Shit. The rapid breathing in his ear clued him in to the situation he’d interrupted. Parker and Lynn fooling around, the phone going off, and Lynn insisting they had to answer it in case it was an emergency.
He might be feeling out of sorts, but he wasn’t vindictive enough to cock-block his buddy as well. “Oh damn, I’m sorry, Lynn. Yeah, I’m fine. I meant to call Jack. I’d better get in touch with him stat.”
He hung up before she could begin some long conversation and drive Parker insane waiting. He carefully hit Jack’s number, admittedly amused at the thought that maybe he should have kept Lynn on the line. He was pretty sure the last time she’d swung into a ramble, Parker had gone down on her while she was on the phone, just to tease the hell out of her.
God, he loved his friends.
He had better luck this time, making contact straight through to the other half of his bro pair. “I thought you were busy tonight,” Jack started in with no preamble.
“Change of plans.” Dean looked down sorrowfully at his dying woody. “Sorry, buddy,” he muttered.
“What’s that?” Jack asked.
“I need to get shitfaced.”
It was a sign of how good of a friend Jack was that he didn’t ask for an explanation. He simply grunted in amusement. “Will drinking ’til we drop also involve finding someone to beat the hell out of? Just so I select the proper location for your evening’s entertainment.”
Dean laughed. The whole reason for drinking was so that he didn’t spend far too long beating the hell out of something. “Get me a keg or two, and I’ll be happy.”
“I’ll meet you at the Shop then.”
In less than twenty minutes, Dean was tucked into the corner of their favorite watering hole, the pitcher on the table already two glasses gone.
“Pace yourself, asshole, because I don’t feel like hauling you home with me and having Pepper find you passed out on our couch when she gets back in the morning.” Jack lowered himself onto the stool opposite Dean and helped himself to the beer.
Considering how little he’d had to drink so far, flashing Jack the bird was an appropriate response. “Where is the delectable Pepper tonight?” Dean asked.
“Staying the night with her mom. Her dad had to go out of town so they’re having some mother-daughter bonding time.”
Dean took a long sip of beer, the cool liquid barely registering. It was hard to focus on anything here and now, including the conversation. All he could think about was Emma writhing under him on the couch, the soft noises she’d made echoing in his brain. “That’s nice.”
What the hell had gone wrong tonight? He kept playing back everything from the moment she’d walked into the dojo to him walking out her door. Something was off, and it was bugging the hell out of him.
“They said if they have time, they’ll butcher those zombies that invaded last weekend. For the next barbecue.”
“Good for them,” Dean responded automatically before blinking himself alert. He stared at his friend in utter confusion. “Wait—what the fuck are you talking about?”
“What the fuck has you tied up in knots?” Jack countered, gesturing to Dean’s empty glass. “I know you can put it back with the best of us, but I’m pretty sure you haven’t heard a word I’ve said for the past ten minutes, and you’ve nearly finished the pitcher.”
Decision time. Should he actually spill the beans? Not just about tonight, but about everything?
Jack examined his watch. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had some wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am sex, and for some reason you’re feeling guilty. Am I right?”
“I didn’t have sex,” Dean grumbled, hating how wrong and how right his buddy was at the same time. Guilt? He had that in spades. “Started, didn’t finish.”
Dead silence echoed from across the table.
Dean ignored his friend, who was probably making exaggerated slack-jawed astonished faces. “She says she’s down with casual sex. That we should fuck for the next couple months while she’s around then wave goodbye as if…it’s only about feeling good.”
His friend cleared his throat. “Umm, Dean? Are you feverish?”
He snapped up his head. “It’s bullshit, okay? Pure, outright bullshit.”
Jack shook his head. “Sounds like a perfect setup for you. Well, maybe not the failing to hit the jackpot—”
“Say another word about that and I’ll rip your arms off.”
“Taunt you about striking out? Would I do such a thing?”
He glared harder.
Jack topped up his glass, ignoring the death rays shooting from Dean’s eyes. “Who is she?”
Do or die. “Emma Lee.”
He’d obviously done a bang-up job of keeping his yap shut until today, because Jack’s expression didn’t change. “Do I know her?”
“No.” Dean took a deep breath. “Think ancient history.”
“Like a couple years ago?”
“High school. Pre-Rangers.”
Now he got a reaction. Jack’s eyes widened. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah.”
Jack paused, considered, then shrugged like it was no biggie. “So have a fuck for old time’s sake then forget her. Easy enough.”