“Dean,” I say, tossing my purse on the counter. “What are you doing?”
He looks up from the plate he’s currently loading with tater tots. It all smells amazing, but I’m not sure how I’m supposed to eat when we both know why he’s here. Or . . . I know the possibilities, at least. And both make my stomach crowded with nerves.
“I’m serving us dinner.” He puts the plate down, and his smile falls away. “Unless you already ate?”
I shake my head. “No. I didn’t.”
He skirts around the island and presses a firm, quick kiss to my lips. “Good,” he says, straightening. “So let me feed you.”
I fold my arms. “Listen, I know last night we kind of decided we were going to do this thing, but I think we both know the alcohol was talking. This is a bad idea.”
He digs through a couple more drawers until he locates a corkscrew, then he uncorks the wine and fills two glasses to the brim before turning and handing one to me. “Relax. I’m not here to debauch you.” He grabs his own glass and murmurs something I think might be “Not that I’d mind.”
I drain half my glass before remembering I skipped lunch today and it’s gonna go straight to my head. I’ve never felt so off balance around Dean.
“Sit,” he says, waving to the small table and four chairs that make up my dining room. “You’ve been on your feet all day. I’ll bring you your dinner.”
I obey, but only because I’m too nervous and don’t trust myself to speak. The butterflies in my stomach can’t decide if they want to flutter or riot.
Dean slides a plate of tater tots and a buffalo chicken wrap in front of me and then seats himself across from me with an identical dinner. “Now, I’d like to make a couple of things clear.”
Here it comes. He’s changed his mind. He’s come to his senses. I shouldn’t be so sick at the thought of him stopping this before it starts when that’s exactly what I did last night, and yet here I am. “Okay.”
“I wasn’t drunk last night. Not even a little. I had two sips of Kace’s fancy whiskey and a Diet Coke. Neither of those things had anything to do with my decision to kiss you or ask you to my place. I was really looking forward to you coming over.”
“You were?”
He coughs out a laugh. “Yeah. I thought I made that pretty clear when I had my mouth on yours, but maybe I need to do a better job of showing you next time.”
I take another ill-advised gulp of my wine. Maybe if I get the butterflies in my stomach drunk, they’ll pass out and leave me alone. “Okay.”
“But I think you’re right that it would’ve been a mistake to jump in that fast.”
I flinch. This conversation’s giving me whiplash. “I . . . Ooh-kay.”
He shoves his plate to the side and folds his arms on the table. “You want some confidence in bed, right?”
“In an ideal world.” I shrug, as if this is as normal as admitting I’d like to get more sleep.
“And I want . . .” He draws in a long, deep breath and plasters on a smile I don’t believe for a single minute. “I need to stay away from Amy.” He studies his wine for a beat as he chews on his lower lip. “She’s kind of toxic to me, and I’m realizing I might need some help not falling back into our old cycle. If that help could come in the form of seducing you”—his eyes blaze as he looks me over—“I can’t think of a faster road to getting my mind off her.”
The heat in his eyes is making it hard to think, but I grapple for rational thoughts. “So I’d be, like, your sober sponsor? Do I need to give you special tokens on every milestone you make it without hooking up with her again?”
He shrugs. “Token or . . . something else.” He winks. “My point is, I still want to do this, and I’m hoping you do too, but I shouldn’t have rushed you last night. I promise it won’t happen again.” He pulls his plate back in front of him and picks up his wrap in both hands. Then he eats as if everything is normal. As if we aren’t literally having a conversation about whether or not we’ll be fuck buddies for a while. “What?” he asks when I don’t stop staring.
“I can’t . . . You’re so casual about this.”
He arches a brow. “Am I?”
“Yes. I mean, it’s not like we’re agreeing to run to the store together. You’re acting like you’re going to help me pick out a new fridge or something. Is this . . . is it that simple to you?”