The first thing I notice when I walk in his room is all the flowers. They’re on every available surface: the rolling bed table, the window sill, the cabinet against the wall…geez. I didn’t even think to stop at the gift shop, which should be open by now.
Johnny is sitting up in bed, wearing the same lovely hospital gown I sported not so long ago. Except it somehow looks better on him. His face is a mess, bruised and swollen, but I don’t know how much of that is from the accident, or his fight with Dean.
I approach his bed cautiously, almost afraid to come to close. “Hey,” I say quietly.
Johnny looks at me through the one eye that isn’t swollen shut. “Hey, Teeny,” he rasps weakly.
I creep closer, and cautiously lean against the side bars of the bed. “I would ask how you’re feeling, but I think I can see for myself. Crap, Johnny.”
“I know.” He grimaces, shifting awkwardly under the blanket. “When I decide to fuck up, I do it big. I’ve ruined everything, Teeny.”
“No, you haven’t,” I say sharply. “You’re still alive, aren’t you? As long as you’re still here, nothing’s ruined. Everything can be fixed.”
“Not everything.” He lets out a bitter chuckle. “I screwed my knee up. I can forget my full ride to Alabama—or anywhere for that matter. They’re not gonna touch me after this, especially since I was drunk when it happened.”
I grip the bars tightly. “How bad is your knee?”
“Bad enough they have to open it up to fix it. It’ll take a couple of months to heal, but there’s no guarantee it will ever be the same again. Fuck.” He groans softly, letting his head slam back against the pillows propping him up. “I’m such a screw-up,” he whispers, his eyes closed.
I mentally harden myself so I don’t give into tears and blubber all over him. “Football’s not the only career out there, you know,” I snap. “It’s not like it’s your life. You said so yourself—it’s a means to an end. So, you’re not going to end up in the NFL will a million dollar contract. There are other things you’re good at, Johnny. You could still have a career in sports medicine.”
“That’s not the point,” he mutters, his eyes still closed. “I let a lot of people down. I made my mom cry. She hasn’t cried since that day the asshole left us.”
“So you can make it up to her by growing the hell up,” I say firmly. “You screwed up—okay, fine! Now fix it. Use your recovery time to do some soul-searching, or something. You’re self-destructive, I get it. So go see your mom’s therapist, like you were talking about doing! Find a constructive hobby! Stop drinking, for god’s sake!”
“Teeny. Ow.”
I suddenly realize that I’m in his face, half-leaning on him, putting pressure on the leg that feels like it’s wrapped up, or has a brace on it under the blanket. I hastily jump back.
“Sorry!”
Johnny peers at me with his one good eye. “Are you gonna start swinging on me now?” he asks tentatively. I’m relieved to hear amusement creeping into his voice.
Exhausted from my little outburst, I collapse into one of the chairs next to his bed. “I just might, if you keep doing dumbass things like this,” I reply primly.
“I’m really going to try not to,” he says after a thoughtful pause. “Sorry I’m such a dumbass.”
“Well, you’re still alive, so you’re forgiven.” I glare at him. “Just don’t do it again.”
Johnny sighs, long and deep. “Just…don’t give up on me, okay?”
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” I reach through the bars and squeeze one of his hands.
He laces his fingers through mine, and we hold hands in companionable silence. Just when I think he’s fallen asleep on me, he starts talking again.
“I need to tell you something.”
I sit up straight, alerted by the nervous tone in his voice. “What is it?”
He clears his throat. “First, can you hand me that jug? My throat’s dry as shit.”
I hand it to him wordlessly, and he takes a big drink. He gives it back to me, and I put it back on his table. Then I look at him expectantly. Obviously he’s about to say something I’m not going to like, so I inwardly brace myself.
“Dean’s the one who pointed you out to me.”
“What?” I frown in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Before we met.” Johnny runs a bruised hand through his messy hair. “Me and Dean, we were hanging out—I forget where—and we were talking about girls. He’d just turned down this really hot chick, and I was ragging on him for being so damn picky, and never wanting to date. Then—then you walk by, and Dean nods at you, and goes, ‘I’m waiting for her. She’s the perfect one.’”
