins, his eyes so warm and friendly. “Just you wait. Even the bread is amazing.”
“Mmm, I haven’t had good Italian food in a long time. I miss my mom’s cooking,” I muse, remembering her lasagna.
Dean’s smile fades, but he recovers quick. “I love homemade lasagna.”
“Did your mom make it a lot?” Dean hasn’t told me much yet about his past, though he’s asked me plenty about mine.
Dean fidgets with his napkin. “No, she wasn’t much of a cook. I explored a lot of different foods and restaurants as a teen, and Italian is hands down my favorite.”
I nod. “I love food and probably eat more than most girls do. I’ve put back an entire pizza before.”
Dean laughs, his mood lifting. “You’re lying.”
I giggle and shake my head. “It’s true. More than once.”
“Wait, more than once? How is that possible?” Dean looks me over in surprise. “Where did you put it all?”
I laugh and wave him off. “My older brother, Anthony, challenged me a lot. I can’t let him win; he’d never let me live it down.”
“Ah, the older brother. I always wanted a sibling. It was so lonely sometimes.”
I study his profile, curious to know more about him. Our waiter comes with our drinks and a basket of hot, buttery rolls. He quickly takes our order and leaves almost as fast as he came.
Dean and I reach for a piece of bread at the same time, and our hands touch.
An unexpected tingle runs up my arm, and I jerk back. I wasn’t supposed to feel that. I’m not supposed to feel anything.
Dean watches me, his hand frozen in place, but when he grabs a roll, he offers it to me, and a genuine smile takes over his face. “Sorry, guess neither one of us can wait.”
I laugh it off like it was nothing. Like I felt nothing.
Because whatever I felt… it is nothing.
Platonic. Completely platonic.
I butter my roll and stuff a piece in my mouth, my stomach growling in protest. When we lock eyes again, my heart jumps.
His light eyes look darker, stormy almost, and suddenly, things don’t feel so platonic anymore. My breath catches in my throat, and I look away, shoving more bread in my mouth.
What is happening?
Why do I feel like this?
Maybe it’s the fact he’s looking at me like he wants to devour me, which is a big shift from mere minutes ago.
One touch.
That’s all it took.
I can’t do this.
My broken heart thumps loudly in my chest. What a fucking traitor.
Dean must sense the shift. He shakes his head and runs a hand over his jaw, and when he fixes his gaze on me again, those stormy eyes are gone. “So, about that pizza competition…?” Dean grins, and we both laugh.
The rest of dinner runs smoothly, the conversation easy. Between bread, an appetizer, and our meals, there was no way I could eat dessert.