“It is.”
Then he’s pulling away from the door and moving out to the kitchen, saying, “Gonna go eat.”
And I’m left wondering what the fuck just happened. I must have imagined it. I’ve obviously lost my marbles. That punch to my face has rattled my brain. He did not smilewickedly. He just smiled. A nice, platonic grin.
I am just imagining the sexual tension to try and distract myself from the fact that I am homeless. I have nowhere to go after this. I will need to start looking for apartments immediately.
Toeing the box Dean set on the floor with my shoe, I shake my head. I will organize all my crap later—right now, my stomach is rumbling. I haven’t eaten since last night and I am famished. I am like a crocodile. I need to gorge.
When I move into the kitchen, I see Dean sitting on a chair at a worn table, my food laid out next to his. Is this what it will be like living here with him? Sharing meals and tables and laundry machines?
I’m not sure I can handle this. It’s so…domestic.
“You alright?” he asks as I pull the chair out and plop down onto it, our knees hitting under the table.
“Yeah, I will be. This is just par for the course. I should have known they’d do that to my stuff. They were always a little…strange.”
Dean takes a bite of his hamburger, that strong jaw working back and forth.
“You tell me if you want me to set them straight.”
“Honestly,” I say, popping a french fry into my mouth and chewing. “I just want to forget we ever met. I’ll be a happier man that way.”
He wipes at his mouth, his dark eyes meeting mine. “You ever gonna tell me what happened? Why you got in a fight?”
I shove a huge bite of burger into my mouth, nearly choking, because I’m not sure I want to divulge that. It’s too embarrassing.
So, I just chew my way sloppily through the meal, not giving myself a chance to speak. Dean’s eyes watch me, twinkling at my antics.
Yes, well, laugh it up, buddy. I’d rather choke than tell you about what I like. I’m not sure you’d accept it and that scares me more than Nick coming after me with his fists.
When I’m finally done swallowing down my food, my stomach rolls a little. I’m stuffed full and I feel kind of nauseous.
“Did you even breathe?” he asks, still working on his food. God, he eats slow.
“It’s better to just inhale,” I reply, taking a sip of my lemonade. “And since when do you eat like a gentleman?”
“I always eat like a gentleman,” he replies, and I raise my eyebrows at him.
“You do not.”
He scoffs, leaning back in his chair, his large thighs stretched out before him.
“Yeah, I fucking do.”
Well, now I just want to crawl onto his lap and straddle him. If he knew the nasty thoughts I was having about him, he’d surely kick me out. So I clamp my mouth shut. I’m keeping those to myself.
“Well, what do we do now?” I ask when Dean leans forward and takes another small bite of his sandwich.
“I’ll finish up and then we can head back to work. Unless you want to stay here?”
I chew on my bottom lip, Dean’s eyes catching on the movement.
“I can do whatever. I still have payroll to do…”
“It can wait.”
I eye him and then nod. “Can I wash my clothes?” I ask because I feel like someone trampled all over them and I need to wash the violation away.
