I give one sharp nod, then I’m running back up the stairs. I throw on some jeans, slip on a bra under my top, then I gr
ab my jacket and our phones before heading back down. Dean nods his thanks when I hand him his phone, and then we’re following Nick out the door, and into his Range Rover. The guys talk in low voices on the way to Jason and Ryan’s house, and I can’t hear anything but the occasional directions given in a computerized voice from Nick’s navigation system. I briefly wonder how Nick knew that Dean was with me. Maybe Johnny told him, or maybe we aren’t fooling anyone.
The twins live in a big Colonial style house, not far from Leclare. There are several cars parked in the driveway, and on the street in front, and it looks like all the lights in the house are on. I nerv
ously trail behind the guys as they let themselves in the house. They head for the winding staircase in the middle of a living room straight out of a magazine.
Ryan’s room is packed with big angry football players.
Ryan, himself, is livid. He stomps around the room, vibrating with tension. “Cops aren’t gonna do shit,” he bites out, and I realize he’s answering someone’s question. “The fuckers had hoods on.”
“And you can bet they have airtight alibis,” Big Mack growls. He’s sta
nding in the middle of the room with his massive arms crossed, looking like a thundercloud.
“So we take care of it ourselves,”
says Kris Russo, a big guy with a giant cloud of hair. He thumps a fist into the palm of his other hand, just like a bad movie thug.
I spot
Johnny lounging against the wall with his crutches, so I carefully make my way over to him. Someone grabs my ass on the way over, and jab an elbow into something solid. When I hear a pained grunt, I feel a little better.
“Hey,” Johnny says, glancing over when I take the space next to him.
“Hey, back. You okay?”
He looks exhausted
. There are dark circles under his heavy-lidded eyes, and he’s got a serious case of bed head. Looks good on him, though. Guys can get away with things like that, more than girls.
He lets his head fall back against the wall. “Just tired.”
I’m briefly distracted by Ryan’s raised voice. He’s shouting at both Dean and Mack, waving his arms around for emphasis. I wince, and turn back to Johnny. “How badly is Jason hurt?”
“He
got the shit beat out of him by those Larabee pricks. He’s only in the hospital ‘cause someone called the cops, and he was falling down drunk.” A bitter smile touches the corners of his mouth. “Not that I don’t know what that’s like.”
“You did,”
I say, giving him a sharp look. “Are you guys gonna retaliate?”
Johnny shifts
his weight uncomfortably, balancing with both crutches in front of him. “I don’t know. Did you have sex with Dean?”
“What?”
I turn my whole body to face him, my eyes big with shock at his sneaked-in question. “That’s—that’s none of your business!” I sputter, warmth splashing into my cheeks.
Johnny’s cerulean eyes stare into mine fo
r a few intense seconds before he finally drops his gaze to the ground. “You’re right,” he mutters. “I just can’t stop thinking about—never mind. Shit. Sorry.”
I’m really at a loss for words
, so I look down, too, feeling horribly uncomfortable. What is there to say or do when an ex-boyfriend asks you if you’ve slept with your current boyfriend—who also happens to be his stepbrother?
“You don’t have any right to ask me that,” I say under my breath to him. “How many girls have you slept with since we broke up?”
“None.”
When I whip my head up to stare at him in disbelief, he
shrugs again. “Don’t get me wrong—I haven’t been a saint—but I haven’t had sex since…before I met you.”
“Why?” I whisper.
“You know why.” Johnny looks away.
I take a deep breath, then let it out in a long sigh. “Johnny…”
I can’t think of anything to add after that, so I guess it’s fortunate that Ryan’s heated words interrupt us.
“Man, what
do you know about loyalty?” he spats at Dean. “We all know the reason’s Johnny’s so fucked up is ‘cause you’re banging Juliet! Ever heard of the saying ‘bro’s before ho’s?’”