I suddenly feel as though I’ve been punched in the chest. “What?!” I say, even more incredulously this time.
“So I ask him why he’s not making a move on you, then—and he said he’s waiting for the right time. Then he wouldn’t say anything else about it—didn’t even try to get your name or number—nothing. He never mentioned that he knew you from before.” Johnny looks over at me. “A couple days later, you nearly ran me over with your car. I recognized you right away.”
“Is that why you asked me out?” I whisper, meeting his one good eye.
He visibly winces. “Dean and I—we had a little competition going on back then. We were always trying to one-up each other. I don’t know…I wanted to mess with him a little. I thought you were really cute, and—and I thought, how shocked would he be if I showed up with you at the house?”
“I had good intentions in the beginning, I swear. After I pissed him off a little, I was going to hook you two up. I didn’t…I never expected to like you so much.”
Something inside of me just shrivels up and dies. “So, the only reason you asked me out in the first place was to mess with Dean?” I ask shakily.
“Yeah,” he admits in a low voice. “I mean, I probably would have asked you out, anyway, because you’re so pretty and sweet. But at the time…yeah, it was because of Dean.”
I lower my head, because I can’t look at him anymore. My hands tremble with the need for violence, so I ruthlessly ball them into fists. “And that night you guys were fighting, when you said he promised not to go after me?”
“I had to swear I’d never hurt you.” Johnny’s voice is profound with shame.
Oh, my god. I lean my forehead against the side of the bed. All this time…why didn’t Dean say something? And the way I treated him in the beginning! And now—god, I’ve been such a bitch! No wonder he—
“Say something, Teeny.”
I stand up abruptly, glaring so ferociously at Johnny that he recoils a little. “I’m going to go right now,” I announce. “But I will be coming back, and we’re going to figure out how to straighten up the freaking mess you’ve made of your life so far—and it’s probably going to involve something that starts and ends with the letter ‘A.’ So you’d better be prepared to just nod and smile when I bring you the brochures! Also, when you’re feeling better, we’re going to have a long talk about what you’ve just told me—but that’s going to wait until you’re healed enough that I don’t feel bad about kicking you in the junk.”
Johnny watches me, a ghost of a smile on his battered face. “Understood. Where are you going now?” he asks as I start stomping toward the door.
I whirl around. “I’m going to find Dean, and kiss his brains out. Do you have a problem with that?” I ask sweetly.
He flinches. “No,” he finally mutters.
“Good. Feel better.”
I’m about to leave, when a particularly beautiful flower arrangement catches my eye. Curious despite myself, I check the card sticking out of a little plastic stake.
“They’re all from Nick,” Johnny informs me. His tone is full of grumpy bewilderment. “I don’t know what’s with him lately. I’m starting to think he has a crush on me.”
Oh, my…
I’m gonna go.
&nbs
p; ******
Chapter 41
I find him in his garage, working under the hood of his Pontiac. He’s leaning forward, his taut muscles straining against the fabric of his t-shirt, and the gap between the waistband of his jeans and the deep furrow of his spine reveals a tantalizing glimpse of his dark boxers. A longing so intense it’s painful roars through my chest and lower stomach.
I don’t make a sound, but he somehow senses my presence. He straightens abruptly, and glances over his shoulder. When he sees me standing there, he shuts the hood, and reaches for the hand towel lying on a nearby tool chest.
“Hey,” he says warily, wiping his hands on the towel. There’s a streak of grease across one cheekbone that he doesn’t seem to realize is there. He leans against the car, and watches me approach.
I feel like I’m floating toward him. There are so many things I want to say, but I’m suddenly filled with a sense of awe of this gorgeous unapproachable boy who’s become the one person in my life who’s never let me down.
When we are inches apart, I touch a trembling hand to his cheek, and wipe the spot of grease away with my fingers. His jaw clenches under my touch, his expression cautious.
Oh, screw it. I grab fistfuls of his shirt and pull him down toward me. Our lips meet, and everything else spins away into fiery pinwheels of light. At first, Dean seems stunned, frozen. Then his hands come up and plunge into my hair, and he’s kissing me back with a ferocity that steals my breath.
