Big softy.
I then told her just how much I liked Dean, confessing that my love for him was over a decade old. She cried when she heard how much heartache it had caused me to see them together, but I think it was the hormones because she also cried when I gave her a mini-spoiler about the next episode of Keeping Up With the Kardashians. She told me that Vicious claimed Dean’s interest in me was genuine and sincere, and I didn’t want to tell her that I already knew, because her ex-boyfriend and I shared more than just small talk back when they were together. Things that didn’t include words. Or touching. Things that tortured and taunted us to the point we drove each other crazy.
Then she mentioned that Dean had a fling with Sue, and I simply had to stick my nose into the subject.
When Dean proclaimed me as his girlfriend on our Facebook pages—how the hell had he done that, I had yet to find out—he meant every word. He hadn’t gone through all this hassle to fool around with other people behind my back.
I shook my head and landed back on planet Earth, grabbing a steamy mug from the dishwasher underneath the bar and wiping it dry.
“Pushy Dean invited himself to our dinner tonight,” I told Elle, and her grin was so wide it was contagious. Or at least that was what I’d convinced myself of when my cheeks hurt from smiling.
“You think his hot, vain ass is going to pig out on pizza with us?” she asked. Elle had given up on her skinny-bitching diet since the bakery down the street reopened. I shook my head.
“He is booking us a reservation at The Red Hill Tavern.”
“That’s crazy expensive!”
“I don’t think he expects us to pay.”
“I think he expects you to pay in sexual favors.”
I didn’t want to say anything, but deep down, I was already waiting for the check.
The good news: the HotHole was charming Elle’s socks off.
The bad news: he swept me off my feet in the process, too.
I watched them wordlessly, twirling the prawns and pasta with my fork as Elle hooted loudly time after time when Dean said something funny or asked her a question, or was just generally his charismatic, engaging self.
I’d never been to The Red Hill Tavern before, mainly because I couldn’t afford it, but even if I could, who had time to book a place three months in advance? Especially seeing as health complications constantly put a damper on my plans. I never knew when I had to shut the door and hide away from the world or sit on the bed with a giant vest for hours at a time, waiting for my lungs to play nice with the rest of my organs.
The Red Hill Tavern was lovely. I was happy we went there. The food was great, but the company? That was the real treat.
Yellow lights were spinning from teardrop chandeliers, old oak and classic red-and-white checked tablecloths and real, well-used candles shone everywhere.
I thought about the happiness Dean held in the palm of his hand. The happiness that he had offered me so generously, but taking it was dangerous, because it was placing him behind the wheel of the vehicle that was called my life.
He seemed like a reckless driver. Then again, ever since we started this, he had been nothing but strong and resilient. A rock I leaned on when things at home crumbled.
Who would have thought? Dean ‘Ruckus’ Cole, Manwhore Galore.
“So, do you work with a lot of millionaires?” Elle purred, her lips shiny with an extra coat of lipstick and olive oil from the delicious food we wolfed down.
“Sweetheart,” he snickered, taking a bite of his filet mignon, “I only work with billionaires.”
“Think you can hook me up with one?”
“Are you sure? They normally don’t look like their bank accounts feel.”
“They have sons, though, right?” Elle asked.
“They do.” Dean grinned. “I like the way you think.”
Just then, his phone buzzed.
“Sorry, I have to take this.” He frowned at his phone and stood up, leaving us to admire his broad back and magic ass in his charcoal, tailor-made suit. Elle clapped her hands twice when he got out of earshot, heading toward the door leading outside. She grabbed me by the shoulders.
“This man, Rosie!” she exclaimed. “Tell me he is terrible in bed so I can keep my loyalty as a friend to you.”
Perfect didn’t even begin to describe what he was between the sheets, but I definitely needed a repeat to remind myself why I was putting my heart on the line like this, knowing someone like him would never settle for someone like me long-term.
“Make sure Darren knows before you move forward,” Mama said to me when I broke the news about us moving in together. “You don’t want him to feel like he’s been tricked by a woman who can’t have children.”
“Dude.” I shook my head, trying to silence Mama’s words. “Don’t even go there. They don’t make them like this anymore.”
“Continue at this rate, and I bet you any money that you will be a victim of a passion crime.” Elle stabbed a fork into her ravioli and brought it to her open mouth. “Someone would kill you. Another jealous bitch, probably. Maybe the PA? I mean, no woman should be the proud owner of a man like Dean.”
“He is not a piece of property.” I rolled my eyes, munching on a breadstick.
“No. He is a hot commodity, though.” Elle pinched her lips before we both doubled over laughing. She asked how Trent was doing—she was disappointed she didn’t get to meet him before the wedding—but then Dean came back to the table. He no longer looked playful, fun, and laid-back. Instead, he looked like he had seen a ghost. Tucking his phone into his back pocket, he said, “Took care of the check. Are you ready to leave?”
I didn’t have to be that close to him to know that he’d been drinking. The mere scent of pure alcohol on his breath gave it away. It bit at my nostrils with freshness reserved for a hardcore spirit. I wanted to bite his head off, but couldn’t do it in front of Elle, and perhaps even at all. He looked troubled in a way that made me physically uncomfortable.
Elle and I exchanged confused looks, our half-eaten dishes still sitting at the table, waiting to be enjoyed. My friend opened her mouth, and I had a feeling that she was going to ask if we could stay for dessert. That was a definite no. He needed to get out of there, and I wanted to save him the explanation.
“Yeah, I’m feeling pretty tired, and it’s getting chilly.” It wasn’t getting chilly, but Elle, and everyone else around me, were always concerned that I would catch a cold. “Let me make a quick bathroom stop beforehand. My bladder doesn’t want to be friends with the house wine.”
Fifteen minutes later, we were in a taxi on our way back home. Dean hailed a cab for Elle first—and paid for it—and again, I was met with her angry eyes, the ones that demanded I chain him to a basement and convince him to marry me.
When we were in the taxi, I turned to Dean to ask him what happened.