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"I was going to say experienced."
He chuckles. "True."
"With drinking."
"Still true." He scoops eggs with his fork. "Fuck. I usually chow down on bacon when I have a hangover."
"That sounds like you."
"Do you ever get tempted to eat meat?"
"When I first started, yeah. But after a while, meat seemed gross to me. After fifteen years, the smell of it makes my stomach turn."
"Fuck. That's dedication. I don't think I've believed in anything for fifteen years."
"What about lust for pussy?"
He laughs so hard he drops his fork. His hand goes to his stomach. He holds onto it like he's about to bust a stitch. "Lust for pussy?"
"What would you call it?"
"Lust for pussy is perfect." He wipes a tear of joy from his eye. "Fuck, Chloe. You… you're perfect."
"It's the boots." I show off said boots. "You can admit it."
"You can admit sandals are more comfortable."
They are comfortable. But—"They aren't me."
"You gonna wear combat boots to your wedding?"
"I don't know. Are you proposing?"
His eyes light up as his smile spreads over his cheeks. "You shouldn't dare me like that, sunshine. I'll do it just because."
I have no doubt Dean would marry someone on a whim. But not just to win a game of chicken. Because there's this lonely part of him hiding behind the cocky front.
He craves connection as much as I do.
"Who says that isn't exactly what I want?" I tease back.
"It's only four hours to Vegas."
"Don't I know it."
His laugh bounces around the room. "Don't you know it?"
I nod.
"You're hitting Vegas on the regular?"
"Is that really so implausible?" I take a long sip of my tea. Let out a soft moan. God, that's good. Bergamot really is a wonderful thing.
"I can't think of much that's less plausible than you at the Vegas clubs, getting wasted, bringing home some boy toy."
"That's because I'm all about roulette."
"Put it all on black?"