He spins us around so that my back is against the car, removing my hands from his shirt, and placing them around his neck so that our bodies are right up against each other. The contact has me crazed with need. When he lifts me onto the hood of the Pontiac, I wrap my legs around his hips, and pull him closer. My god, I want him so much…
I yank and tug on his shirt, trying to get it off of him without disconnecting our mouths—and laughing, breathless, he pulls back enough to get it off the rest of the way. Then he returns the favor, lifting my shirt off like he’s performing a magic trick. It makes me giggle, until his lips find my neck, and the giggles turns into something else.
How far am I gonna let this go? Right now, I’m more than willing to let Dean do anything he wants to me—and the thought both excites and scares me back to reality. My ex boyfriend’s in the hospital, and I’m in a garage, half-lying on a car, with my bra unhooked and one hand clenched on the waistband of his stepbrother’s jeans.
Dean immediately senses my unease, and draws back to search my face. “You okay?” he asks, his tone pitched low and husky.
I sit up a little, clutching my bra to my chest. “I…sorry, yeah. It’s just—too much. I feel like I’m going to explode.”
His grin is brief and wicked. “I know the feeling.”
I laugh breathlessly. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be—you’re right. Not like this.” He backs off a little, giving me some space. “I’ve waited a long time to be with you. I can wait until it’s perfect.”
“We’re not waiting too long,” I say sharply.
“No, not too long,” he agrees, watching me trying to re-hook my bra without my boobs spilling out.
“Hm, well, I’d better go,” I say awkwardly. Damn tiny ass hook!
It takes about a minute of earnest struggling until Dean finally decides to help. He reaches around me and easily gets it back on. Then he slowly moves his hands up my shoulders, fixing the drooping straps back into place. The parts of my skin he touches are on fire. Why did I stop him again?
“Don’t go,” he says, after planting the sweetest softest kiss on my shoulder. “Come upstairs with me while I grab a quick shower. Then I’ll take you somewhere to eat.”
“You talked me into it.”
Chuckling, he bends down to grab our shirts. He tosses me mine, and throws his over his shoulder. When I’m decent again, he grabs my hand, and pulls me into the house. At first, I drag my feet, worried I’ll run into his parents—until he assures me they’re not home.
“Johnny’s mom is still at the hospital, and I don’t know where my dad is, but he’s not here.”
“I saw your dad there this morning,” I say as we trudge upstairs.
Dean looks back at me over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “And?”
“He looks like somebody who would send his only son of to military school.”
He smirks at that, and continues to lead the way to his room. I continue to stare at his butt and naked back, wanting to feel them under my hands again. Man, this is so embarrassing! For some reason, I picture my grandmother standing at the top of the stairs and shaking her head at me. Not Grandma Somers—she’d totally get it. She just recently broke up with her thirty-three-years-younger-than-her boyfriend. Grandpa was still alive at the time. Actually, he’s still alive.
Once we’re in Dean’s room, I relax a little. I drift over to the aquarium and tap lightly on the glass. “Did you feed them today?”
He reappears from the bathroom, where I hear the sounds of the shower running. “Yeah, before I went down to the garage. I’m thinking of adding a couple more fish.”
“Can I come with you when you get them?” I ask excitedly.
“Sure, you can even pick them out for me.”
I smile happily at him. Wafts of steam drift out from the bathroom, and float around his head. He looks like something out of my dirtiest fantasies—didn’t I imagine him in the shower more than a few times? I lose my smile.
Of course, Dean notices. He braces one arm against the door jamb and squints at me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just having a perv moment imagining you in the shower,” I confess, blushing bright red when he chuckles, low and sexy.
“So come find out,” he invites, a dark challenge gleaming in his odd-colored eyes.
“You want me to watch you?” I squeak in a scandalized tone.
“No, I want you in there with me.”
I gulp. “Uh, I don’t think I’m up for that just yet,” I hedge.
To my relief, Dean shrugs and smiles. “The door’s open if you change your mind,” he says.