Before the words have fully left Ryan’s lips, Dean slams into him
, barreling him past their startled friends and shoving him against the wall. He pins Ryan back with a forearm against his throat; the other hand is clenched into a fist, cocked and ready. I am transfixed by the sight. Dean’s face is dark with violence, his body tensed in fight mode. I barely recognize him like this—he kind of scares the hell out of me.
“Shit,” I hear Johnny mutter
. He arranges his crutches under his arms, and starts limping forward.
The guys propel into action, trying to get between the two. Ryan is making strange gurgling noises, and his eyes bulge frantically.
I don’t think even Mack can pry Dean off of him. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to. I can see the moment Dean regains control. His turquoise and gray/green eyes go blank, and he abruptly lets Ryan loose, taking a step back. Ryan drops to the ground, gasping.
“Chill, bro,” Mack says quickly, holding up his hands cautiously at Dean. “He didn’t mean it. He’s just pissed about his brother.” He sends a glare at Ryan. “Apologize,” he growls.
“Sorry, Juliet,” Ryan chokes out. His face is slowly starting to return to its normal color as he uses the wall to get back to his feet.
I feel like falling bonelessly to the carpet, and slithering away like a snake.
Instead, I raise my hand in acknowledgement. “Yeah,” I say unenthusiastically.
Johnny suddenly smacks Ryan in the back of his head with the end of one of his crutches. “That’s for saying I’m fucked up.” He scowls.
Dean’s eyes find mine. He moves towards me, grabs my hand, and tows me away. I don’t offer any resistance as he pulls me out of the room. Neither of us speak as he leads me outside. There’s a brick planter with sunny yellow flowers in the front of the house. Dean lets go of my hand, and sits down, his head bent low. I stand in front of him, waiting.
“Sorry,” he finally mutters. I watch his hands, resting on his lap, clench tightly.
“For what?” I force a laugh. “It’s not your fault I’m a ho.”
Dean glares at me. “You’re not a ho.”
He starts to look pissed all over again, so I quickly change the subject. “Do you think Ryan and the others will do something stupid, and go after those guys?”
Dean slowly shakes his head, staring off into the night. “Larrabee’s been baiting us
since school started, but so far Mack and I have been able to keep everyone in line. Now…I don’t know.”
I sit down next to him, scooting closer for warmth.
Dean doesn’t seem to notice. “Hey,” I say, nudging him. “If they do retaliate, that’s not on you. You can’t control them.”
He continues to stare off into space. “I hate not being in control,” he says flatly.
Strangely, I get the feeling he’s not talking about his teammates.
******
Chapter 45
Jason comes to school the next day with his head the shape and color of a plum. I wonder why he’s not at home, sleeping it off, but he totally seems to be enjoying the attention he’s receiving. Girls don’t fawn all over him like they do with Johnny, but
they seem to think his situation is romantic. According to Nick, Jason really does like the Larrabee player’s girlfriend. I’m not sure I believe it—I can’t really see him serious about anyone besides Ryan. Tanya keeps trying to corner me to learn the latest gossip. I’m running out of places to hide, and I seriously consider skipping Biology—wait, no, there’s a test today. Crap.
I am completely distracted in
AP Lit. I’m partnered with Sloane, and we’re supposed to be working together to answer a few essay questions on “Crime and Punishment”. Sloane is very quiet. She suggest we split up the questions, and answer them separately. I happily agree.
Except I’m still on the first question. Who was Alyona again?
Dean’s desk is a few inches away from mine. He looks so good—how was I ever able to concentrate with him in the room? I ogle him out of the corner of my eye: the way he has to sit, slightly hunched over in his seat because the desk is too small for his tall frame, the smooth long lines of his body…that amazing face of his. Seriously, he won the genetic lottery, or something. Perfection like that can’t just happen by accident, right? And how hot is it that he’s wearing the necklace I got for him—?
Something hits me in the side of my head, startl
ing me out of my drooling. It’s a crumpled up piece of paper. I look up, scowling. Ben grins at me, and makes an obscene gesture, cutting his eyes toward Dean. Dean smacks him in the back of his head with a book without even looking. I glance over at Mr. Shannon, who is discreetly picking at his bellybutton. I quickly turn away.
