by C. R. Ellis
I narrowed my eyes at her. “What the fuck does that mean?”
She met my eyes with an equally heated stare. In different circumstances, the look would be a perfect prelude to all the things we’d do between the sheets.
“You’re a smart man, Dean. Think about it,” she said, attempting to hop off her barstool. Instead, her heel caught on the bottom rung and she flailed wildly for a fraction of a second. Jasmine would’ve gotten up close and personal with the floor if I hadn’t reached out and caught her first.
I let my hands linger a second too long after I pulled her up and parked her back on the barstool. Touching her wasn’t doing my current situation any favors, but it was pure instinct to catch her. I couldn’t help but smile at her flustered state. She’d diverted her eyes and wouldn’t look at me, not even to thank me. In a flash, mortification was replaced by something I suspected was anger.
“Swear to God, Dean, I will hurt you if you so much as chuckle,” she threatened, still not meeting my eyes. She stood up, this time carefully removing her ankle-breakers from their resting spot on the bar stool.
I was about to reply when one of the two guys from earlier came over. He was several inches shorter than me with a mop of dark hair flipped to the side, and an annoyed look on his face—the poster boy for Club Douche Bag Worldwide.
“Jasmine, everything okay? Is he bothering you?” He quickly glanced at me, like he didn’t trust my intentions. Ironic, considering I was pretty sure he just wanted to get in Jas’s pants.
“She’s fine, but she’s done drinking,” I interjected, not even caring a little bit that she’d be furious I had answered for her.
“Do you know this guy?” he asked, turning to her. Apparently he was prepared to be her knight in shining armor.
Her honey-colored eyes studied me skeptically. The fire was still there, ready to reduce me to ashes. When she didn’t answer fast enough, he stepped around her to try and come between us.
“Bro, I think you should—”
She interrupted him and gently put herself back in between her faux rescuer and me, placing one hand on his chest. “It’s okay, Mark. I know him.”
He eyed her with the same skepticism she showed me. “You sure?”
“Yes, unfortunately. And it’s fine. Dean was actually just leaving,” she finished, giving me a challenging look that morphed into a scowl.
Her lingering hand didn’t escape my notice.
Mark looked a little surprised, but quickly recovered and puffed up a little at the thought that she wanted to spend time with him instead of with me.
Like hell I was leaving.
“Leaving? I don’t think so, Jas.” I settled back onto my stool right next to hers. “I’m just getting comfortable.”
“You shouldn’t. Our conversation is over, so you can just see yourself right the fuck out.”
Her eyes burned into mine. There was an odd mixture of determination and fear in them, like she was afraid of what else would happen if I didn’t leave now. I was prepared to find out; we’d danced around our issues for far too long, and I wasn’t willing to drop it anymore.
Mark looked like he could tell we had some unresolved business, but he apparently was thinking with the wrong head because he obviously still held out hope he’d be the one leaving with Jasmine. “Look, Dean, I think she wants—”
Did this Bieber wannabe motherfucker just use my name?
I stood to my full height, grabbed Jas’s hand, and shot him a death glare. “Look, bro, I think we’re done here. Let’s go, Goldie,” I said, pulling her behind me before she had the chance to register the old nickname I’d casually dropped.
The second the name clicked in her alcohol-clouded brain she ripped out of my grip. Her eyes seared into me with an intimidating intensity I’d never seen from her.
“Don’t fucking call me that. I’m not some goddamned fairytale princess,” she hissed.
We locked eyes for the longest three seconds in history before she stormed off toward the door. Joe tossed me her keys, so I knew she wouldn’t get far. Still, I didn’t give her much of a head start. I couldn’t help but flash Mark a “better luck next time” grin as I walked out. I didn’t even care that it made me look like a total asshole.
