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“If I want to take a woman home, believe me, I don’t need your permission,” Dean said.
“It’s not permission. I am begging you to take that beautiful, sexy woman home, bang the shit out of her, and then tell me all about it on Monday.”
Dean knew Best was only messing with him. He might talk big and come off as obnoxious as possible, but he was a good guy deep down. Way, way deep down. Sometimes the guy loved a few too many women at once for Dean’s comfort, but it seemed to work out well for him. Best looked like a surfer with blond hair, blue eyes, and golden brown skin, and his charm could disarm even the angriest woman. The guy had absolutely no issues with the opposite sex, whereas Dean, well . . .
Dean could be called brooding on a good day, and as Best put it, a dick the rest of the time.
Not that he cared, really. He needed to get his career back on track before he got involved with anyone seriously. Besides, some women were into assholes. He just had to keep things simple.
His reaction to Violet wasn’t simple, though. Never before had he experienced a magnetic pull like this, an invisible force drawing him to her.
And he didn’t like it. Not one bit.
“If you want me to be your wingman, then pick a girl whose friend doesn’t look like she belongs in a poppy field or a church choir.”
Best chuckled. “You afraid she’s going to try to get her hooks into you?”
“I just thought it was going to be us drinking beer and hanging out,” Dean said.
“Dude, I spend all week with you and most of my free time at Mick’s. This is about hooking up with chicks in halters and bikinis—maybe both.”
“Sorry, I guess I like girls who know the score. And that one isn’t the type for a hookup and blow off. Maybe that kind of thing doesn’t matter to you, but it does to me.”
“Hey, I don’t blow them off. I give them the best night of their lives and let them go without disappointing them. Besides, most women who hook up with a guy their first time meeting him do know the score. No matter how wholesome they may seem.”
Dean thought about the things Violet had whispered to him. Could he have been wrong about her? Was she just looking to hook up?
“I don’t think Violet is that way,” he said. Think being the operative term.
“How do you know? You’ve hardly spoken to her, except for a few growls. From what I saw, she was more than happy to give you a little rubdown.”
Dean downed his beer with a grimace and walked into the bathroom with Best behind him. Several urinals on the wall were already occupied, so they waited by the opening in silence.
Well, Dean was silent. Best wouldn’t shut the fuck up.
“I know you want to get the hell out of here, man, but there’s nothing wrong with finding someone to pass the time with.”
“It’s not fair to her.” Dean saw a guy turn his way and gave him a hard look.
Nosy fucker.
“Whatever, all I’m saying is that if you screw me over by being an asshole, I’m gonna be pissed.”
“Way to strike fear into my heart,” Dean said.
Dean and Best finished up in the bathroom a few minutes later and headed back toward the beer garden. Dean pondered Best’s reasoning.
It had been hard being here on his own, with only the guys to hang with. He had grown up in Queens with his Catholic father and his mother, who had been raised an Orthodox Jew, and his five brothers and sisters. Although his mother’s family had basically ignored them until his grandfather had died, his father’s family was a large, loud Italian bunch who made family holidays chaotically awesome. It had been hard to go from that, to the barracks and his team, to his lonely apartment.
He missed his big, boisterous family so much that he found himself Skyping them just to hear them bicker. He usually didn’t have time to dwell on the shit storm that had screwed his career while he was working at Alpha Dog, but once he got home to his quiet apartment, it was harder to ignore. He tried to block out the past with TV or a trip down to Mick’s Bar, but at some point, he had to sleep.
And he hated sleeping alone.
It would be nice to find someone for a no-strings-attached deal, but not many women could handle that for long, and he wasn’t much for sleeping around.
Back in the beer garden, Dean spotted Violet and Tracy talking to a couple of people they seemed to know. One of the guys was edging closer to Violet, his hand brushing her shoulder as he picked up a lock of her hair. He was a short guy with dark spiky hair and skinny jeans.
Jesus, skinny jeans? It just wasn’t natural.
