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The friend laughs.
Dean watches him leave.
It's just us in this giant house.
I move to the table. Fill my glass with more orange juice and vodka. Pray for it to erase that you don't belong here voice completely.
This is supposed to be the best time of my life. Parties. Boys. Fun.
I'm having fun, dammit.
Dean follows me to the table. "You don't want to watch?"
"Alan isn't my type."
"What is?"
"Smart guys." I take a long sip of my drink. "You know any?"
"Not one. But I can help with that drink." His hand brushes mine. Slowly, he peels my fingers from my cup. "Grenadine." He picks up a bottle of candy red liquid. Pours it into my glass. "Goes down smoother."
"Thanks." My stomach flutters as he hands the glass back.
This is intentional.
He's touching me on purpose.
He's helping me on purpose.
He's alone with me on purpose.
He fills his cup with Jack and Coke then lifts it to toast.
"To?" I ask.
"Good friendships."
"We're good friends?"
"Of course." His voice is earnest. Honest.
"I hate you."
"I know."
"That doesn't bother you?"
"Fuck no. It's what I like about you." He clinks his glass with mine. Takes a long sip. Lets out a low sigh of pleasure. "You keep me on my toes."
"You live on your toes."
"Should take up ballet." He makes a show of rising to his tiptoes. It's nowhere close to a ballet move. But it's Dean all the same.
Charming and irritating.
Gia says he reminds her of Han Solo.
But Gia isn't the one taking his constant insults. (And Gia needs to learn that Star Wars isn't the answer to all of life's questions).
