“Yes. You know why? Because life’s full of possibilities.”
“Even for people like us?”
“Yes. Even for people like us.”
I have tears in my eyes and I know she has them too. But then I hear my dad’s voice in the background—he must have just come into the room—asking who my mom is talking to.
“Fallon?” My dad says when Mom passes the phone to him.
“Dad. Hey.”
“Hey, kiddo. How are you?”
“I’m good.”
“Did you eat?”
“Yup.”
“Meds?”
I laugh. “I took them. I’m fine, I promise.”
He sighs. I can imagine him straightening his glasses. “Where you’re staying . . . Dean sent me the location. Is it a good place? I’ve been looking at it online—”
“Dad, I’m fine. I told you. Stop worrying. I’m having fun.”
“Next time have fun on a plane, you understand? We’ve been worried. Five days, Fallon. That’s not a joke. Especially when you can be here in six hours.”
I go to say something, but I hear my mom reprimanding him. Stop being such a hardass, Simon. Let her have fun.
She can have just as much fun on a plane. Why does she have to drive three thousand miles to have fun? Do you have any idea the things that could happen on a road trip? I was reading this article online—
Gosh, you’re such a nerd. Stop. It’s fine.
Did you just call me a nerd, Willow?
Yes.
Yeah. I don’t think I like that very much.
What’re you gonna do about it?
You don’t want to know.
I’m not afraid of you . . .
I can’t hear anything after that because the phone’s snatched by my brother, Brendan, who’s four years younger than me. Brendan means ‘son of a king,’ and apparently, my mom used to call my dad, her psychiatrist, Ice King. So, she picked our names with that thought in mind.
“Ugh, Mom and Dad are being gross again,” he says, forgoing his greeting.
I laugh. “When are they not being gross? But it’s better than having parents who fight all the time.”
“I guess . . .”
We talk for a little bit before I hang up and hug myself. Gosh, I miss my family. Moving to California was an easy decision for me. I was doing it for Dean. But actually living there, so far from the people I love, is hard.
The only person who can make it better is on the other side of this wall and I can’t wait another second to be with him.
Mom’s right. I’m never gonna know if I don’t ask.
I’m going to go ask Dean. Although first, I need appropriate clothes. Giggling because apparently, Dean makes me a giggler too, I get to work.
He’s not going to know what hit him.
CHAPTER THREE
Fallon
He’s awake.
Good.
There’s light under his door so I knock on it, trying to tamp down my excitement.
A few seconds later, Dean opens it and there’s no use even trying to control my heartbeats. They’re not going to slow down, no matter what I do. My heart isn’t mine. It’s his. It belongs to this man in front of me.
“Fallon?” Dean asks with a frown and a concerned voice.
“Hey,” I breathe.
He looks up and down the brown-carpeted corridor. “Are you okay? What going on?”
For some strange reason, I’ve forgotten all my reasons for being here. All I can do is simply stare at him. At his rumpled hair and faded t-shirt. His bare feet with a sprinkling of dark hair on the toes, which makes it all the sexier. And his checkered pajamas.
Dean’s always worn them. They make him look very straight-laced and mature. And now I realize, super sexy too.
“You still wear checkered pants?” I say, chuckling.
Dean’s frown takes on a sort of offended turn. He looks down at himself, seemingly put out, and that only makes me laugh harder.
A second later though, I’m not laughing. He’s stolen my laughter, my breaths even as he drags his gaze up and down my body, reminding me what I’m wearing.
It’s my usual night clothes—a pair of shorts and a tank top—but a little shorter and a lot lacier. And black in color. Dean’s favorite.
He runs his eyes from my feet, up my bare calves and thighs, to my stomach and up to my chest. He lingers in places, making those spots burn with longing. Making my stomach buzz and nipples bead inside my top.
I rub my feet together, feeling jittery and hot, wondering if he can see how his careful study is affecting me. If he can tell I picked this outfit, just for him.
All my musings evaporate when his gaze clashes with mine. There’s so much heat in the depths of his eyes that his brown pupils seem burnt. They appear black, almost, and blown up.
The silence is too much to take so I whisper his name, “Dean . . .”
Without saying a single word to me, Dean grabs hold of my wrist and pulls me inside the room, making me squeak. I jump when he shuts the door behind me, still staring at me like he’ll never stop.
“At least, it’s better than what you’re wearing,” he says, at last, letting go of me.
I freeze in my spot. Does he not like it, my clothes?
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I ask carefully.
Dean steps back from me without answering, and strides over to the bathroom.
Um . . . what was that?
I don’t know what to think. I mean, I didn’t expect him to jump my bones as soon as he saw me in these clothes, but I didn’t expect him to literally leave the room, either. I was going for a little sexual tension here and I thought I got that. Right?
I go further into the room and notice his bed is messy and almost covered with files and documents and his computer. He must be working, as always. Maybe I interrupted something and now he’s mad at me.
But damn it. When is he not working?
Dean comes out of the bathroom, looking like a man on a mission. “Nothing’s wrong with what you’re wearing except it shows more than it hides,” he almost snaps, before throwing something fluffy and white toward me. “Put this on.”
