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“We were also going over some files for work. He has a new client that he’s working with and wanted my opinion.”
“Mmhmm,” Lainey hums and I giggle. Avery narrows her eyes at the both of us.
“Y’all are the worst.”
The timer dings, signaling that it’s time to rinse my hair. I can’t help but love the little group of friends I have here in this town.
***
One week has passed since Dean blew into town and I have been making a job out of avoiding him. But it’s Saturday night and I’m tending bar so that means I can’t run away if he shows up. I’m serving up some shots when the bar door opens and Derrick walks in with his partner, Jonah, walk in. The usually come in every Saturday after their shift and Derrick hangs out until closing, then we both go back to my apartment. They both saddle up to the bar and I grab them both a beer. I meander over to them and Derrick braces both forearms on the bar top and leans over the counter, pressing a kiss to my lips.
“Stay on your side of my bar, Jensen,” is rumbled from farther down the bar and I narrow my eyes at Dean. Derrick laughs and sits back down.
“Anderson. Heard you were back in town,” Derrick says, eyes on Dean, taking a drink of his beer.
“I’m sure you did,” Dean murmurs, his eyes on me. He’s always looked at me like I was the only girl in the room. It didn’t matter that all the other girls in his grade wanted to be with him, that he could have had someone older. More mature. He only ever wanted me, never gave them the time of the day. And right now, he’s still looking at me like I’m the only woman in the room.
His eyes blaze a trail on my skin, taking me in from head to toe. I did put more thought into my outfit and makeup tonight, knowing there was a possibility of Dean being here. I’ve got on a pair of booties with my dark skinny jeans tucked inside them. I’m also wearing a cute black tank top, criss cross pattern above my chest that draws attention to my cleavage which is on full display. I ditched my cardigan a while ago because I was warm, so my arms are totally exposed. My skin feels hot where Dean’s eyes have roamed, taking in my entire body. My hair is piled on top of my head, leaving my neck bare, and I can feel the blush creeping up my chest.
The sound of the bar has dulled to a low roar, muffled by the blood pumping through my ears. I didn’t really look at Dean when I saw him the other day, I was too upset and hurt but even I can’t deny that he looks good, better than he ever did. You can tell he works out, his bicep muscles hugged by the gray t-shirt he’s wearing. His hair is long and shaggy, falling across his forehead. His dark hair has always made his green eyes look brighter, and tonight is no exception. He has on dark jeans that hug him in all the right spots and black motorcycle boots on his feet.
“Order up!” The cook hollers and it bring me back to the moment. I tear my eyes away from Dean, grabbing the food and running it to the table for the server, needing to get away from him. Put some distance between the two of us. I fill drink orders and chat with Derrick and Jonah for a while, Dean behind the bar talking with other custom
ers. Avery shows up for her shift and I excuse myself, making my way to the bathroom and locking myself inside. Being this close to Dean is making me crazy. Making me question everything that’s happened in the last twelve years. There’s a light knock on the door.
“Just a minute,” I holler, washing my hands. There’s another knock just as I swing the door open and Dean is standing there. He pushes me back into the bathroom and kicks the door shut behind him, locking it.
“What the hell, Dean!” I snap, crossing my arms. His eyes drop to my chest and linger there before slowly coming back up to my face. A lazy grin spreads across his face.
“That’s what I’m thinking, Whitley. What the hell. Derrick Jensen, really?”
How dare he.
“You don’t get to ask questions about my personal life, Dean. It’s none of your business. You are the owner of this bar and nothing more than that, do you understand? Now, move.” I try to open the door, but he won’t move, back braced against it.
“I get to ask questions if it interferes with your job.”
“How dare you,” I seethe, poking my finger at his chest. “Don’t you ever question me and my work ethic, Dean Anderson. I have broken my back for this fuckin’ bar, workin’ open to close day after day. And I’ve done it because I love Fred and I owe it to him. He put me back together when I was broken, which you wouldn’t know a thing about because you weren’t here. I may owe it to Fred, but I don’t owe you a goddamn thing. Now, move!”
He spears his hands into his hair and huffs out a sharp breath but steps out of the way and I throw the door open, running smack into Derricks chest. His hands shoot out instinctively and he grips my arms, taking in the situation, his eyes bouncing back and forth between the two of us, eyebrows raised.
“Everything okay here?” He asks.
“Everything’s fine,” I say, pressing up on my toes and fusing my lips to his, putting a little extra effort in just to piss Dean off. I finally slow the kiss down and pull away.
“Excuse me,” I push around him and go back to the bar. Derrick is back on his stool a few minutes later and Dean, well, he is blessedly absent for the rest of my shift.
****
Sunday’s are usually saved for me and Derrick, as it’s the only day off that we have together, and this week is no exception. Most of the time we stay in and binge watch T.V. shows, eat junk food, and snuggle. Derrick decided this week he wanted us to go out, so here I am, all dolled up at four thirty in the afternoon and waiting on him to pick me up for our date. I have got on dark skinny jeans that make my ass look incredible, red booties, and an off the shoulder cream colored sweater. I took a little extra time on my hair today, curling and teasing it to high heaven. The bigger the hair, the closer to Jesus. At least, that’s what my mama always said.
I hear the gravel crunch in my driveway, signaling his arrival. I’m out on the porch and locking the door when Derrick meets me on the steps with a frown.
“Maybe next time actually let me come knock on the door when I pick you up,” he states, holding my hand on the walk to the car. I roll my eyes.
“Just ‘cause you’re taking me out on a date doesn’t mean I can’t open my own front door, D.” He opens my car door for me, and I climb in.
“I know, but my mama raised a gentleman and that means openin’ doors for you.” I concede to that, knowing his mama did raise him to be a gentleman and she is sweet as pie.
