My shoes echoed across the black-and-white marble floor. His house, from what I could see, was immaculate and designed to a T. The entryway was a round circular room with a black chandelier hanging above a black lacquered table. There were formal elements, like the chandelier and crown molding, interspersed with masculine details. His bike hung in the hallway leading from the entryway to a large, hand-carved staircase. Photos hung on the wall around the entryway; blown-up versions of Dean as a baby drew me closer.
I slipped off my heels—I figured Dean probably had a no-shoes-in-the-house policy—and stepped closer to the first photo to my left. Dean was young, maybe one or two, sitting on a rocking horse wearing a diaper, cowboy boots, and a cowboy hat. His chubby belly made me smile as I moved on to the next photo. Dean was older in that one, with buckteeth and a choppy bowl cut. His blond hair was bright, almost white, and he had popsicle juice streaked across his face as he sat beside an old man on a tractor. The old man was waving at the camera, but Dean was looking up at him, enamored.
I scanned through the rest of the photos on the wall, taking in Dean with braces and Dean on the day he graduated from college, surrounded by his loved ones. I circled back to the table at the entry, too intimidated to venture into any of the other rooms on the first floor. There was a pile of mail on the table, mostly boring envelopes with bills, and catalogs he’d yet to recycle, but stacked on the very top, there was a colorful postcard with a picture of a massive cave beneath the words “Maquoketa Caves State Park”. I glanced up the stairs, listened for footsteps, and then turned the postcard over.
“Dean,
I know you just visited, but I couldn’t resist sending you a post card from your favorite park. I got your dad to go down into the cave earlier. He pretended to hate it, but I know he had fun. Maybe the next time you visit we can come back and camp here like old times.
Love you,
Mom”
“Is it a Texan custom to break into your friends’ houses and rifle through their mail?”
I swallowed and glanced up to see Dean standing at the top of the stairs. His jaw was clean-shaven and his hair had pomade in it, momentarily coaxing the wavy strands into submission. His red tie sat in the center of his pressed white shirt and his navy suit fit him like a glove. He looked like he had the entire world under his thumb…beginning with me.
“I rang your doorbell,” I explained with a shaky voice.
He started down the stairs, dragging his hand along the smooth rail. His dark eyes stayed on me.
“And then I called your name.”
He arched an eyebrow, but stayed silent.
“Your door was unlocked,” I said, pointing to it as if it would speak up and confirm my story.
He stepped from the stairs down onto the marble floor, dragging his eyes up over my outfit. I glanced down. My dress was black and slimming with a sweetheart neckline. I’d stuffed a cardigan in my tote with plans to put it on before I’d arrived. Without it, the dress was a little too risqué for work. There was too much skin exposed across my neck and chest if Hunter was going to be around.
“The meeting doesn’t start until 9:30. I was showering,” he explained, drawing my attention back up to him.
I reached for the cream cardigan. His gaze followed the fabric as I pulled it on over my shoulders. “Then I guess I read your email wrong.”
He knocked his knuckles against the table twice and then stepped back. “C’mon. We’ll wait for the others in the kitchen. I need some coffee.”
I trailed after him, focusing on the black hardwood floors that began just off the entryway. We passed his bicycle hanging on the wall like a modern art installation and then turned the corner into the kitchen, just to the left of the main staircase. The dark wood floors extended into the room, but they were balanced out with light gray cabinets and Carrera marble countertops. Every gadget I dreamed of having in my future kitchen was on full display inside Dean’s. A restaurant-grade refrigerator sat beside a built-in espresso maker and I swear to god, my heart fluttered a little bit at the sight of the black KitchenAid mixer.
“Espresso?” he asked,
I scrunched my nose. “Latte?”
He nodded as I moved around the large island, giving him space to move. There seemed to be no limit to his talents. Bartender, barista, yachtsman, restaurateur—the talent had to end somewhere, right? Probably in the bedroom.
I slid a barstool out from beneath the island and sat as I watched him work, letting my question take root in my mind. Dean had all the things that a good lover was supposed to have. He moved and spoke with utter confidence. He had a killer body from working out, which would also help with stamina in the bedroom. He bent to see into the back of his refrigerator and I smiled at his ass. Yet another bonus.
Experience in the bedroom mattered as well, but that wasn’t something I could find out from looking at him.
“Do you go on a lot of dates, Dean?” I asked, letting my thoughts seep out into the open before I could stop them.
He glanced away from his refrigerator. A navy-clad shoulder gave way to smirking lips and curious eyes.
“Will I have to write you up alongside Hunter for sexual harassment?”