I pull the fabric off my face and realize it’s a bathrobe. “What?”
“Put it on.”
I look at the bathrobe and then, at him, all rigid and stern. I’m starting to feel a little self-conscious. I tug on the hem of my lacy tank top. “You’re acting crazy.”
“I’m serious.”
I tug at my hem again but then stop. Even though he doesn’t like my outfit because clearly, he looks super offended right now, I like it. I think it makes me look sexy. So, screw him. Although I know I’ll probably agonize over it later in my room, I still hold my ground. “There’s nothing wrong with my clothes. It’s what I wear when I’m sleeping.”
“Are you sleeping right now?”
“Well, no but—”
He tips his chin to the bathrobe in my hand. “So put it on.”
Dean’s eyebrows are arched and he’s got this arrogant and authoritative look on his face. That look messes with my head, I swear. I can’t decide if I want to tell him to cut it out or ask him why he doesn’t like what I’m wearing. Or—yes, there’s a third choice—kiss that soft mouth of his and shock him the fuck out.
As it is, I cross my arms and let the robe fall on the ground. “No. I think you’re being stupid.”
“I think you’re being a little too naked.”
“What?”
He grits his teeth, all angry and bothered. “You walked over to my room wearing that.”
“Uh, yes . . .”
“Anyone could’ve seen you in . . .” He trails off, waving his hand in the general direction of me.
“That . . .” I open my mouth and close it before saying, “That would bother you? Someone seeing me like this?”
Dean
takes a few seconds to answer and I rub my foot against the calf of my other leg. His angry eyes are making my skin buzz with an odd electricity.
“Yes,” he replies at last, and something about his reluctant agreement makes me feel lighter.
Is he . . . Could he possibly be . . . jealous? Could his strong reaction be explained by jealousy?
“Are you—”
“Put the robe on, Fallon,” he says in an impatient tone.
“Why? I’m not outside right now. I’m in your room. And you’ve seen me in my PJs lots of times.”
“That was when you were a kid,” he snaps.
I clench my thighs and I notice his gaze dropping to the tops of my bare legs before quickly moving away and up to my face. If I were smart, I’d be scared of how furious and how agitated he seems.
But I’m not smart. I’m in love and even his harsh expression and tight cheekbones can’t scare me.
“Oh, so now you admit I’m not a kid anymore. A little too convenient, isn’t it?” I prance over to the bed, plop down on it, careful not to touch any of his precious files.
Dean watches me for a few beats, standing in the middle of the room, as if stranded at sea, and he doesn’t know what to do about it. “What do you want?”
“I wanted to see if you were sleeping.”
“And now that you’ve seen that I’m clearly not?” he asks with clenched teeth.
I hide my smile at his irritated tone. “You know, I’m not gonna fight with you. It’s been ages since we hung out together. And I’m mature enough to not waste my time over petty fights.”
He watches me some more before sighing and raking his fingers through his hair. “I was working.”
“Okay. Well, do you think you could take a little break?” I ask with hope. “Maybe watch a movie with me or something?”
I can see him debating the merits of watching a movie with me. Actually, the merits of watching a movie with a little-too-naked me.
Sighing again, he nods. “Okay, yeah.”
I beam at him. “Awesome. Harry Potter? Chamber of Secrets?”
As soon as Dean sits beside me and the movie starts, I crawl over to him and fit myself in the crook of his arm. He turns rigid. I don’t even think he’s breathing as I lay my face on his strong, warm chest, my body flattening against his side.
Every part of me is touching every part of him and it’s heaven. How did I not realize it before? How did it take me so long to come to the conclusion that I love him, that I’ve always loved him?
I hate that my nearness is making him uncomfortable. I hate that there’s this awkwardness between us.
Suddenly, something occurs to me—I have seen my mom do this to my dad. I wrap my arm around him, bringing it up so I can reach his dark hair. I sink my fingers into it and rake my nails along the nape of his neck and his scalp.
“Fallon—”
I knew he’d protest so I cut him off, “Please, Dean. Please let me make you feel good.”
“I don’t need—”
“You do.” I look up and into his eyes. “Please?”
Clenching his jaw, he throws me a small nod and I grin at him.
After that, he lets me play with his hair, massaging the tension in his neck and shoulders away. A few minutes into it, I feel him relaxing. His body goes liquid and I burrow into his chest even more. He even groans.
That intimate sound echoes in my chest. “See? You needed loosening up.”
He chuckles. And then, he wraps his own arm around my back and brings me even closer, plastering my soft, malleable body against his hard, unforgiving one. I bite my lip and tighten my muscles to stop a major shiver from rolling through. It feels like my body is awake in all the different ways.
We stay like that for a little bit as the movie plays on his computer. I honestly don’t know what’s going on. All I know is him and the effect his body is having on me.
“Dean?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you . . . Do you have a girlfriend?”
“What?”
Okay, so, I don’t know where that came from. But now it’s out there. All the warmth and intimacy of the past half hour vanishes. I reluctantly move away from him and sit up.
I stare at the five-o-clock shadow on his jaw as I ask, “Girlfriend. Do you have one?”