Jasmine stalked toward her Mustang, seemingly unaffected by the fact that she didn’t have the keys. As infuriating of a woman as she was, I still couldn’t stop myself from admiring her. Even in the shadows cast by the waning sun, anyone could see she was hauntingly beautiful. Her navy blue dress was conservative enough for work, but still caused a certain part of my anatomy to stir just by the way it swayed loosely around her thighs when she walked.
She pulled out her cell phone and was about to make a call when she saw that I’d followed her. “Seriously?” She groaned, rolling her eyes. “Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but I’m not going to try and drive home, so save the speech.”
“I know.” I nodded, pulling out her keys and shaking them before I unlocked the Mustang. “Get in, I’ll drive.”
She looked at me like I’d asked her to walk into a burning building. “No thanks, I’ll walk. I probably shouldn’t be trapped in an enclosed space with you right now. Might not be beneficial to your health. And I’m not equipped for prison.”
“Jas, don’t be ridiculous,” I chided, restraining myself from carrying her to the passenger seat myself. We didn’t live far from the bar, but that didn’t mean I’d let her walk home alone.
Her hollow laugh instantly set me on edge. “You want to know what’s ridiculous, Dean? The fact that you can waltz back into my life after all this time and, somehow, still know me. You were right about my relationship with Paul. So congratulations, Dean, you figured out my fucking M.O.,” she shouted, giving me a sarcastic, congratulations-you-asshole handclap. “And, I bet if you put those fancy detective skills of yours to use, you can probably even figure out why I operate that way.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. During her confession, she’d walked to the passenger side door and tugged it open. Unwilling to give her a chance to change her mind, I got in and quickly adjusted the driver’s seat to accommodate someone who didn’t have the legs of a miniature pony.
We were completely silent for the two-minute long car ride, with only the sound of the A/C blasting and our breathing to fill the car.
I sighed heavily and finally broke the tense silence once I pulled into her parking spot and killed the engine. I was annoyed and frustrated, but I knew taking it out on her right now wouldn’t get us anywhere.
“Jasmine, we can’t keep doing this. You know we’re going to have to talk eventually, right? About the past, about us, about everything,” I urged, hazarding a glance at her.
She threw open her door and stepped out. I followed her once again, deciding she wasn’t going to run away, at least not without acknowledging that we did need to talk. Her silence was slowly driving me mad.
“You can’t avoid it forever,” I continued, hesitantly handing her the keys.
“Excuse me for being a little unenthused to talk about something I’ve spent six years wishing never happened. You wanna fucking talk, Dean? Let’s talk about my multitude of issues. How many would that be, exactly?”
My confusion must’ve been apparent because she didn’t stop there.
“I was there, Dean. I was on my way up the stairs to your apartment when you were talking to your roommate about me, the day after we almost…”
She trailed off, and I could tell her fury was only part of it. Serious pain lurked behind her words and the fact that I had caused it was already killing me.
“I fucking heard you say you could never want me, that anything and everything where I was concerned was a mistake, and that I had more issues than a magazine stand,” she shouted, barely keeping the tears in her eyes from falling. “You want to know why I run from commitment? Look in the goddamn mirror, Dean, because the man you see in front of you is responsible
for ensuring I’d never try to have a happily ever after again. You broke me, and this is the only way I could put myself back together.”
Oh fuck. My eyes bulged, and I felt the words as if they’d physically assaulted me. Memories of that day flooded my mind as I felt an onslaught of one single emotion—regret.
Holy fucking shit.
She couldn’t contain the tears anymore; they spilled over with rapid succession. Each tear that cascaded down her face made me hate myself a little more.
“Jas, I’m so so—”
“Save your fucking apology, Dean. I’m not interested. There might have been a time when I wanted it, but now? Now I can honestly say I’m beyond wanting an apology from you. Apologies are for things like forgetting to call someone back, for when you’re five minutes late to a date, for accidentally breaking someone’s dish. Not for accidentally breaking someone’s heart.”
Jasmine turned and ran before I could formulate anything close to a worthy response. She fucking heard me say a bunch of shit I’d never actually meant.
