And he says, “I know you do, pretty boy.”
I don’t know if that’s acceptance, or if it’s a ‘yeah you love her but I still hate you.’ I decide to treat it as the former.
Around eleven, I help him up the stairs and wait outside his bedroom door, listening to him wander around and change for bed. Then I knock. “You all right in there?” I call out.
“I’m fucking fine. Go to bed.”
Chuckling to myself, I duck into Allie’s childhood room, where Joe said I could crash in tonight. First thing I notice? The scent. Holy shit, it’s the scent. The mysterious fragrance that’s always surrounding Allie and that I can never place.
I wander over to her dresser and pick up a small vial of perfume. Or at least I think it’s perfume. The label is pale-blue and reads “Allie” in a pretty script font. What the fuck?
“Eva had it made for her.”
I jump in surprise, turning to find Mr. Hayes standing in the doorway wearing nothing but plaid boxers. I can’t help but gape at his chest. Dude’s in his late forties and suffering from MS, and he’s rocking a six-pack. I’m impressed. I guess that explains how he landed Allie’s smokin’ hot model mom. Shit, and it suddenly occurs to me that if this is how Allie’s dad looks now, she’s got expectations. I’m going to have to look forward to working out for the rest of my life.
At my blank look, he gestures to the perfume bottle in my hand. “My wife…AJ’s mom…she had a friend in France, this fruity-tooty fashion designer she worked with once. He knew a perfumer—is that what you call ’em? Perfumers?”
“I have no idea, sir.”
“Anyway, Eva’s friend gave her perfume one year, a scent made especially for Eva. AJ was green with envy, so for her twelfth birthday, Eva told her she was getting a special perfume for her too. My wife was sick at that point, real sick, so she was doing everything she could to make AJ happy. She asked AJ what scent she wanted, and AJ says—” he snorts in amusement “—strawberries and roses.”
I laugh too, because now it makes total sense why I could never figure it out. Roses and strawberries. Two completely different fragrances, yet somehow, when combined, they work. They’re Allie.
“She got six vials made. I think AJ might be down to three? I’m not sure. She’s very stingy with that shit. Doesn’t want it to run out, I guess.”
“So Allie has a French perfume that was created just for her? That’s kinda badass.”
He shrugs. “Eva spent a lot of time in France. Spoke French fluently too. She always wanted AJ to learn it, but AJ wasn’t interested.”
My heart squeezes. “She’s interested in it now.”
He looks surprised. “Yeah?”
I nod. “She’s trying to teach it to herself by watching a French soap opera.”
Mr. Hayes grins.
“I’ve watched two seasons with her.” I sigh ruefully. “It ain’t half bad.”
That gets me a full-blown laugh. It comes from deep in his throat, lighting up his blue eyes. “You ain’t half bad either, pretty boy,” he says, and then he walks out of the room.
*
Allie
I’m waiting for Dean in his room when he walks in on Sunday night. I would’ve picked him up from the airport, but he left his car in the short-term parking, so he drove back from Boston himself.
His green eyes soften when he sees me. “Hi.”
“Hi.” I hastily stand up, but neither of us makes a move toward each other. We’re standing five feet apart.
The distance is unbearable.
With a strangled noise, I throw myself in his arms and he catches me easily, his big hands settling around my waist and pulling me close. I bury my face against his chest and whisper, “Thank you for checking on him.”
“You’re welcome.” I feel his fingers thread through my hair. He tips my head back, forcing me to look at him. “He’s fine, babe. I promise. I think he just called the ambulance as a precaution. His wrist is a little sore, but that’s it. He’s totally, completely fine.”
I’d already heard all this over the phone, from both him and my father. But the reassurance and certainty in Dean’s eyes is what I needed to see. I hug him tighter as relief pours through me.
His lips brush my temple. Then he inhales deeply, as if he’s smelling my hair. “I missed you,” he murmurs.
“I missed you too.” Swallowing, I ease out of the hug and meet his gaze. “I don’t need any more alone time.”