Someone who plays with your hair. Someone to massage the knots away from your shoulders. Someone you watch movies with.
“Why?”
I shrug and tuck my hair behind my ear. “I just . . . was wondering. Since you never mentioned anyone.”
Dean follows my gesture with his eyes. “No.”
Oh, thank God.
“Why not?” I ask, casually, trying to hide all the relief I’m feeling.
“I’m busy.”
“With work?”
“With cases, yes.”
I shake my head at him. “God, you and your work. It’s okay to relax once in a while, you know. Go out. Have fun. Meet girls. I—” I cut myself off because, hello? I don’t want him meeting girls. I just want him to let loose a bit.
“I mean, meet people not girls. People. Like, you know, don’t meet girls. Because you don’t know how girls are. Especially, girls in L.A. They’re not what you’re looking for, trust me. You know? Yeah. Not those girls. Just trust me, Dean. You want a girl who would . . . you know . . .”
“No.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. A girl who would what?”
Suddenly, I realize his eyes are hooded. Kind of sleepy but not really. More like restrained. Similar to his body. His back is against the headboard, his legs straight and almost sprawled like they were in the car.
Even relaxed and lazy, Dean looks intimidating. Authoritative. Sexy.
Everything that’s lethal to me, my heart. My love and my lust. I’m hypersensitive, tight in my skin and bursting at the seams. And all I want is for him to kiss me. Kiss this tightness, this ache away.
“Girl who would what, Fallon?” he asks again, lazily, like he has all the time in the world to stare at me, to pin me down with one look.
“Uh, a girl who would . . .” I lick my lip, feeling a tug in my lower belly, and he lowers his gaze to my mouth. “A—A girl who’d do anything for you.”
“Anything, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Like what?”
“Like . . .” I fist the bedsheet and try to ground myself in the moment, and not completely drown in his eyes or drown in this heavy, thick feeling. “Anything to just be close to you. Just to . . . just to be able to touch you. To smell you. Anything to look into your eyes when you smile, because they shine. A girl who’d do anything to be able to say to you that she l—loves you.”
Love.
Gosh, I used the L word, didn’t I? I fucking used the L word when I don’t even know if he feels the same way.
Great going, Fallon.
Worse, he isn’t saying anything. He’s simply watching me.
I wring my hands together, breaking his gaze. Maybe it was too soon. I mean, we just reconnected. Maybe I should give it a few more days before I get to the main part. Namely, telling him I’m that girl. The girl who would do anything for him.
“I didn’t mean l-love —”
“You don’t have to worry about me meeting a girl, Tiny,” he cuts me off.
“I—I don’t?”
“No. Because I’m not interested in girls. They’re a little too young for me. I’d rather be with a woman.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Fallon
He’s talking to her, the waitress.
I guess, you could call her a woman. She’s tall and busty. Her face is made up and her blonde hair’s shiny. She’s wearing her uniform, a pair of black shorts and a white t-shirt. But even then, she’s got a type of body that suggests she’ll look good in a nice, sophisticated dress, as well. So basically, the complete opposite of my sneaker
s, Harry Potter t-shirts, and messy buns.
Ever since Dean said he likes women, not little girls, I’ve been a little pissed at him. We drove from Salt Lake City to Cheyenne in more or less complete silence. He let me pick the music and I had half a mind to force him to listen to Lana Del Ray. But I didn’t. Because I’m mature enough not to.
We’re three days into our journey, and the easy silences and comfortable conversation from day one have vanished. We’ve just reached Des Moines, Iowa. The land of corn and broad fields. Although, you can’t see that right now because it’s winter and everything is bare and frosty.
Kind of like my heart because he’s talking—flirting—with a waitress.
I just came out of my room and was planning to ask him out to dinner. I even put on a nice pink dress to look more like a grown up. Although, I’m not liking the length of it. It barely drops down to my mid-thigh.
Anyway, I figured we could go eat at a decent place and we can get back to being friends. And I can get back to convincing him we belong together. I’ve already wasted a lot of time being pissed.
But it’s not gonna happen. He’s super engrossed in his conversation with the waitress, and that pisses me off so much I can barely handle it. She has her notepad out but instead of writing on it, she’s laughing at what he’s saying like he’s the most hilarious guy ever.
A moment later, Dean laughs as well and I’m done.
I can’t take it.
He used to laugh with me like that. Before. Way before he left for L.A., and I didn’t know the meaning of the things I felt for him. Now, it’s too painful. He has hardly smiled since we started this road trip.
I whirl around, getting out of the dining area and follow the hallway back to where our rooms are located. I stumble along the way but there’s no one to save me except the colorless wall I clash with and somehow, I manage to stay upright.
I have no idea how long I’ve been inside my room, trying not to cry but crying anyway, when a knock sounds. It’s loud and confident. It can only belong to one person.
“Fallon,” Dean calls out, confirming my guess. “You in there?”
Sighing, I wipe stray tears off my cheeks and get up to open the door to reveal an angry Dean.
“What’s going on? I thought you said you were going to be down soon. I ordered for you,” he says, all irritated and pissed off.
Mixtape: A Love Song Anthology Page 3