“Jasmine, wait,” I called after her, realizing too late that she was already halfway to her apartment by now.
I reached the second story landing just in time to hear her door slam and bolts lodging into place. I pounded my fist against it anyway. “Jas, let me in. Please. This isn’t over. We need to talk. Just let me in,” I pleaded. I knocked for the next ten minutes, until my knuckles burned with a searing pain I deserved.
Spitfire Jasmine would’ve at least told me to fuck off or to go to hell. The fact that she wasn’t firing off angry retorts was not a good sign. Her silence spoke louder than any words. It seeped into my skin, crept into my bones, and tortured my heart.
I went across the hall into my apartment and succumbed to the memories of that summer. Now that I had Jasmine’s perspective, I wanted to punch my 24-year-old self in the face. I couldn’t believe what a complete and total idiot I’d been all those years ago. It all made so much sense now. Her subtle references to my words, the flickers of pain I’d seen etched on her face when I’d catch her looking at me sometimes.
How do you fix things with someone when you’ve destroyed them beyond repair without even knowing it?
Chapter 11
Jasmine
How does one wake up in the morning feeling like P.Diddy? What’s your secret, Kesha?
Jasmine Winters, pondering how anyone could possibly be a morning person
“Jasmine, stop,” Dean called sharply from somewhere within the darkness. I froze mid-reach for the doorknob. Shit. I forgot he was home for spring break.
He pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against and slowly made his way toward me. I crossed my arms over my chest and met his eyes. I was wearing a pink crop top with the words “Live Free” in bold print and a pair of daisy duke cutoffs that were past the point of being remotely modest.
I was on my way to a party some senior was throwing, planning on drinking until I couldn’t feel anything. That was my routine. My escape. Not exactly “normal” for a fourteen-year-old, but there was nothing remotely normal about losing your mom to breast cancer at the age of 13. My family was closer than most, and I hadn’t realized how lucky I was to have such a great family until it was all ripped away from me. Soon after my mom’s death, my dad buried himself in work to cope and I sought comfort at the bottom of liquor bottles.
“You think I need saving, Dean?” I asked through a cloud of annoyance, my eyes still fixed on his. I’d heard the speeches from everyone, but it never mattered. Nothing mattered anymore. My life was empty and meaningless.
“No, I think you’re lost. I think you’re dealing with the really shitty hand you’ve been dealt the only way you think possible. But it’s not the answer, Goldie. You won’t find healing and answers to your pain at some party getting wasted and putting yourself in dangerous situations.”
“Goldie? Like Goldilocks?” Of course the only thing I took away from his heartfelt speech was the apparent nickname he’d just given me. “Oh, because of my hair. Original,” I said sarcastically.
Dean shook his head and stepped closer, making my teenage heart skip a beat. He was so tall he had to lean down to meet my gaze. “No. Not just because of your hair. Because I know you’re going from party to party looking for anything to help you stop hurting.” He took a step closer and I instinctively wanted to back away, but I couldn’t. “Look, Jas, I know life fucking sucks sometimes. I’m not going to stand here and act like I know what you’re going through because that would be a lie, and I’ll never lie to you. What I do know is that you’re so much stronger than you’re giving yourself credit for. And you’re not alone, Jasmine.”
I didn’t know what to say. We stood in a silence that grew so thick I thought I’d suffocate. Nobody had spoken to me like that since the funeral. Jade and Mary and Victor had given me space and been comforting, but it was obvious they just didn’t know the right words to say.They’d rolled right off Dean’s tongue and into my heart.
I paused, contemplating my next move. While my mind wasn’t sure what to do, my feet made the decision for me and carried me back into the living room. “This doesn’t change anything,” I said, not wanting Dean to think his words cast some kind of magical spell and snapped me back to my old self.
“That’s okay, Jas. Just know that you have people who love you and will be there for you until you can smile again,” he replied, heading toward the kitchen.
“Goodnight, Dean,” I said as I walked toward his former bedroom that was now mine.
