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For fuck’s sake.

Get it together.

Twenty Two

Blair

The first thing I notice when I wake up is the empty space beside me.

Which is ridiculous.

I watched Dean leave last night.

The second is the stupid smile on my face.

Fuck.

I slept with Dean Ashford.

I curl my fingers around the sunflower necklace resting against my chest and replay pieces of last night. The way he was so patient with me. How he kept checking to make sure I was okay. How, when I froze, he stopped without making me feel guilty or asking me to explain.

It didn’t feel scary.

It felt easy.

And that terrifies the hell out of me.

It occurs to me that last night was the first time in months I went to bed without checking every door and window. I just…forgot.

I suppose the hot mechanic was a little distracting.

My phone rings, and I’ve never reached for it faster. For one embarrassingly hopeful second, I expect to see Dean’s name on the screen.

I don’t.

Disappointment sinks through me before I can stop it, but at least it’s my second-favorite person in Hartwell.

“Hey, G,” I answer through a yawn.

“My house. Now,” she demands.

“I’m still in bed. Give me ten minutes to feel human.” I roll onto my back with a groan.

G laughs down the phone. “Hurry up, babe. I need details.”

“Fine. But you better have coffee.”

“Who do you think I am? A psycho?” she asks, sounding deeply offended. “Your coffee is already poured.”

The call ends before I can respond.

I drag myself out of bed, pull on a pair of sweatpants and a loose sweater, then head next door to face the interrogation.

* * *

“So…you slept with him?” G asks, waggling her eyebrows at me.

“What are you, twelve?” I laugh into my coffee.