Rock Bottom

by Emily Goodwin

  “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.

  Before I know it, half the bottle is gone, along with most of the pie. I drank more than I ate and am feeling a little tipsy. I get up to use the bathroom and come back to the couch to find two glasses of water. I gladly down most of my water as Dean pokes at the fire, rearranging the logs.

  The wind picks up, howling against the windows. I set the glass back down on the coffee table and get up, moving to the other side of the room. Two lounge chairs and an accent table are along the window, and I peer out, looking into the back yard.

  The dusting of snow we previously got blows along the frozen grass, and dark clouds are starting to cover the sky. If we wake up to more snow in the morning, I wouldn’t be surprised.

  Dean comes up behind me, hands landing on my waist. I twist in his arms and hook my hands behind his neck. Now that I’m barefoot, I get a better sense of just how tall he is, making my five-foot, six-inch frame seem small next to him.

  I inch closer, soaking up the heat coming from him. Men aren’t supposed to be this good-looking in real life. They aren’t this muscular and aren’t that good in bed. They don’t rummage through their freakishly organized walk-in pantry looking for sweet wine and serve you the best apple pie you’ve ever had while stealing glances at you in front of a fire.

  Is Dean a unicorn?

  There has to be something wrong with him, and I know if I go looking for it, I’ll either find more than I bargained for or will push him away.

  “Blaire,” he says, and the name is like a shock to my system. Shit. I almost forgot. Right. This is a hookup. A one-night deal.

  Dammit.

  “Dean.”

  He smiles and goes in for a kiss, and that one kiss is all it takes to spark up the fire between us again, and we can’t strip each other fast enough. Dean picks me up, strong arms not faltering, and carries me up the stairs, kissing me the whole time.

  We pause in the landing and he smashes me against the wall, kissing me until I’m breathless. My legs are tight around his waist, and I want nothing more than to sink down on his cock. We’re on the way to his bedroom, I know, but fucking right here in the hall seems like a fan-fucking-tastic idea too, because I don’t think either of us have the willpower to make it a few more yards down the hall.

  And then into his room.

  And onto the bed.

  Way too much work.

  Dean sets me down, and right when I think he’s going to take my hand and lead me down the dark hall, he spins me around and presses me against the wall. He enters me from behind, and I plant both hands on the wall, leaning forward a bit as he fucks me. He grips my waist with one hand and reaches around with the other, playing with my clit until I come, legs shaking as I hold myself up.

  He slowly pulls out and turns me toward him. I wrap one arm around his shoulders, needing to hold onto him for support. I let out a ragged breath, body trembling yet still wanting more.

  We tangle together again, kissing and groping as we clumsily go down the hall, falling onto the bed together. Dean moves between my legs again, but before he can push that big, beautiful cock into me, I shove him away and move back, getting to my knees.

  Hardly able to see him in the dark, I blindly reach out and push him down onto the mattress, climbing on top. I slowly sink down on his cock, crying out from how fucking amazing this feels.

  He slaps my ass and I ride him hard, and we both come almost at the exact same time, collapsing to the mattress.

  “That…that…” I pant. “That was amazing.”

  “Yeah,” he agrees, rolling onto his side. “It was.”

  We lie there, catching our breath, for a minute. Then I get up to use the bathroom, and Dean goes downstairs to take care of the fire for the night. I’m already in bed by the time he comes back, moving like a shadow in the dark.

  “Are you cold?” Dean asks as he gets into bed, pulling the comforter over us both.

  “A little. I usually sleep with a heated blanket in the winter.”

  “I don’t have one, though it’s not like we couldn’t use it right now. I can bring you another blanket, though. We might need it if the heat doesn’t come back on.”

  “I would very much like that. I’m going to risk sounding like a diva by asking if you have a soft blanket too.” A smile pulls up my lips as goosebumps break out over my arms again. Without Dean against me I’m cold.

  “Like a fleece blanket?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I do. I’ll be right back.”

  Still naked, he gets up, and Lord have mercy, that man has one fine ass. I silently curse the lack of power, wishing I could watch that fine ass walk all the way down the hall to the linen closet. Less than a minute later, he comes back with a soft fleece blanket that feels super snuggly. He hands it to me, and I wrap it around my shoulders, needing to have the softness against my skin and then the top sheet.

  “I promise I’m very laid back,” I say as I adjust the covers. “But when it comes to sleeping, I’m a bit of a princess.”

  “I hope this lives up to your expectations then, your majesty.” He gets back under the covers and wraps his arm around me.

  “Oh, it does. Though I don’t have my sleep mask or white noise,” I laugh, though I really do need those two things to have a good night’s sleep. “And if I remember, I take melatonin before getting into bed too. Working nights and then switching to the day shift can mess up my sleep schedule. I’m a little high-maintenance, I know.”