He disappears into the bathroom, but doesn’t shut the door. I catch a glimpse of him unzipping his jeans, then there’s a flash of smooth tanned skin, and the sound of the shower door opening and shutting.
I stand there, listening to my heart pound in my chest. I have every intention of practicing restraint, and waiting outside like a decent hormone-infused girl—but I’m sick with need. Those hormones keep reminding my body what happened in the garage—and how amazing, overwhelming, and hot as hell it was. My brain keeps telling them to shut up.
The hormones win. The open door and the comforting sounds of the shower running mock me. I start walking to the bathroom like I’m being pulled by a rope. Much too soon, I’m standing in front of the shower, staring at the blurred outline of Dean behind the steamy glass-enclosed shower. He’s definitely naked.
Of course he’s naked, dummy! Turn back, turn back!
My pulse is thudding thickly everywhere, making it impossible to concentrate. What am I doing in here? This isn’t the time for—should I knock? Should I announce my presence with a loud ahem?
My hand reaches out of its accord, and opens the shower door. I inhale sharply. There’s Dean, his hands braced against the tiles, head ducked under the spray of the shower…wet, sleek, so masculine and beautiful…the pure lines of his body, the curves of those gorgeous muscles. He is perfect…everywhere. I am just blown away.
Dean finally notices I’m there. His head comes up and we stare at each other, both of stunned into silence. Then he’s reaching for me. “Come here,” he says in a smoky voice.
I almost walk right in—but stop abruptly. Clothes, Juliet. I nervously shimmy out of my jeans, kicking free of them after a brief struggle. But then…I’m at a loss. Feeling desperately shy, I just stand there. I give Dean a helpless look—making sure I keep my eyes focused strictly on his face.
Understanding dawns on his fa
ce. Then before I can make up my mind what I want to do next, he’s moving forward, picking me up and lifting me into the shower with him.
“Oh, god, it’s freezing!” I shriek when the spray of water hits my skin.
He chuckles, bending down to adjust some knobs. “Sorry, I needed to cool off.”
The water instantly warms, turning into the perfect temperature in seconds. Dean has me trapped against the wall, with the water raining down on both of us. I imagine steam coming off my skin at the contact.
“Hi,” he says softly, caging me in with his arms.
“Hi,” I squeak. I search his face nervously. “Um…no sex, okay? Not yet.”
“No sex,” Dean agrees. He lets out a strained laugh. “Thanks for changing your mind about joining me.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” I whisper, gliding my hands over his strong shoulders.
He lowers his sexily sculpted mouth over mine, and I sink into the kiss. Yes, my mind screams. This is what I want to be doing. I could kiss Dean endlessly, and be content to do nothing else.
Um, well, maybe some other things, too.
My shirt comes off, then my bra, and I discover I’m okay with that as long as Dean keeps doing what he’s doing with his hands and mouth. I love the way he touches me like he’s starving for my skin, aggressive and intense. But I can feel him holding back, all straining muscles and uneven breathing. He’s got all the moves, but he makes me feel like I’m the one with all the power. It’s an unbelievable turn on.
Long after we’re both mutually satisfied, we stay in the shower, just kissing and touching each other. Finally, Dean gets out first, realizing I now don’t have anything dry to wear. He offers to throw my clothes in the wash, and I gratefully agree. I’m slightly mortified when I have to slip off my last article of clothing and hand it to him in a crumpled wet little ball. Being Dean, he doesn’t say a word.
When he’s gone, I turn the shower off, and wrap myself in the ridiculously soft towel he left out for me. I sit on the edge of the tub, feeling dizzy with a rush of emotions. That was mind-blowing—and I don’t regret that it happened. But now I feel…ashamed that I couldn’t control myself. Slutty. Confused. Guilty. Is it because I jumped from guy to guy so quickly? Like, I don’t know how I can feel this way about Dean all of a sudden, when I was so infatuated with Johnny. They’re so different! Johnny is wild and reckless—Dean is ruthlessly controlled and reserved. It’s like they each other appealed to different sides of my personality. But with Johnny…I knew I was doing something that was bad for me, but I couldn’t seem to help myself.
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