When Smith walks away, I turn back to Dean to see his attention has shifted to Amy again. “She’s not worth it.”
“I’m aware of that,” he mutters, but after a beat he rolls his eyes and sighs. “I mean, I know intellectually.”
It was one thing to see Kace hung up on Amy after she left him—I mean, they were married. They had a child together. But seeing Dean hung up on her bothers me way more than I ever thought it would. I’m not sure I totally buy into whatever bro code says you can’t sleep with a buddy’s ex—there are exceptions for everything—but I don’t trust Amy’s motives. She used Dean for the rush of a wild, forbidden fling even though she knew he had feelings for her. Smacks of selfishness to me.
I wasn’t a fan of Amy’s before, but after the shit she pulled with Dean, I only tolerate her because she’s the mother of my amazing niece. I love Hope way too much to screw her up with family drama.
“I think you need a rebound fling,” I tell Dean, pulling my attention back to him.
He arches a brow. “And are you volunteering?”
I snort. “Yeah, right, Dean.” I’ve known him all my life. I knew him when he was an awkward preteen and his voice was changing. I knew him when he was chasing cheerleaders in high school. And I knew him when he went off to college and came home with more muscles than my hormonal teenage self could handle. As a heterosexual woman, it’s no surprise that I find Dean attractive—with his dark hair, soft brown eyes, trim beard, and that dimple—but as the chubby little sister of his best friend, I notice his attractiveness on an objective level and nothing more. I don’t let myself notice the way his jeans hang low on his hips or the way his shirt stretches across his pecs. I definitely don’t let myself gawk when he’s shirtless at my brother’s pool. I mean, almost never.
He shrugs. “It was worth a shot.”
I feel heat creeping up my neck and pray my cheeks are already red enough from the heat to cover the visible signs of my embarrassment. I’m not one of those girls who knows how to tease about sex or who can flirt just because it’s entertaining. Hell, I can’t even flirt when I want to.
Smithy slides my drinks—plural—in front of me, and I grab one with greedy hands and take a long, boozy drink.
Dean watches me with wide eyes. “You okay there, champ?”
I sigh. “I’m just missing the good old days when my girls didn’t ditch me for their guys.”
“Brinley and Stella stood you up?” He rotates his stool to face me. “What the fuck for?”
I shake my head. “No, no, nothing like that. They just don’t have time for girls’ night anymore.” I wave a hand. “Forget I said anything. How was your day?”
“It was fine. Long.” He closes his eyes and rubs his temples. When he opens his eyes again, I realize they’re red and a little puffy, as if he hasn’t been sleeping enough or he’s been stressed. Is he still losing sleep over Amy or is something else bothering him?
I nudge my second, untouched martini toward him. “Want a drink?”
He grins. “Don’t mind if I do.” He takes a large gulp then coughs, his eyes watering. “Holy shit. You didn’t tell me that was mostly vodka.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s a martini. Of course it’s mostly vodka. The only time martinis aren’t mostly vodka is when they’re mostly gin.”
He coughs again and waves a hand in front of his watering eyes. “Noted. Jesus. It looks so sweet and harmless with that sugar on the rim. I thought it’d be like lemonade.”
Laughing, I flick my tongue out to catch some of said sugar from my own glass but stop when I notice Dean watching me. I don’t want him thinking I’m such a sugar addict that I have to resort to licking the rim of my martini between sips, even if maybe that’s a little true. I put the glass down.
His gaze flicks back up to meet mine. “If you’re jealous of Brinley and Stella’s dates, why not get one of your own?”
“Where?” I ask without thinking. “Just pick one up at the store?”
Dean chuckles. “It’s been known to happen. What about that app my sister used to use?”
“Random?” I shudder. “I tried it a few times and have promised myself and my future children that I’ll never lower myself into that cesspool of dating despair again.”
He makes a face. “That bad?”
“Whatever you’re imagining, add in unemployment, body odor, and a porn addiction.”
Dean coughs on his martini again. “Jesus. Really?”
“And worse,” I mutter. Good thing it’s two-for-one martini night. If we’re going to rehash my dating life, Smithy’s gonna need to keep them coming.