  “Yeah, it would make it hard to sleep switching your schedule around. And if you think that is high-maintenance…” He trails off and chuckles.

  “What?” I ask, settling in his arms.

  “Then you’re not high-maintenance at all. I like to have white noise at night too.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I usually listen to thunderstorm sounds.”

  “I alternate between that, crickets, and new-age music.”

  “The wind will have to do tonight,” he says, sounding like he’s on the verge of falling asleep. I’m exhausted. I don’t think I’ll have trouble sleeping either. My eyes close and Dean tightens his hold on me.

  I don’t like the quiet at night because it freaks me out. I overanalyze every little noise, thinking there are ghosts in my apartment or someone is trying to break in. And my mind wanders too easily at night, winning at the what’s the worst thing that could happen, no matter how unlikely game. Having the soft background noise helps to quiet my thoughts.

  “Goodnight,
” I whisper, slipping my arm out of the blankets so I can intertwine my fingers with Dean’s.

  “Night, Blaire,” he mumbles, half asleep already.

  His words are like a slap to the face all over again, and my eyes fly open.

  Right.

  I lied, and I can’t tell myself it doesn’t matter.

  Because it does. The sex. The conversation. The pie. The sex again. It’s not just me confusing sex with emotions. Dean is a guy I want to see again.

  Letting out a breath, I try to settle back down, but this time I can’t quiet the voices in my mind. I lie in bed, physically as comfortable as ever, but can’t fall asleep.

  Careful not to wake Dean, I climb out of bed, keeping the blue blanket around my shoulders. I pad down the hall and downstairs, getting my phone out of my wristlet.

  I tap the screen and squint, the light too bright for my eyes. I pull up my texts as I hurry to the bathroom, typing out a message to Lennon as I walk. I sit on the closed toilet seat, shivering already, and let out a breath, shaking my head at myself.

  Mason texts me, making me think something terrible happened. But then I see that I accidentally texted him the message of I royally fucked up instead of Len, since he was the last person to text me.

  Mason: What did you do now?

  Me: Sorry. Meant to send that to Len

  Mason: Are you in trouble?

  Me: Not the kind of trouble you’re thinking of.

  Mason: But you’re okay?

  I send a rolling eyes emoji and let out a breath.

  Mason: What’s going on, Rory? It’s the middle of the night.

  Me: I’m fine.

  Mason: You’re fine but you royally fucked something up and are texting Lennon about it in the middle of the night?

  Me: Fine. I did mess up, but trust me, you don’t want to know about it.

  Mason: Now I have to know about it.

  I let out a heavy sigh, knowing Mason isn’t going to leave me alone until I give him enough of an answer to convince him that I’m not tied up in some psycho’s basement.

  Me: It’s about a guy. I’ll talk to Len about it in the morning. It’s fine, really. Just me being me.

  Mason: Did he hurt you?

  Me: No. Really, I’m fine.

  Mason: When girls say they’re fine, it’s always bullshit. You’re a girl.

  Me: Great observation there.

  Mason: Shut up. But if you need anything, I’m here, Rory.

  I smile and go to type a simple thank you but stop. It’s no secret that Mason is a fan of no-strings romance. He’s my brother and discussing anything romance related was always a no-go, but my stomach is in knots and I don’t know what to do.

  Me: In that case…(just remember you offered)

  Mason: On second thought, I’m not here.

  Me: Hah. I’m calling you. Hang on.

  I crack the door, looking up the stairs. Wrapping the blanket around myself, I tip toe out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, going into the little hall that leads to the laundry room. I don’t think Dean could hear me, even if he was awake.

  I call Mason and bring the phone to my ear.

  “How’s the weather?” he asks as soon as he answers.

  “What? It’s cold.”

  “Are you sure?” he presses.

  “Yes, it’s winter in northwest Indiana.”

  “Right. It’s not peachy.”

  “I’m not being held hostage,” I rush out in a whisper, forgetting that “peachy” was the word I was told to use in case I was actually being forced to call home and act like everything was fine. “But I did go home with a guy from a bar tonight.”

  “Do you need someone to come get you? I can call the local police and—”

  “Stop,” I whisper. “No. I really like this guy.”

  “That’s why you called?”

  “Shut up and let me talk. I met this guy at the bar and told him I was Blaire from Canada. I didn’t think we’d hit it off. But we did, and I kept up the whole Canadian act. But he’s actually pretty awesome and a total hottie and I don’t know what to do.”

  Mason is silent for several seconds. And then he bursts out laughing. I scramble to turn the volume down on my phone.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “It’s fucking hilarious. Please tell me you didn’t try to have a French-Canadian accent.”

  “Not this time. But he’s going to hate me if I tell the truth, right?”

