Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Swallowing hard, I once again fail to pull away when I know I should. “I mean…I’m not anyone’s, really. Brody and I…like you noticed…aren’t really a thing anymore. So I’m…sort of available?”
His fingers dig into my back. "Are you fucking with me, princess? Because if you're playing a game with me, then I'll play back."
I shiver. "I'm not playing anything. You know and I know that Brody and I are over. There's no need for either of us to pretend otherwise."
"Then why did he tell me he was bringing his girlfriend to Thanksgiving?”
I shrug, trying to ignore the butterflies in my belly. "It's complicated."
He grunts, backing away from me and gathering the plates once more. I want to ask him to come back, to be close again, but I keep my mouth shut. How many times are we going to skirt the edges of what's appropriate like this?
"I think it's a lot less complicated than you're letting on, princess, but I'm not going to argue. Let's go eat in the living room."
He gestures with his head, and I follow, sitting down on the couch as Dean turns on the TV. I get all of the food out of the brown paper bag, arranging it on the coffee table while he scrolls through the options for entertainment. We settle on a new release on one of the streaming services, something sort of scary, and finally get down to eating.
I check my phone again. Still no Brody. Oh well. I'm starving.
Dean watches me carefully as I load my plate. I pile it high, and he raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment. I can feel him staring at me, but I refuse to be embarrassed. After a moment, he does the same, and I relax, sitting the plate in my lap while I eat about a foot away from Dean.
He's got great taste, and the Chinese food is phenomenal. I tell him so, and he barely smiles again. Ugh. What does it take to get some humor from this guy?
"Thanks, princess. I'll tell the chef."
I'm a little disappointed, honestly. He'd been flirty and fun and sexy. Now he's right back to his normal self. The grouchy, grumpy, uncommunicative version. I don't know what to do with that. I'm not even sure why he keeps doing it.
The movie is just starting when Dean gets a text. He scowls, and that expression is all I need to see to know who is messaging him. "Is that Brody?"
"It's Brody. He's at the bar," Dean says, reading the text. "He's asking for a ride."
"A ride? He can't drive himself?"
"No. He's drunk. And apparently, his buddies are too. They're all wasted."
I roll my eyes. "Sounds like Brody. Are you gonna go get him?"
"Fuck no. I told him to figure it out himself." His tone is mocking. "He's a big boy after all."
I nibble at my bottom lip, cleaning up the food to burn off some of the nervousness I'm feeling. I don't blame Dean, but on the other hand, should I be more worried for Brody? Because I'm not. This night has been so cozy that I don't want it to end.
"I mean, if you think it's the right move..."
"It is. He knows plenty of idiots around here. He’ll be fine, and this can be his punishment for leaving you all alone."
"Punishment?" I laugh. "I can handle being alone, Dean."
"Sure, but it's still a dick move for him. You're his guest, and he's out fucking around instead of taking care of you. So it falls to me."
I pause in stacking plates, turning to face him. "So are you saying you're only spending this time with me out of obligation?"
His jaw tightens. "No."
"Because that would make a lot more sense than you wanting to spend time with me just because you want to."
Dean sighs. "Sit down, Delia."
Oh, no more princess? It's not a nickname he should be using for his son's ex-girlfriend, but I've started to like it. A lot. I do as he says and settle back onto the couch cushion, still a foot from Dean, but all of a sudden, it doesn't seem far enough.
"I can't pretend I don't want you," he grits out. "But I'm trying to be respectful of how fucked this situation is."
Flustered, I blurt out, “If it helps, the feeling is mutual.”
Dean goes silent.
I shake my head., thoughts all over the place. I gather all the dishes, my face burning, and start to put things into the sink. Did I really just admit to wanting him back? Dammit! I need some space. I need to get away from him before I do something I’ll regret. But then, I look back into the living room and the hot-as-fuck man sitting there all alone, his shoulders stiff. It makes my heart ache. He's been alone for a long time, I think.