"Can you… not?" Her laugh is soft. "This is serious. I know. But can we pretend like it's not?"
"Sure thing, sunshine." I pull back to release her. "But I gotta know something."
"Yeah?"
"That line last night about how you weren't still trying to get in my pants. That was bullshit, right?"
Guilt spreads over her expression.
"Fuck, should have known."
"That wasn't my primary intention. I swear." She opens the door and slides out of the car.
I follow her lead. Move around the trunk to wrap my arm around her waist. "So, what was it? Coming?"
"If I only wanted to come, I would have fucked myself."
"Go on."
"Oh my God." She hides behind her hands.
"I'm lacking details." I press my palm into her lower back to lead her through the parking lot.
Slowly, she brings her hands to her sides. "What is it you want to know?"
"About you fucking yourself? Everything."
"It's not that interesting."
"No, it's fascinating." We step into the elevator lobby. I press the down button. Watch it light up. "Did you fuck yourself in my bed?"
The elevator doors slide open. Chloe steps inside. She turns back to me with a coy smile. "Not answering that." She motions come in. Her expression stays easy. Distracted.
"That's a yes."
She presses the Lobby button. "I'm disregarding your question because it's ridiculous."
"In other words, yes." I wrap my arms around her waist.
She wraps hers around my neck. Looks up at me with need in her dark eyes. "Dean…"
"I'm happy to fuck you in this elevator. If that's your next question."
Her cheeks flush. "No. That wasn't."
"I know." I back her into the wall anyway.
Press my lips to hers anyway.
Her fingers dig into my hair.
Her lips close around my bottom lip. She sucks hard. Scrapes her teeth against my flesh.
Then she's parting her lips to make way for my tongue.
The reality of the day fades away. There isn't a single ugly thing in the world. Just her and me and all the need pouring between us.
The elevator's ding interrupts us.
The doors slide open.
"Fuck." Chloe pulls back with a heavy sigh. She turns to the door, eyes blinking, cheeks flushing with the sudden realization we have an audience. "Sorry."
The older couple standing in front of us laughs.
"You know how it is," I say.
They share a look. A best friends/siblings/been together forever and finish each other's sentences look.
I slide my arm around Chloe's waist and whisk her onto the sidewalk.
For a few moments, her posture softens. She relaxes as we cross the street, move into the teal lobby, find the elevator inside the building.
But the second we hit the button for the fifth floor, her shoulders are back up at her ears.
The easiness is gone.
And, this time, I'm pretty sure it's not coming back.
The second someone calls her name, Chloe jumps to her feet. She presses her hands together and sucks a breath through her teeth.
I reach up. Take her hand. Squeeze tightly. "You ready?"
She pulls back, breaking our touch. "It shouldn't be long." She moves forward. To the technician in grey scrubs.
She follows him past the patients only double doors. Disappears into the testing area.
I'm not allowed back there. Not that she wants the support.
If there's something I've figured out sitting next to Chloe for the last twenty minutes, it's that she's determined to do this on her own.
It must have been exhausting going through treatment like that.
Feeling like sharing her dread was a burden.
Hell, I'm exhausted just thinking about it.
No. That's not quite right.
The thought of Chloe taking on the world alone doesn't make me tired.
It makes my stomach drop.
It makes my heart ache.
With every minute I wait, it gets more and more clear.
There isn't a chance in hell I can let her go.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chloe
"Finished." The technician smiles as he walks me back to the changing area. "The office will call with your results."
If they're good.
If they're bad, they'll ask me to come in. As if that isn't as good as screaming you're totally fucked.
"Thanks." I move into the dressing stall. Shed my gown and step into my jeans. Socks. Bra. Tank top. I got to keep my underwear on. Not that it really made me more comfortable.
It's hard to feel comfortable in a plastic tube.
Especially when it's screening for cancer.
I toss my gown in the hamper and sling my backpack over my shoulders.
It's all waiting now. It will be a few days. It always is.
A few days of wondering if I'm dying.
Awesome.
I try to shake it off as I move through the sterile hallway, but it won't go.
This is a routine test.
A precaution.
The odds are almost nothing.
But if they aren't…
If this is it…
I move through the double doors. A dozen steps and I'm standing next to Dean in the bright lobby. The sun bounces off the white walls and the teal chairs, filling the room with warmth, energy, and a whole lot of irony.
He looks up at me with those bright blue eyes. "You okay, sunshine?"
No. But I want to get there. If I'm okay, I want to stop thinking about illness. If I'm sick, I want to stop wasting time.
He can get me out of my head.
He did last night.
And now… Well…
My fingertips graze his neck. "It's after my test."
His lips curl into a smile. "So it is."
"My place is ten minutes away."
His smile spreads over his cheeks. "I know."
"Then what are you doing sitting there?"
This is the slowest drive in the history of the world.
Every verse flowing from the speakers stretches on to eternity. I know the songs are four minutes each. But, God, do they really have to take forever to get the point?
Finally, I pull onto our street. Park in front of the empty house. Turn the car off.
The music ceases.
Our breath fills the tiny space.
His hand brushes my thigh as he reaches for his seatbelt.
It's only the lightest hint of pressure, but I feel it everywhere.
He was wrong to insist we wait until after the test. I'm no more relaxed than I was two hours ago.
But he can get me there.
I know he can.
I fumble over my seatbelt. My keys. The door handle. All of a sudden, I'm not an artist with expert control of my hands. I'm all thumbs.
There. My boots pound the pavement. Move closer to the door. My hand finds Dean's. The car beeps. Locked.
He intertwines my fingers with his.
It's sweet. But, right now, I don't want sweet. Right now, I want a dirty, messy, hungry fuck.
I slide my key into the door and turn the lock.
He brings his hands to my hips to pull me closer. My ass against his crotch. My back against his chest. My cheek against his neck. "You're nervous."
"It's been two years."
"Is that it?"
"I just… I don't want to think anymore." I turn the handle and press the door open.
He follows me inside. Studies the cozy living room the way he studies my mock-ups.
"What?" I lock the door. Toss my keys on the dining table. Our place is nice for what it is, but it's nothing compared to the Beverly Hills neighborhood where Dean grew up.
"I like it."
"Really?"
"Yeah. It fits."
"What about it?"
He motions to the huge TV, the black couch, the framed prints from the Met. "Everything." His fingers skim my sides as he moves closer. "If you're worried about your test, I get that. But I don't give a fuck about how big or fancy your house is. I've dreamed about being in your room since the tenth grade."
"For that long?"
"Yeah." He takes my hand and pulls me toward the stairs.
"Shouldn't I lead the way?"
"Probably, yeah, but one of us has to get to your bed."
"It's a twin."
He flashes me a devilish grin. "I can work with that."
My room is the first door to the right of the stairs. It looks out on the cozy street.
Usually, I enjoy the view of the neighborhood.
But right now?
Not so much.
I pull the sheer curtains to block out the world.
They cast diffuse light over the room.