  “Well,” Mason says, and I can tell he’s getting a little uncomfortable. “I take women home from bars, and I usually don’t care what their names are…if you know what I’m getting at.”

  “I do. I know guys don’t bring chicks home from bars because they’re hoping to find marriage material, but it wasn’t like that. I think it started out that way, but then it turned into…into something more.”

  “Don’t read into it too much, sis,” he says gently. “The guy took you home for what sounds like some no-strings sex. Gross. I can’t believe I’m talking to you about this.”

  “Should I call Sam instead?” I ask dryly, knowing Sam is the biggest man-whore I’ve ever met.

  “Hah. He’d tell you to sneak out and find another guy to take you home instead. But really, Ror, this guy isn’t looking for anything more, even if you think you felt something. You’ve never had a one-night stand before, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Then this should be your last. You had your fun, now go back to being the youngest old person I know, okay?”

  I let out another breath, getting what he’s saying. And I don’t want to be one of those women who clings to any shred of hope that some guy will fall for me, using sex as a way to try and earn said love.

  I’m smart. Independent. Capable.

  And a terrible liar.

  “Okay.”

  “Do you need a ride home or anything?”

  “No. I’m going to go back upstairs and try to sleep. I’m exhausted.”

  “Gross,” he says with a shudder. “I’m going to call you in the morning and make sure you’re okay. Can you text me the address of where you are and the guy’s name?”

  “Want me to go through his wallet and send you a photo of his ID?”

  “Yeah, that would be great, actually. I can run him through the database and—”

  “Mason, I’m joking. I’m not going through his wallet. His name is Dean, he’s a contractor, and his brothers own a bar called Getaway here in Eastwood.”

  “That’s enough. I’ll be able to find him.”

  I roll my eyes. “I hope you never have a daughter.”

  “Kids aren’t in my future.”

  “Keep having one-night stands and you never know.”

  “Not funny. Be careful, Rory.”

  “I will be. Night, Mason. Love you.”

  We end the call and I inch forward, certain I’m going to find Dean standing in the kitchen, ready to kick me out after hearing everything I said. Though I’m sure Mason is right.

  Dean didn’t go to the bar tonight looking for a girlfriend. He was looking to hook up, and that’s exactly what we did.

  Twice.

  Quietly, I creep up the stairs and get back into bed. Dean’s breathing is slow and rhythmic. It’s comforting and could easily lull me to sleep.

  Trying to remember Mason’s warning, I slip back under the covers, moving closer to Dean. For the warmth. Not because being next to him feels so damn good.

  I close my eyes, exhaustion pulling me down. In his sleep, Dean wriggles closer and puts his arm around me.

  This is meaningless sex. He won’t even remember my name in the morning.

  But I’ll remember his.

  Chapter 13

  Dean

  I wake up with hair in my face and half the covers pulled off of me. Gray clouds cover the sky, and muted light comes in through the bedroom window.

  Without thinking, I roll over, gently pulling the covers from Blaire, and wrap my arm around h
er. I don’t know what time it is, but my alarm is set to go off at eight this morning and it hasn’t gone off yet.

  My phone could very well be dead, but right now, I don’t fucking care. Blaire lets out a sigh in her sleep and pulls the blankets again. Smiling, I move closer to her, pulling the blue fleece blanket up and covering my shoulders. She’s on her side, body slightly bent so her supple ass is pressing against me.

  We’re both naked, and my bed has never felt more comfortable. I should be thinking of ways to get her out of here, but instead, I’m lying here calculating how much longer we can stay in bed together before I have to get up for the client meeting. There are a few dishes I need to stick in the dishwasher, and other than gathering the clothes we stripped off each other, the house is clean.

  It’ll take me five minutes to get things straightened up, and about fifteen to get to Getaway if I speed. That’s thirty-five minutes I need before my clients arrive, and that’s assuming they’re not early.

  Blaire moves in her sleep, turning toward me, and brings the covers up around her shoulders. Worried she’s cold, I carefully adjust the blankets, keeping the soft blanket against her skin, and then cover her with the sheet and then the comforter. I take her in my arms and close my eyes.

  I’m asleep in minutes.

  “Morning.” I look away from my phone and smile at Blaire, who’s finally waking up. She stretches her arms out and smiles.

  “Morning.”

  “You don’t have to work, do you?” I ask, realizing that I never asked her that last night.

  “Not today.” She lazily sits up, holding the fleece blanket over her breasts. “Is that your subtle way of telling me to leave?” She hikes up an eyebrow, looking so ridiculously cute. “You can just say it.”

  “No,” I laugh. “My client meeting at ten got pushed to noon and I wanted to see if you’d like to go out for breakfast.”

  “Oh. Well, yes. I would like that. But I probably look like hell.”

  “You look like I fucked you good and proper last night.” I drop the phone to the bed and move to her, pinning her down on the mattress.