“I didn’t catch your name.” He dips a piece of the pretzel in the cheese sauce and looks at me. Our eyes meet and heat rushes through me again, settling between my legs. We’re talking, having a nice time, but I know Dean’s intentions weren’t to come here to make a friend.
He’s here to take someone home, and right now, that someone is me.
I already told him I graduated from Cunt University, and chances are I won’t see this handsome man again after tonight. There’s no harm in having a little fun, right?
I push my hair behind my ear, aware that Dean just checked out my breasts for the second time. “I’m Blaire.”Chapter 9Rory“Blaire from Canada,” Dean say, and the fake name is sultry on his lips. He smiles at me, and for a split second, I think my cover is blown, that he knows there is no way I’m actually from Canada and that CUNT is a bullshit lie. “I’m very glad you ditched your date tonight.”
I laugh, high-pitched and nervous. “Poor guy is probably heartbroken over it.”
“You said he lives with his parents?”
“Yep,” I laugh, shaking my head. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that. I lived with mine for the first year after I graduated college so I could save up my first year having an adult job, but bringing a date back to meet your parents…” I make a face and shake the head.
“Doesn’t really set the mood,” Dean laughs. I tear off another piece of the pretzel and push the plate to Dean. “Have the rest. I can’t eat anymore. And you were right. That was really good.”
“Do you want another drink?” He picks up the remainder of the pretzel and dips it in the cheese sauce.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Another glass of wine?”
I think for a second. “No. I haven’t had a Long Island in a while.”
“I haven’t either,” he chuckles, and orders me one when the bartender comes back.
“Are your brothers here tonight?” I ask, trying to surreptitiously wipe around my mouth, making sure I don’t have lipstick smeared on my face after eating.
“Not anymore. They had to go home to their wives and children.”
“Lame,” I laugh.
“Right?” Dean’s face breaks out in a smile, but his eyes don’t mirror the same sentiment.
“But also, not,” I go on, letting out a breath. “It would be nice to have a family. I mean, someday. In the far-off future.”
“The idea of it is nice,” Dean says, and the cocky confidence is gone for half a second. Then he inhales and angles his body toward mine, putting that sexy smirk back on his face like armor. “But for now, I enjoy my freedom.”
“Me too. Because as a single adult, I can go out and buy a cake whenever I want to, and no one can stop me.”
Dean doesn’t say anything for a good three seconds and then he laughs. “I have not taken full advantage of that. Though I did buy a pie today. And ate nearly half of it.”
“Good. I can have some when I go home with you and see what the hype is all about.”
“When you come home with me?” He actually looks shocked. Happily shocked, but shocked nonetheless.
Though he’s probably not as shocked as I am. I don’t feel like I’m living a lie, though, and it’s weird. I’m saying exactly what I want without the fear of repercussions. I’ve always been a people pleaser, trying to think one step ahead of what I say or do, overanalyzing how my behavior will affect someone.
I don’t want to upset anyone.
Or offend anyone.
Or act too weird, which is easy for me to do.
Being one hundred percent honest is liberating. Am I actually turning myself on? I think I am.
“I mean, if you want me to, that is.”
The smile is back on Dean’s face. “Let’s see where the night leads.”
I’m confident if I suggested we leave right now, he’d throw down money on the bar and whisk me away.
Another text comes through, vibrating my phone that’s face down on the bar. I flip it over and see it’s from Mason.
“Still not a boyfriend,” I joke and open my phone to read the text. “It’s my brother…warning me about a serial killer.” I roll my eyes and laugh. “It’s kind of his thing.”
“Serial killers?” Dean cocks an eyebrow.
“He prefers them, actually,” I go on, watching Dean’s reaction.
“Because of all the new documentaries or something?”
I laugh. “No, because he’s a…” I trail off, realizing I almost got myself caught. FBI agents are US citizens. I’m pretending to be Canadian. Dammit.
“A detective with a background in criminal psychology.”
“That’s intense.” The bartender brings our drinks, and Dean closes out his tab and leaves a generous tip. “Wait, there’s a serial killer we need to worry about?”
I wave my hand in the air. “According to him. He’s been forced to take time off from running after criminals after an injury and is obviously way too bored.”