Ruckus (Sinners of Saint #2)(74)
Rosie
Let me guess, you slept with Sue.
Dean
I think we're going to have an easier time if I give you a list of the women I haven't slept with in Manhattan than the other way around.
Rosie
Remind me why I'm having sex with you again?
Dean
Because no other man knows that in order to give you an earth-shattering orgasm, you want your nipple to be pulled at the exact same time I pinch your clit. Because you like me, maybe even love me, although I am willing to wait until you admit that to yourself. I can go on, shall I?
Rosie
God, Dean.
Dean
God and Dean are synonyms. Save battery power. Choose one next time you text me. What do you want to have for dinner?
Rosie
I made plans with Elle.
Dean
Not my favorite dish, but it's not going to tamper with our plans. Elle can join us. I'll book us a place at The Red Hill Tavern for eight.
That was before he sent me flowers.
Although, to be completely honest, calling what he did sending me flowers was like calling the Pacific Ocean a small puddle. There were a thousand-maybe more-roses in all colors arriving in chunks. Vans double-parked in front of the café, and honestly, I was starting to get a little irritated with the amount of tips I had to pay all the delivery guys.
"If I swoon any harder over your boyfriend, I will give birth to a freaking ovary right here and now," Elle threatened, plucking card after card from the dozens of reds, whites, and pinks that filled the café with the alluring scent of freshness and nature. They all had one word and said the same thing.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
A harem of customers vocally wondered what the occasion was, and when Elle answered them, they begged me for a picture of my boyfriend. After I showed them his Facebook profile picture-of him puffing on a cigar, his legs crossed over his office desk in a sharp suit in black and white, they proceeded to tell me that if I won't marry him within the next year, I was a hopeless idiot, because the man is obviously perfect.
I tended to agree.
Millie and I spent last night talking on the phone for three hours. She was on her honeymoon in the Maldives sipping virgin cocktails in a swimsuit, but still found the time to humor me. Mama and Daddy made zero effort to patch things up with me, and I didn't reach out to them either-not until they gave up the stupid idea of me moving back to Todos Santos-but I loved hearing all about Millie's cravings and how her lower abdomen was hard and swollen. Or how she caught Vicious almost shedding a tear at their ultrasound appointment they had, even though he said that he had something in his eye.
Big softy.
I then told her just how much I liked Dean, confessing that my love for him was over a decade old. She cried when she heard how much heartache it had caused me to see them together, but I think it was the hormones because she also cried when I gave her a mini-spoiler about the next episode of Keeping Up With the Kardashians. She told me that Vicious claimed Dean's interest in me was genuine and sincere, and I didn't want to tell her that I already knew, because her ex-boyfriend and I shared more than just small talk back when they were together. Things that didn't include words. Or touching. Things that tortured and taunted us to the point we drove each other crazy.
Then she mentioned that Dean had a fling with Sue, and I simply had to stick my nose into the subject.
When Dean proclaimed me as his girlfriend on our Facebook pages-how the hell had he done that, I had yet to find out-he meant every word. He hadn't gone through all this hassle to fool around with other people behind my back.
I shook my head and landed back on planet Earth, grabbing a steamy mug from the dishwasher underneath the bar and wiping it dry.
"Pushy Dean invited himself to our dinner tonight," I told Elle, and her grin was so wide it was contagious. Or at least that was what I'd convinced myself of when my cheeks hurt from smiling.
"You think his hot, vain ass is going to pig out on pizza with us?" she asked. Elle had given up on her skinny-bitching diet since the bakery down the street reopened. I shook my head.
"He is booking us a reservation at The Red Hill Tavern."
"That's crazy expensive!"
"I don't think he expects us to pay."
"I think he expects you to pay in sexual favors."
I didn't want to say anything, but deep down, I was already waiting for the check.
The good news: the HotHole was charming Elle's socks off.
The bad news: he swept me off my feet in the process, too.
I watched them wordlessly, twirling the prawns and pasta with my fork as Elle hooted loudly time after time when Dean said something funny or asked her a question, or was just generally his charismatic, engaging self.
I'd never been to The Red Hill Tavern before, mainly because I couldn't afford it, but even if I could, who had time to book a place three months in advance? Especially seeing as health complications constantly put a damper on my plans. I never knew when I had to shut the door and hide away from the world or sit on the bed with a giant vest for hours at a time, waiting for my lungs to play nice with the rest of my organs.