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The entire time, I think of Dean. I consider calling him. Texting him. Demanding a shoulder to cry on, or a silly joke to make me smile, or a dirty demand to make me hot.
He wants me. He does. He's holding off for me. Because he knows this will explode in my face.
I can text him another picture of my panties. Demand he reciprocate. Ask him if he's hard. If he wants to fuck himself.
If I can watch.
I can do a lot of things.
But I don't.
I text him a request to take next Thursday off. For personal reasons.
And he texts back a perfectly professional sure.
And I fall asleep with my thoughts split between him and the terrifying reality check awaiting me.
Then I wake up, and I do it again.
Our Saturday morning date (is it a date? Do I want it to be a date?) is Dean's challenge to me: a long hike starting at Los Liones Drive.
At five to eight, he pulls onto the street. He shoots me a wink as he drives past me and parks three cars up.
I push off the hood. Hit my key fob to lock my sedan. Stretch my arms over my head. It's early, but the sky is already a brilliant blue.
Dean steps out of his car. Slides his hands into the pockets of his loose running shorts. "Nice to see you, sunshine."
I tug my backpack straps. Between his shorts and my backpack, this feels too much like high school. "Miserable to see you. As usual."
He brushes his bangs from his eyes. "That's what I like to hear."
"Should I have thrown in a dick face?"
He presses his hand to his heart. "Fuck. I'm not sure I'm ready for that."
"Uh-huh."
Dean offers his hand. "You ready to go?"
"Yeah."
"Can you do me?" He pulls his t-shirt over his head then stuffs it into his bag.
My heart thuds as he brandishes a bottle of sunscreen. This is standard friend stuff. But with Dean… it's just not.
Deep breath. Slow exhale. We're coworkers hiking together. Rubbing sunscreen over his bare chest is no big deal. It's absolutely, positively not a big deal. Not even remotely.
My fingers brush his as I take the bottle.
He looks down at me as I squeeze lotion into my palm.
I bring my hand to his chest.
Soft skin. Hard muscles. Lines of ink.
Fuck, he feels good against my fingertips.
I swallow hard, but it does nothing to calm the butterflies in my stomach. I'm rubbing sunscreen into Dean's chest. And he's so… tall and broad and hot and…