A slow smile curves his lips. “Thank fuck.” He flops on the edge of the bed and tugs me into his lap. “I’ve been going crazy without you these past few weeks.”
“I know. But the time apart was good for me. I needed to take a look at my life, and to take a look at myself, just me, and not the me that’s always in a relationship. I needed to know I could be alone.”
“And can you?”
“Yes.” I scrape my fingers over the dark blond stubble on his movie-star jaw. “But I don’t want to be alone. I want to be with you.”
He kisses me. Soft and sweet, no tongue. Just his lips brushing mine, over and over again until I’m whimpering for more. Just when I part my lips to invite his tongue, he pulls away.
“Wellsy said you’re thinking of turning down the Fox pilot.” There’s a chiding note in his voice.
“Argh. Why is everyone giving me shit about this?” I sigh. “I haven’t made my decision yet.”
“But you’re planning on turning it down.”
I hesitate. Then nod.
It’s his turn to sigh. “I know why you’re doing it, babe, and I’m sorry, but I can’t let you.”
I blink and I’m off his lap, my butt hitting the mattress. Dean walks over to where he dropped his coat. He reaches inside one of the pockets and his hand emerges with an envelope.
Oh no. Stupid aliens are déjà vu’ing my brain again.
He slaps the envelope in my hand and says, “Open it.”
I open it without a word, and yep, I find the same fucking thing that Sean tried to give me. Confirmation numbers for two flights to Los Angeles. For crying out loud. Do all guys share one brain or something? Like a collective consciousness that causes them to make the same bone-headed moves?
“You’re not coming to LA with me,” I inform Dean.
He looks startled.
“I’m not turning down the part because I don’t want be away from you. I’m—”
“The ticket isn’t for me.”
“—turning it down because—” I stop. “Wait, what?”
“It’s not for me,” he explains. “It’s for your dad. I know you don’t want to be away from him. So I figured instead of you giving up your dream to stay on the east coast with him, you keep the dream and he comes to the west coast with you.” Dean shrugs. “I already ran it by him and he’s on board. He said he’ll start looking for a place to rent once you give him the word.”
I’m…shocked. I can’t help but remember the day at the coffeehouse with Sean, when he insisted on coming with me. And now here’s Dean, insisting on me going without him.
My dad was wrong. And right. He was right and wrong. Dean fell apart, yes. But maybe he needed to fall apart in order to learn that life isn’t perfect, that bad things do happen and you can’t stop living when they do.
Smiling, I hand the envelope back to him. “I’m turning down the project.”
He looks annoyed. “Allie-Cat—”
“Not because of my dad,” I cut in, “although I’m glad to know he’s willing to relocate if I do end up working in LA. I’m turning it down because the project isn’t right for me. I don’t connect with the role. And the contract requires me to commit to seven seasons if the show takes off. I’m not signing away seven years of my life to play a part I can’t stand.”
“Oh. Well, fuck. I guess I should’ve asked you before I bought these non-refundable tickets, huh?”
“You think?”
Chuckling, he yanks me back in his lap, and I wrap my legs around
his hips and my arms around his neck. I try to kiss him, but he speaks before my lips can connect with his.
“I made some decisions too.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Oh really? Like that?” When his cheeks turn pink, I pounce immediately. “Holy shit, are you blushing? Okay, now I’m really curious. What’s going on?”
“I’m, ah…gonna be a gym teacher.”
My jaw falls open. “Seriously?”
He looks embarrassed. “I spoke to Coach Ellis about my options. Turns out private schools play it fast and loose with the requirements you need to teach there. I don’t need a degree in education, but it helps. And when I was in New York, I hopped on the phone with the admissions officers at NYU and Columbia. Both told me the same thing—I can upgrade my degree. It’s just an extra year of classes, kinesiology, health and wellness, that kind of stuff. But I’d be able to teach at the same time, depending on the school that hires me.” He shifts awkwardly. “I did something crappy.”
“Uh-oh. What did you do?”