“Goodnight, Jasmine.”
“And Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks,” I said quietly into the darkness, unable to turn and say it to his face.
“Anytime, Goldilocks.”
I shot up in my bed when I woke from the memory-dream. I hadn’t thought about that night in a long time. I told myself it was only because I hadn’t heard the word Goldie in a long time.
I groaned when I realized how late I’d slept – 2:47p.m. It was Sunday, and I wanted nothing more than to sleep the rest of the day away. But Jade had texted me that the weekly Wednesday night dinner with her parents had been moved to today, so I needed to get a move on or I’d be late.
I’d been at a wedding reception until after 3 a.m. last night. It was an amazing, insanely detailed wedding for a great couple for whom I was truly happy. But I felt relieved to see it end.
An hour later I was out the door, texting Jade I’d be a few minutes late. I was tempted to crawl back in bed and deal with Jade’s wrath Monday. It beat seeing Dean. But, I knew that’d only delay the inevitable, so I sucked it up and got in the car before I could talk myself out of it.
I arrived at the Preston house and immediately noticed there was only one car out front—Dean’s Camaro. Fuckballs.
Like a heat-seeking missile, my eyes landed on Dean’s massive frame where he sat on the stairs by the front door, blocking the way in. He wore a plain light blue V-neck that strained against his arms and chest, shorts that hugged his ass impeccably well, no doubt, and a pair of wayfarer sunglasses that perfectly framed his stupid, handsome face. Jesus. Does the man ever look less than fuck-worthy?
I stepped out of my car and mentally prepared myself to face off with Dean again. Because that’s apparently all we knew how to do anymore. There was no avoiding him unless I walked around back. So I forced myself to take a deep breath and walk up to the frustratingly gorgeous man staring at me with an intensity I felt everywhere.
“Oh, good, my least favorite Preston is here,” I exclaimed sarcastically. “Where is everyone?”
“Uh, yeah, about that…don’t be mad,” he started, trying to gauge my reaction.
My jaw clenched as I crossed my arms over my chest. “That’s exactly what assholes say before giving you a reason to be mad, Dean.”
“I asked Jade to tell you four instead of five because I didn’t think you’d come if I asked.”
I snorted dryly. �
�Figured that one out all on your own, huh? Great deduction, detective.”
He pushed up from his spot on the stairs and closed the calculated gap I’d left between us. “We need to talk, Jasmine. I know you’re angry, and I don’t blame you. I haven’t slept for shit these past few days. I can’t stop thinking about what you said, about what happened that day. Please let me explain.”
The bags under his eyes and the tousled, wild state of his thick locks confirmed his lack of sleep. Good. Sleepless nights were just the tip of the iceberg of what he deserved.
“You’ve had six fucking years to explain, Dean. What makes you think I even want an explanation anymore?”
He had the audacity to look appalled. His eyes snapped down to mine and burned with frustration. “Hold up. Let’s get something straight here. That summer, I tried to see you. I tried to talk to you. You’re the one who refused to answer my calls and always had your roommate give me the runaround when I came to your apartment. I fucked up, yes. But I could’ve easily cleared everything up if you hadn’t immediately thrown up walls, Jasmine.”
“So now it’s my fault you acted like a total fucking tool?” I cried. “If our roles had been reversed, you know damn well you would’ve done the same. And you act like your effort to see me lasted longer than a week. Newsflash: it didn’t!”
Dean’s silence only pissed me off further.
“Pretty sure you made your feelings about me painfully clear that day. You were right about one thing, though. Sleeping together would’ve been a colossal mistake. Tell me how, exactly, would you have ‘easily cleared everything up,’ Dean?”
“By explaining the rest of that day like I’m trying to do right now. Christ, you drive me so fucking crazy!” he bellowed, throwing his hands up in exasperation.
“Yeah? Well talking to you isn’t exactly a walk in the park for me, either! Here, let me save you the trouble of an explanation,” I spat, turning to storm back to my car.