The need to touch Dean is almost like a physical sickness. I consider stretching my foot out, just to nudge against his, but I worry that Mr. Shannon will end up tripping over it—he likes to make the rounds once in a while. I know I’m squirming in my seat, and Dean keeps giving me sideways glances.
I can’t wipe the secret smile off my face.
After class, instead of heading off with Sloane, he grabs my arm and
moves me against the wall, out of the hallway traffic. Everything in me tingles excitedly at his proximity. I breathe in the scent of cool autumn and hot male.
“Keep looking at me like that, and I’m draggin
g you to my car,” he breathes near my ear.
I press my back against the wall, and look up at him with wide eyes. “Is that a threat or a challenge
?”
Dean groans quietly
, leaning his head against the wall above me. “I don’t know,” he mutters, briefly closing his eyes. When he opens them again, his expression turns determined. “Do you have to go to your dad’s tomorrow?”
“Um…maybe not. Why?”
“I want to take you somewhere. For the whole night.”
My heart stops—then starts again, thrumming wildly in my chest. The whole night? Does that mean…?
“Say yes,” he urges, moving closer to me. Our bodies are nearly touching.
How can I say no to him? “Yes,” I agree softly, and I’m instantly rewarded with one of his rare smiles.
Dean pushes off against the wall, backing away. “I’ll see you later,” he says.
“Wait, where are we going?” I call after him, apprehensive.
But he doesn’t reply. Sloane is waiting for him, her face as blank and smooth as a doll’s. When Dean reaches her, she says something to him that makes him shrug. They walk off together to their next class.
I impatiently wait for the rest of the day to go by. I can’t wait to get Dean alone so I can pester him for answers. Where is he taking me? To a hotel?
Does that mean that we’ll be sharing a bed for a whole night?
I text my dad, telling him I have a date, and would it be okay if I spent the day with him on Sunday. He happily agrees, and I have the feeling I have a Cerise to thank for that. I don’t say anything to Mom. As far as she knows, I’ll be at Dad’s. I get the feeling she knows I have a guy staying with me, but she doesn’t say anything to me. I think she’s just too tired to make a fuss about it. I almost never see her, and I vacillate between being mad at her, and feeling sorry for her. Okay, maybe I feel a little guilty, too—which is why I’ve been making all her favorite dishes lately.
Dean won’t give me any hints, so I have no idea how to pack for wherever it is we’re going. That means I have to plan for every contingency, which means I’m going to be taking a lot of stuff. I take a long shower, taking extra special care to lather, shave, and lotion every part of my body. When I’m finally done, I wrap a towel around myself and consider my underwear collection. I still have all the lingerie I bought months ago that I’ve never worn—the price tags are still on them. I pick out a really hot light blue lacy set, but after I put it on…I don’t know…I feel weird. I bought it with Johnny in mind…it seems wrong to wear it for Dean. Besides, I know I won’t feel comfortable in them, and I don’t want to spend the night fidgeting. I have a cute pale pink strapless bra and panties that I’m much more comfortable wearing, and Dean hasn’t seen them before.
I wish I could call Heather for advice. We’ve been tentatively texting each other, but I haven’t told her about Dean yet. Call me petty, but I’m mad at her for freezing me out when I was only
trying to help. So I’m not going to tell her about the most important thing going on in my life right now—not until she stops being so stubborn, and starts being my friend again. So there.
I apply more makeup than usual, going with eyeliner and mascara, and killer red lip gloss. I brush my hair into
a silky mass, and then I use all my assorted hair products to achieve beachy waves. And since I’ve gone to all this trouble, I decide to wear my new scarlet red dress. It’s pretty simple, but short and clingy, with a halter top and a plunging back. I think I look pretty good until I turn around and realize that the dress dips down far enough in the back to fully expose my bra. Okay, I guess I don’t need a bra, then.