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I'm nothing to him. Another notch on a bedpost covered with them.
"Ryan said you almost kicked his ass," Dean says.
"It's sparring. Not ass kicking."
"You beat him or not?"
Not. "I came close." Ish.
He offers his hand. "Show me something."
The thought of touching him sets me on fire.
The thought of hurting him satisfies somewhere deep.
This sort of anger isn't healthy. I've been through too much to care about a guy who failed to call seven years ago.
I need to get past this.
"Later." I take a step backward. My ass hits the counter. My heels too. "I don't want to break your hand."
"You're no fun."
"Was I ever?"
"Yeah. In your way, you were always fun, sunshine." His voice drops as he calls me by the old pet name.
It's the same charm as always.
He has no idea he hurt me.
Or he doesn't care.
Which is worse—stupidity or apathy?
"I should get to work." I move behind the counter. Take a seat at the stool. Pretend as if I know what I'm supposed to do with the computer.
"You want some help?" The light from the window surrounds him. Bounces off his hair, his neck, his chest.
He looks like an angel.
But that's all wrong.
Dean is a devil, plain and simple.
And he's not tempting me again.
I press my lips into a smile. "Ryan has it under control."
"Suit yourself." He takes a step backward, out of the bright light, into an even, diffuse one. "If you need anything, you know who to call." His voice gets soft. Seductive.
Is it an actual offer to fuck him?
Or more of his usual bullshit?
I guess it doesn't matter.
I'm not sleeping with him again.
