“I still can’t believe you didn’t let me buy beer.” He swallowed his bite, staring at the ocean.
“As long as you’re around me, you’re not allowed to consume booze or smoke weed,” I said, unaffected by his deep frown. I dangled my feet from his hood and enjoyed the summer breeze on my flesh.
“You fucking suck,” he muttered.
“You wish,” I snorted, but it died in my throat when I realized this couldn’t be a joke anymore. He looked up from his burger, his face brooding and serious.
“I don’t wish for things, sweetheart. I think by now you know, when I want something, I make it happen.”
Goddammit, I was leaking again.
There was something in the air. A sizzling wire of nerves that kept bouncing between us. So many things had to be addressed, but I didn’t want to talk about any of them. I just wanted to survive this trip.
After we ate, I stuck a USB in his MacBook and shared some of my favorite bands with him. Whitney, Animal Collective, Big Ups, and The Chromatics. He seemed into it, but you could never really tell with Dean Cole, because he seemed to be into everything.
“Remember what we used to listen to when we were in high school?” Dean grinned all of a sudden. I wrinkled my nose, trying to look unimpressed when really, I was elated.
“You mean the music you used to listen to. I only tolerated it when I absolutely had to.”
“Cut the bullshit, babe. You liked pop and R&B just like everyone else.”
“I had a versatile taste,” I protested, knowing he was referring to me shaking my ass to Jennifer Lopez tunes in skimpy clothes at Vicious’s parties, even though I was hopelessly passionate about indie bands from the nineties.
He jumped down to the ground, collecting our wrappers and empty cups. “Don’t go anywhere. A blast from the past is coming your way.”
I stayed put, watching as he walked to the nearest trashcan, throwing away our leftovers. His muscles were prominent, even through his white shirt and tailored khaki pants. My eyes lingered on his biceps, scrolling down to his tight ass, before he turned around and looked at me.
Then smiled.
Then winked.
Then mouthed, “Busted.”
I looked away, feeling my face reddening. He was right, of course. I wanted to sleep with him again, and couldn’t think of anything else other than his body against mine. When he sat back next to me, he picked up his MacBook and played “Naughty Girl” by Beyoncé.
“Remember this one?” He turned to me and laughed. “First night Baby LeBlanc ever got shitfaced.”
Covering my face with both palms, the memory of dancing on Vicious’s coffee table assaulted my mind. I was so goddamn drunk I thought it would be a terrific idea to join my cheerleading friends who danced on the table. They knew what they were doing. I looked like I was swatting away a thousand imaginary flies. This resulted in me trying to mimic their movements—and failing—smacking them here and there in the process, until Vicious asked, “What the fuck is the little LeBlanc sister doing? Having a seizure on my table? Someone get her down before she hurts the other girls.” Not even a second later, I felt Dean digging his muscular shoulder into my thighs, throwing me over it and spinning me in place until I screamed for him to put me down.
“Whatever. It was hard to fit in as a junior who transferred from Virginia. I had to make sacrifices. Do you remember this song?”
I snatched the laptop from his hands and played another video. “Roses” by OutKast. Dean burst out laughing, his eyes crinkling with mirth.
“Do it,” I prompted. It was the time he was the one to dance. And dance he did at Vicious’s party, mimicking the band’s choreography from the video. It was a part of a lost bet—duh—but it was so hilarious, the memory sat in my mind eleven years later, crisp like it was yesterday. I could still smell the alcohol and hormones wafting through the air from that night. “Please, Dean.” I squeezed my palms together. “Deep down in your brain, under all the dead cells courtesy of your weed habit and the porno movies, I’m sure you still remember the dance.”
“Only because you asked so nicely.” He jumped off of the hood again and said, “Play it from the start,” pretending to gel his hair and check himself out in an invisible mirror. It was all so surreal, I couldn’t help but giggle like a schoolgirl, which only made his already-huge smile widen.
I hit play, moving my eyes from the original video to Dean’s dancing, the ocean glittering behind him. He did almost everything right, from the part where he slides to his knees at the beginning of the song to the very end, barely messing up the composition. My stomach hurt from laughing, but his face was serious. And when the song ended, he stalked toward me, grabbing the laptop.
“My turn.”
I checked the time on my cell phone. “Okay, but then we have to go. It’s getting late and we need to get ready for the rehearsal.”
It was already four. I couldn’t believe we spent so much time together without even noticing. Dangerous chemistry, the words settled in my brain like thick dust. Be careful, Rosie.
“Yeah, yeah, Princess Saint and Prince Dickhead will have us right on time. Don’t worry.” He waved me off, his gaze fixated on the screen. “Drops of Jupiter” by Train started playing. My smile faded.
“I don’t remember listening to this song together.” I swallowed. He moved between my legs, his waist in a perfect position for me to wrap myself around it, but I didn’t, my eyes desperately staring at his lips. We were always a breath away from a kiss.
“We didn’t. You listened to it one time when you thought you were alone at home. I dropped by to give Millie her textbook back. The song kind of stuck in my head after that, because I kept wondering what the fuck you were looking for. I couldn’t figure you out, Rosie. When I saw other guys hitting on you, it killed me. Because whatever it was you needed, I didn’t want you to find it in them.”
Shamefully, the feeling was mutual. Every time he brushed Millie off and cancelled on her, my heart swelled a little. She is not the one, I convinced myself. I am.
“You had no right to be jealous.” I looked down at my black flip-flops. He shook his head no.
“Never claimed any differently. And you had no right to be jealous, either. Yet here we are.”
There we were.
I moved quickly, bypassing any attempt he may have had to kiss me. Hopping in the Volvo, I buckled in and pulled my knees to my chest, burying my face between them, praying like hell Dean couldn’t read my mind. The drive back to the house was wordless. The fact he hadn’t tried to sleep with me again proved that maybe Dean was a man of his word.
Then, when his tires screeched to a halt and we both got out, I said, “I think we should stop this.”
“I think we should not,” he retorted, his voice dry and resolute.
“We’re playing a risky game.” I swallowed. He opened the door for me and smirked. “Then it’s a good thing I’m the best fucking player in town.”