Unless it’s the private kind.
I feel my cheeks heating up at the memory. I swear, our sex life is off-the-charts hot, but I’d expect no less from the man who was once the biggest manwhore at Briar University. As far as sexual partners go, Dean is…spectacular.
More than that, I couldn’t ask for a better partner, period. He’s attentive, sweet, funny. He even gets along with my dad, which is a huge feat, because Dad is a cranky curmudgeon.
“He’ll probably be there, but it depends on his schedule.” I shrug. “The hockey team he coaches has a bunch of weekend tournaments once we’re back from Boston, but hopefully that doesn’t stop him from at least making an appearance.”
“Good. And I expect you at the after-after party too,” Trevor says firmly, dark eyes twinkling. “Seraphina, Malcolm, and I are going clubbing.”
“Ha. I’m not making any promises. Let’s see how drunk you maniacs get at the wrap party before I decide if I’m following you down the after-after party rabbit hole.”
“No. You have to come. Who knows when we’ll get a chance to get our dance on again.” He gives an exaggerated pout.
He has a point, though. It’s hard to say we’ll keep in touch after the show ends. We only met this year, and once we’re done filming, he’ll go back to LA and I’ll stay here in New York. Hollywood friendships tend to be fickle and fleeting.
“I’ll think about it,” I tell him. “Now shoo. I need to change and scrub off this makeup.”
“Have fun this weekend. Love you, babe.”
“Love ya.”
After he’s gone, I quickly change into my street clothes and wipe the makeup from my face. My skin feels raw and looks red and dry when I examine it in the mirror. Frowning, I slather moisturizer all over it. I better not be splotchy for the wedding. That would be unacceptable.
Outside, there’s a black town car waiting for me. Everyone involved in the production has access to the studio’s car service, but it needs to be booked in advance. When I approach the curb with my rolling suitcase, the driver quickly rounds the vehicle to take my bag.
I greet him with a warm smile. “Hey, Ronald.”
“Heya, Allie,” he says easily. He’s one of our regular drivers, and my favorite one. “The itinerary says you’re going to the airport?”
“Yes, please. Teterboro,” I say, naming the private airport where billionaires and celebrities slip in and out of the city unnoticed.
“Fancy!” he teases, his eyes twinkling.
I feel myself blushing. Dating Dean comes with perks that go beyond attention and great sex—like the private jet his parents bought a couple of years ago. Yup. The Heyward-Di Laurentis brood owns a jet now. For years they’d been flying back and forth between their Connecticut and Manhattan homes and their place in St. Barth’s, so frequently that Dean’s dad, Peter, decided it made “fiscal sense” to purchase a jet. I can’t even.
Not that I’m complaining. As Dean’s girlfriend, I’m wealthy adjacent. Which means I have access to the family jet if it’s not in use. So far, I’ve only flown on it twice, and the one time I tried asking Dean’s mom, Lori, how much I owed them for the flights, she laughed at me and told me not to worry about it. I’m terrified of how much it must cost to fuel an entire jet, but Dean assured me that a one-hour flight to Boston wasn’t going to break his parents’ bank.
Ronald and I chat on the drive, while I simultaneously text with Hannah Wells, my best friend. Since she and her boyfriend live in Boston already, they didn’t have to travel for the wedding. Dean and I are crashing at their place for the weekend, but Dean went a couple of days ahead of me.
ME: In the car, going to the airport now. I can’t wait to see you, Han-Han.
HER: OMG me too. I miss your dumb face.
ME: Not as much as I miss YOUR dumb face.
I text Dean next to let him know where I’m at.
ME: On my way to the airport. See you in a bit.
DEAN: Be safe.
DEAN: Can’t wait to fuck you.
I swallow a laugh. I used to be caught off guard by the frank way he talks about sex, but these days I’m used to it.
And if I’m being honest with myself, I sorta kinda love it.
13
Dean
Allie gets in around nine. Even though she ate dinner on the plane, Hannah forces her onto a stool at the breakfast counter while Garrett makes omelets. It feels like old times again. Our college days. I didn’t realize until this very moment how much I missed seeing my friends every day.
The last time we all got together was six months ago when Garrett was playing the Islanders. Hannah tagged along, and the four of us had dinner with Allie’s dad at a restaurant in Brooklyn. And either I conjured this up in my dirty head, or a naked puck bunny broke into Garrett’s hotel room that weekend and accidentally wound up groping a sleeping Hannah instead.