“I used the Di Laurentis name with those admissions officers.”
I fight a laugh. “Oh sweetie, that’s okay. It’s for the greater good, right?” Because Dean working with kids is good, damn it. He could really make a difference. He could help those kids build confidence, become better athletes, better people.
“And then I spoke to the new hockey coach at my prep school and asked him to let me know if there are any openings in the private school sector, either for a PE teacher or a coach.” He sounds excited now. “There’s an opening for both at a school in Manhattan, grades one to eight. The job would start in the fall. Phys. Ed classes for all grades, and coaching the girls’ hockey team.”
“Girls?” I grin. “That should be fun.”
“I think I might interview for it.”
“Damn right you will. If this is what you want to do with your life, then it’s what you need to do.” I pause as something occurs to me. “Wait. Does that mean you’re not going to law school? Did you tell your parents?”
“Yes and yes. That’s why I went to New York this weekend. I sat down with my dad and we talked for hours. Did the same thing with Nick later, before you called me to check on your dad. They were both really supportive.”
I’m not surprised. Dean’s family is awesome. “I’m proud of you,” I announce.
“I’m proud of me too.” He nuzzles my cheek before planting kisses along my jaw. Then he sucks on my neck and pleasure ignites between my legs.
Oh sweet Moses. It’s been way too long since we had sex. Almost a month. Or maybe more than a month? God, I can’t remember. The feel of his warm, wet lips traveling along my throat is turning me on beyond belief.
“Dean,” I murmur.
“Mmm?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.” He licks the shell of my ear.
“But I don’t want you right now.”
His head jerks up, his expression beyond insulted. “Can you repeat that please?”
“I don’t want you.” I flash an impish grin. “I want Little Dean.”
My boyfriend throws his head back and laughs. Then he unzips his pants and gives me exactly what I want.
35
Dean
April
Graduation is looming. I’m kinda indifferent to it, if I’m being honest, but whatever, I’ll wear that cap and gown and throw my diploma up in the air, because I know it’ll make my parents happy. Me, I’m just happy in general, because I’m in love with the greatest girl in the world, and the greatest girl in the world is in love with me.
And even though the team didn’t make it to the playoffs, that doesn’t mean there isn’t any news on the hockey front. My man Logan was signed by the Providence Bruins, the farm team for the Boston Bruins, which means in a year or two? He might actually get called up to play for the pros. As for Garrett, his agent is working hard behind the scenes. Apparently several teams have shown interest in G, and I’m crossing my fingers that he ends up somewhere good.
I already know where I’m ending up—Manhattan. Last week, I interviewed for the teaching position at Parklane Academy. Yesterday morning, the headmaster called to tell me I got the job. It’s a two-year contract, the second year conditional upon whether I upgrade my degree.
And I guess my sister is on to something about her universe theory, because an hour after my call with Parklane Academy? Allie’s agent phoned with news that made her shriek so loud that Garrett heard her all the way from his shower and flew into my room buck-naked, armed with a hockey stick.
Once we assured him everything was okay—and commented on how pretty his dick looked—Allie revealed she’d been offered a role on a cable show being developed by hotshot director Brett Cavanaugh, who she did a play with last summer. No audition necessary—Cavanaugh liked working with her so much that he offered her the role outright. The best part? The show is being filmed in New York City.
Allie says she still wants to do theater too, when the show is on hiatus, or if it bombs, which I don’t think it will. But the most important thing to her is that she wasn’t cast as the ditzy airhead. This new role is serious and “meaty”, as she likes to say, and I know she’s looking forward to the challenge.
“What if I have to show my boobs?”
Her wry voice jolts me from my thoughts. We’re walking hand-in-hand on the path leading away from the drama building, where her monologue class just let out. There’s still a chill in the air, but everything is starting to look green again, and the snow has melted away, leaving a layer of slush on the cobblestone path.
“Did Ira say that?”
“No, but this is HBO. Chances are, they’ll ask me to do nudity. At least a topless scene.”
