Stop it.
You’re Blaire from Canada. This is a one-night stand.
Though sitting here, cuddled up in front of a fire next to Dean…it feels like the start of something more.Chapter 12Rory“Are you hungry?” Dean tightens his arm around me.
“A little. Are you?”
“The answer to that will always be yes.”
I twist around, turning to face him. We’re still cuddled up together on the couch, keeping warm by the fire. “I believe you mentioned pie.”
His full lips pull up in a smile. “I did. There’s half of it left.”
“Well then, I think we should finish it.”
“I think we should too.” He runs his hand over my hair and starts to sit up. “I’ll get something for you to put on, though I’d prefer you to remain naked.” He wiggles his eyebrows and I laugh. He kisses my forehead before getting up, and I admire his tight ass as he disappears up the stairs. I sit up, brush my messy hair back, and run my fingers under my eyes in case I have any smeared mascara.
Then I lean back, sticking one leg out from under the blanket. The fire cracks and one of the logs split, tumbling down the little pile. Embers fly out, sizzling on the marble hearth. The soft light illuminates the room, and I take a minute to look around.
This whole house is impressive, and I remember Dean saying he brings clients here to show off what his contracting company is able to do, which makes sense to have everything be top-of-the-line. It’s well-decorated and very tidy.
But it almost feels temporary. Like he’s just staying here and not really living here. Not that I think he’s lying about this being his house or anything. No, it’s his house. But it’s not his home.
I hear him walking around upstairs and I smile, letting my eyes fall shut again. Though this time, a weird feeling starts to grow in the pit of my stomach.
I don’t know why. This night is going way better than I ever expected a one-night stand to go. We had mind-blowing sex. I enjoy talking to him. And now he’s getting me clothes so he can feed me pie.
So why do I feel this knot forming.
I think it’s because of all that: the great sex. The way we get along. The pie helps, but it doesn’t really matter. But I do know one thing for sure. I don’t want this to be our only night.
Stop it, Rory.
This is why I’ve never had a one-night stand before. I have a hard time separating sex from emotion, so until tonight, I’ve only slept with guys I was already emotionally invested in. My track record isn’t the best, with ten out of ten relationships failing, but I’m a romantic.
It’s how I roll.
And it’s how I have to roll out of here in the morning. It’s getting late, and with the roads being icy, I don’t think Dean will want to take me back to get my car tonight. I’m sure I’ll stay, and once the sun comes up in the morning, I’ll have some new perspective and won’t feel the same about Dean then.
I hope.
“Is this okay?” Dean comes back into the room and holds out a pair of black sweatpants and a white t-shirt. He’s wearing light gray sweatpants and I want to fuck him all over again.
“Yeah. Thank you.” I take the clothes and pull the t-shirt over my head and step into the pants.
“We can eat in here,” Dean says, sweeping his hand to the living room. “Stay by the fire. I’ll be right back.”
I settle back into the couch, looking at the flames again as Dean gets the pie. He returns with the box of pie, two forks, two wine glasses, and a bottle of something dark red. He pours us each a glass and hands me one. I bring it to my lips, taking a small sip.
I’m no wine connoisseur, but all I know is this wine isn’t sweet. I try not to make a face.
I fail.
“Don’t like it?” Dean laughs, opening the pie box.
“I’m not really a fan of anything that tastes like alcohol,” I admit, wrinkling my nose.
“Ah, the red Moscato makes sense now. This Shiraz isn’t going to be for you then.”
I hike an eyebrow. “You know your wine.”
“Not really. My…my…someone I used to know liked wine. I went on wine tours with them.” He gets that distant look in his eyes again, like the thought is hurting him from the inside out. “I have a few other bottles in the fridge. I’m not sure what they are.” He shrugs. “I don’t drink wine, but I get it as gifts from clients a lot.”
“You must build some nice houses.”
“I like to think so.” He opens the box of pie and hands me a fork. We make small talk that’s anything but awkward as we eat, and Dean trades the red wine for something white and much sweeter.