The Road That Leads to Us (Us 1)

He nodded woodenly and cleared his throat. “Mhmm. Yeah. Forget I said anything.”

“This first official date thing is already going down the sucky path,” I mumbled.

He chuckled as he put the car in gear. “I’ll do my best to fix it.”

***

We found a quaint restaurant and ordered more food to-go than we needed—Dean would probably eat it anyway. We drove back to the abandoned warehouse and parked on the empty lot.

We ended up sitting on the trunk of the car with the food between us.

Since I’d gotten us lost so many times today—that led to some laughs at my expense—it was already getting late and the sun would soon be setting.

I dipped a handful of fries into ketchup and stuck them in my mouth. So ladylike, I know, but this was Dean and I couldn’t be anything but myself with him.

He chuckled at me and reached over to swipe ketchup off my lip before sucking his thumb into his mouth.

“Never waste ketchup.” He winked. “One of the most valuable lessons my dad ever taught me.”

I snorted. “Did he teach you any other valuable lessons?”

He ducked his head and chuckled under his breath. “’Course.”

I took a bite of my burger. “I’m going to gain like fifty pounds by the time we get home.”

“Who cares?” Dean shrugged, stuffing a handful of fries in his mouth. “You’ll still be beautiful. You always are.”

I threw a fry at his head. “You’re so cheesy.”

“Hey,” He grabbed the fry and ate it, “I’m being honest. Not my fault if you find it cheesy.”

I shook my head at him, fighting a smile.

“What’s going to happen when we get home?” I asked him softly, half-afraid of his answer.

He winced. “Your dad will probably try to kill me.”

I snorted. “He’ll have to go through me first. He’s a big softy,” I said honestly, “he’ll get over it.”

Dean shrugged and made a face that told me he didn’t believe me.

“Does Liam know we’re coming?” He picked up his drink and took a sip, waiting for me to answer.

“No.”

“No?” He sounded surprised.

I took another bite of my burger and stared straight ahead where the sun was beginning to lower between the abandoned buildings, bathing everything in a warm glow.

“Why haven’t you told him? Aren’t you guys close?” He rattled off questions.

“We are,” I replied, kicking my feet out, “but ever since he moved away things have been different. I didn’t want to tell him we were coming and then have to listen to him feed me some bullshit line about why I shouldn’t come.”

“What do you think’s going on with him?” Dean’s brows furrowed in confusion.

I pursed my lips in thought. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly, “but I do know from something he said that the media is really getting to him. At home, they leave us alone, but in Malibu he’s on their turf. So they follow him everywhere he goes and crowd his surf competitions. The media…they all want us to fuck up so they can print it across every magazine and it sucks. In New York they followed me a lot in the beginning and I…”

I cringed, remembering one particular time where a photographer was being an epic douche. My friends loved the attention and thought it was great when paparazzi followed us. I wanted to kick every one of the assholes in the shin.