I give him a chin lift like I’ve seen all the SAMCRO dudes do on the show, and then feel stupid because my Dad would hit me upside the head if he could see my manners right now. Of course, Dad doesn’t come out of the house much anymore, and that’s a moot point.
“I think it’s better if we start talking, no? Otherwise, we’re both gonna go crazy and start climbing the walls.”
I nod at his wisdom, then skitter my glance away from him. Shit, I momentarily forgot how freaking cute he is. I don’t think he holds a candle to the badassness and sheer panty-moistness factor that Hunter MacLaine has, but this guy has caught my eye, and while I’m here, I’m going to secure my prospect.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, because well, I did hit him with my car, and even if he seems all fine and dandy, I’m not sure what the MRI is going to show.
“Not too bad. Got a whopper of a headache, though. Feels like my eyeballs want to bust out of my skull by way through my nasal passage,” he says. It takes a second for the visual to hit my brain, for me to really understand what he just said, and the way his mouth pops open in a little O of surprise has me wanting to grin.
He runs a hand through his hair again, then drops it to his lap. I watch him straighten his shoulders, completely dwarfing the hospital chair, and the wall at his back. I think, back in the day, they could’ve used him to plough the fields instead of an ox. He does that funny throat-clearing thing again, then sticks out his hand for a shake.
“I’m Dean, and thanks for not splitting my head open,” he says, not sarcastically but with a genuine thank you. Just like that, I feel like utter shit, and try to calm down all my awesomeness.
I did hit the guy with my car, and scramble-egged his poor brain.
I free my hand from my phone – my phone! – and put us palm to palm and do the whole business handshake thing.
You can tell a lot about a person by their handshake, especially as a woman. Man to man, I’m not too sure what goes on there, other than trying to convince the other guy that your dick is larger than theirs.
Man to woman is a whole other ballgame. If the guy’s truly a dick supreme, he’s going to make you feel skeevy when you grab a hold of his hand for a business shake, like, your very flesh will crawl even if the fucker isn’t doing anything but trying to get a glimpse down your blouse. Woman to woman can either be extremely friendly or bullshit. I’m still trying to navigate my way through that minefield.
But Dean holds my hand with authority and a respect I can feel through my fingers and up my arm. Even all my guy friends, Eli, Josh, Alex and Russia, don’t shake my hand like that. I’m a bro, and a potential piece of ass with a shelf life if they don’t find anyone in the next five years to settle down with and get married to, and it comes through in their handshake. Dean pumps my hand up and down, then let’s go of me quick and easy like he’s been practicing the art his entire life.
Huh.
My phone makes a dying duck sound as it vibrates against the arm of the chair through my pocket and I actually jump in my seat. I’ve never been skittish, nor have I ever been absorbed so much in a meaningless conversation that I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings. Dean just made me forget about my phone and no one has been able to do that in a very long time. Shit, even his name is familiar, but that could just be the whole Supernatural thing Sera’s always talking about.
“Sorry,” I say, getting my phone out. I feel my face split into a wide smile as Sera has sent me a picture of Matty, my almost-nephew, blowing me a kiss. Sometimes, looking down at that kid’s face, yeah, I can see myself wanting kids, but that’s another conversation to have with myself on another day. Her text is laced with concern.
First off, you okay? Second off, is the dude you hit okay, or did he Man of Steel contort Roxanne? Thirdly, I’m coming to see you – should be there in twenty minutes.
“Got a good text...?” Dean asks when I look up. Then I have a seizure of an epiphany, poor dude doesn’t know my name!
“I’m Katie, the psycho bitch who hit you with her car. And broke your skateboard. And may or may not have given you a concussion.”
Dean bites his lip, then runs his fingers through his hair again, bringing all my attention to his humongo bicep. Pretty sure it’s half the size of my face. He catches me staring, and when I give him my sauciest smile in return, the guy blushes! Blushes!
Dean shakes his head, looks down at his feet, and stretches out his long legs, so ours are almost touching under my seat, where my ankles are crossed. Woah. I don’t mind him invading my personal space, and I’d rather it be sooner rather than later. He must be an awesome cuddler, just snuggling you all up.