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Chapter 17

Leighton

Moonlight flows through the windows. It casts soft highlights and shadows over the stairs. Melts into the yellow glow of the den’s fluorescent bulbs.

The house is quiet except for the sizzle of a pan.

It’s late. The party’s over. It’s just me and Ryan.

My feet pad the plush beige carpet. Then the slick equally beige tile.

Oh.

That isn’t Ryan.

Dean’s standing at the stove, in jeans and a t-shirt, his attention on a grilled cheese sandwich, his back to me.

He turns from his spot at the stove. His blue eyes meet mine. They’re so much like Ryan’s. Lighter. Brighter. Filled with playfulness instead of frustration.

He folds his arms over his chest. “What the fuck did you do to him?” His voice is teasing, but it still feels like an accusation.

I try to make my response playful. “I sucked him off.”

“No offense, babe, but you need to work on your technique.”

“Is that right?”

“You did something wrong to put that look on his face.”

“Okay. I admit it. He likes it rough. I got carried away.”

Dean shakes his head in your dreams.

“How do you know?”

“I know what a satisfied woman looks like."

“Maybe you don’t.” I grab a blanket from the couch, wrap it around myself like a cocoon. “Maybe they’ve all been faking it.”

“I know faking it.” He turns back to the stove. Flips his sandwich to one side. “You want one?”

Bread and cheese are the perfect antidote to my pounding headache, but I want to eat with Ryan. “No thanks.”

He shrugs suit yourself.

“What time is it?”

“Time for you to stop drinking your feelings.”

I fake laugh. Flip him off.

He returns the gesture.

“You know, I could have sucked him off and refused to let him make me come.”

“You get off on making up this bullshit?”

“No.”

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