I hated high school; I hated the people in it. I hated the fakeness behind every face, the way Sera and I were constantly judged. Yeah, my best friend’s fat, who the fuck cares?
But they all did, all the royalty that were the popular kids in school. I wonder where those fuckers are now. And then there was Dean Carter, gangly tall, although shorter than he is now, but only by a few inches. His skin was a bit worse for wear, and he looked like he couldn’t pick up a football, let alone throw it huge distances.
All it took to hook me in was a genuine smile.
I’m not Sera, and I know that male-kind – men and boys alike - enjoy looking at me. I’ve seen the leery and sleaze; I’ve seen the predatory gazes of men who are used to getting what they want and I don’t touch those fuckers at all.
Dean was different – at least back then he was. The corner of his mouth hitched up at me like it was waving a quick hello and his eyes stayed glued to my face instead of dropping down the new curves of my body. His eyes fluttered closed, and the smile went away, and when he looked up at me again, it was like I was watching a stranger waving goodbye from a lonely island.
He hiked up one shoulder and ran his hand through his much shorter hair and gave me a tired wink, like we were both in on some secret. I frowned at him and bit my tongue so I wouldn’t say anything stupid.
He wore dark-wash jeans that were too big for him, and his shirt didn’t sit right at the shoulders and billowed around his ribcage and abdomen. Dean’s green eyes are the stuff that screenwriters focus on and dream about and I had the good fortune to stare at them for countless hours when we decided we were going to be together.
He couldn’t kiss for shit, though, and I had to teach him what I liked and what I didn’t like, but he was always patient and attentive and never made me feel like a whore for wanting what I wanted.
And then we decided we were going to be each other’s firsts and it all went downhill after that.
My phone chirps under my pillow, and I jackknife up on the bed, heart pounding, cheeks burning at being caught thinking about Dean. As if he’s lurking outside, somehow knowing that I was thinking about him.
I scramble to get to it before it lets another chirp, swearing that it’s been lost in the sea of sheets and blankets and papers that I sleep with so I can be on my A-game at work the next morning.
“Hello? HELLO?” I yell into my phone, free hand searching for the light on my nightstand. Shit, there goes my body lotion – I probably cracked the bottle and have to go fishing for it under the bed once this call’s over.
“Hey, sweetums,” Dean coughs. I pull the phone away from my ear, and look down at the call display. He’s put his caller ID as ‘Handsome Devil’. “I’m hoping I didn’t wake you, although it’s an absurdly early hour to be going to sleep,” he says, and there’s some sort of wind interference on his side of the line that means he’s walking outside.
Christ, I hope no one hits him with a car.
“It’s eleven thirty, Dean, what the hell are you doing calling me?”
“I decided to call and get the deets for tomorrow night.”
My right eye starts twitching so the world jiggles on that side. I close both eyes, but the little dance my eyelid is doing hasn’t gotten the memo.
“Why didn’t you just text me? I could’ve been sleeping!” I throw an arm in the air and plop down on my goose-feather-down duvet. The smack against the sheets goes a long way to soothe my soul.
“Could’ve means you weren’t. You’re just mad that I called you.”
“You’re starting to piss me off,” I snap. I’m so tired, and I can’t deal with this right now. “I’ve got to be in the office real early tomorrow morning and you’re cutting into my hot-monkey-sex with Jax Teller dream-land time. Cut to the fucking chase.”
“Do you always swear this much? Or is it something I bring out?”
“I’m four seconds away from launching my phone across the room.”
“I don’t remember you being this violent. I really don’t. You were always just the sweetest.”
My mouth pulls a quick smile together without me wanting it to. “Shut up, Dean.”
“What time do you finish work tomorrow? You want us to spend time together for your ‘so-called’ apology. Since I know how you drive, I’ll be the one securing a vehicle. I’d like to know when I can come pick you up,” Dean says. More wind whistles through his phone and I shiver like I’m standing right next to him in my undies and tank.
I sigh because tomorrow’s going to be a long day. “If I’m lucky, I could be outta there by seven.”