“Would you be okay with that?” I ask carefully.
She shrugs. “As long as it’s not gratuitous, then sure, I’d consider it.” There’s a pause. “Would you be okay with it?”
I cast her a devilish grin. “Babe, your tits are fan-fucking-tastic. I’d never deprive the world of them.”
“Be serious. Would you mind?”
I consider it, then shake my head. “I’m cool with it. It’s part of your job, and if you’re comfortable flashing some skin, then so am I.”
She leans in and smacks her lips against my cheek. “You’re awesome. You know that?”
“Of course I do. I hear it at least ten times a day.”
Her answering laugh is cut short when a familiar figure steps into view. My shoulders go rigid as Allie’s ex-boyfriend slowly approaches us.
Sean stares at our joined hands. I don’t need to look at Allie’s face to know what she’s feeling right now. I can tell by the way her fingers tighten around mine that she’s not happy to see him. That she hasn’t forgotten all the callous shit he said to her after Thanksgiving.
“Hey, Allie.” Sean looks miserable, but I don’t have an ounce of sympathy for him. “I thought about calling you.”
“Don’t,” I say brusquely. “You need to forget her number.”
Allie gives me a reassuring squeeze. “We already said everything we needed to say,” she tells her ex. Her tone is soft, but firm.
Sean clears his throat. “I owe you an apology.”
“Yep, and you’ve just made it and I accept. But we’re not friends and we won’t be.” She moves forward. I’m reluctant to do the same. I’m aching to punch that bastard in the face, but Allie is pulling me away from him, her fingers laced tightly through mine. “He’s not important,” she murmurs to me.
She’s right. He isn’t.
We’ve barely taken five steps before I spot another familiar face. This one belongs to a hot blond who smiles and waves as she passes us. “Looking good, Di Laurentis.”
I don’t return the compliment, because I like having balls and Allie will rip them off if I flirt with Michelle. Besides, I don’t want to flirt. Allie’s killed that desire. She’s the only one I want to flirt with. Plus I like having my balls att
ached to my body.
So I just say, “Nice to see you” and continue along.
“I guess this is the day of the exes, huh?” Allie says dryly.
I roll my eyes. “Michelle’s not an ex.”
“Right. She’s just someone you had a threesome with.”
“Almost had a threesome with. You cockblocked me, remember?”
“Yep.” She looks pleased with herself, and I pretend to pout. “Ha. Don’t act like I ruined your one chance for a threesome. I’m sure that wasn’t your first rodeo.”
I offer a little shrug.
“Fucking hell. How many threesomes have you had?”
This time I wink. “A few. You?”
“Tons.”
I stiffen. “Names and dates,” I growl. “I need to make a new Kill Bill list.”
Allie bursts out laughing. “Relax. You were there for all of them.”
A frown touches my lips. Uh, I think I’d remember being in a threesome with—
“You, me, and Winston,” she says happily.
I groan in exasperation. “That doesn’t count.”
“Sure it does. DP was involved.”
Hell yeah it was.
*
An hour later, we’re back at my place. It’s Allie’s turn to pick a movie, which means I have time to take a shower, because it always takes her a ridiculously long time to decide what she wants to watch. I wander into the living room ten minutes later to find her snuggled under an afghan, fiddling on her phone.
Her mouth falls open when she sees me. “Oh my God, Dean. Why are you naked?”
“I don’t like shirts.”
“What about pants?” she squawks. “Got something against those too?”
I cross the room and drop my naked ass on the couch, then grab the edge of the blanket and throw it over my lower body. Allie watches me in amusement.
“What?” I say defensively.
“I’ve never met anyone who’s so anti-clothes. It’s so weird.”
I take her hand and bring it under the blanket. Placing it directly on my semi-hard dick. “Weird, or awesome?”
She rubs her thumb around the head of my cock, then sighs. “Awesome,” she amends.
“So what’d you pick?” I gesture to the TV screen, all the while enjoying the slow, lazy strokes beneath the blanket.