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I imagined the long, torturous hours of her being close enough to touch but not being able to.
What I didn’t imagine were her glares. Her silent treatment after what happened between us in Des Moines. I didn’t imagine forgetting all the reasons I’ve accumulated over the years for us to not be together.
I didn’t imagine her saying those words to me.
I love you, Dean. I’m in love with you. Don’t you know that? I’ve been in love with you all my life.
Fallon’s across the room, at a different table than the one I picked for us. She’s too pissed to sit with me at dinner. I know I should apologize, but again I think it’s for the best.
Or it would’ve been if not for the douchebag talking to her.
Fury explodes in my gut when I see him leaning toward her. She arches her neck to listen to what he has to say. He looks like an asshole, with low-slung jeans and spiked hair with too much gel.
I’ve got no idea why she’s talking to this fuckface. Can’t she tell he’s an asshole?
Jesus. She always needs to be looked after, doesn’t she?
But then I remind myself that technically, Fallon’s an adult. She can do whatever she wants.
It’s none of my business. Just as it’s none of her business who I talk to. I know after my shitty response, I have no right to feel this absurd jealousy.
But I do feel it.
And when he leans in further and reaches out to touch her, I spring up from my seat. This isn’t happening. Not on my watch. Not ever.
She loves me, you fucking asshole.
I stride across the room, grab hold of his collar and yank him away from her. Fallon gasps but I pay her no attention. Looking into the startled face of the guy, I grit out the words, “Take a hike.”
He looks like he wants to protest but the look in my eyes—probably something similar to murder—scares him away. As soon as I turn around to face Fallon, I’m met with a tiny firecracker, glaring and almost spitting.
Sometimes I can’t believe Fallon is all grown up. Fierce and beautiful. Fucking breathtaking.
“What the hell are you doing?” she snaps, and the heat that blankets me every time I talk to her, look at her, even think of her, grabs hold of me now.
I hide it with anger. “Saving you.”
“What?”
“He was talking to your chest.”
She looks down at her chest and despite cursing myself in my head, my gaze follows hers. She’s wearing a tank top with a quote from her favorite book series, Harry Potter. But like a pervert, I’m more interested in the soft-looking, smooth slope of her cleavage.
I grit my teeth angrily.
“Yes. Because I spilled something.”
That’s when I look at a mustard-colored stain on her top. Even though it should calm my agitation, it doesn’t.
“Well, it’s none of his business if you spilled something,” I grumble.
Frowning, she purses her lips. “Not everyone is a jerk like you, okay? Some people like to help.”
“He was only helping you because he wanted something from you.”
“Yes. A thank you. But how dare he, right?”
“Yeah, a thank you. But there’s a lot of ways to get that,” I growl, leaning toward her like that asshole was doing not a minute ago. Don’t know what that says about me.
Actually, I do know what it says about me. I’m an asshole too. Because I can’t stop staring at her lips. I can’t stop thinking about how they’ll taste, how soft they will be.
“You’ve lost your mind,” she snaps again, breaking my thoughts.
“And you need to use yours. Because men only want one thing, Fallon. And it’s not just a verbal thank you.”
Men like me. Men who belong in prison for harboring such thoughts about someone so young. Men I’ve prosecuted myself.
How am I different from them?
So far, we’ve been standing at a respectable distance from each other. But Fallon moves closer. She looks up at me with a mutinous expression.
“Contrary to your belief, Dean, I do know what guys want. I’m not an idiot. And maybe I’ll go give it to him. At least he’ll know how to treat me like a grown-up.”
She pushes me away, and I’m so startled that she’s successful in shoving me out of her way and storming out.
I take a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm myself. Calm the jealousy inside me that she’s just flared to life. Once before I’ve felt this way, this out of control, and I hate it.
But as I watch her walk away, I realize there’s no stopping it.
I leave the restaurant in her wake and catch up to her just as she’s about to enter her room. Following her inside, I shut the door with a massive thud.
“What the fuck?”
“Language.”
She shakes her head, sending her soft silver hair swaying around her shoulders. “If you don’t stop correcting my language, I’m gonna kill you. And I’m not kidding. Now get the fuck out of my room.”
