Rock Bottom (Dawson Family 6)

Me: In that case…(just remember you offered)

Mason: On second thought, I’m not here.

Me: Hah. I’m calling you. Hang on.

I crack the door, looking up the stairs. Wrapping the blanket around myself, I tip toe out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, going into the little hall that leads to the laundry room. I don’t think Dean could hear me, even if he was awake.

I call Mason and bring the phone to my ear.

“How’s the weather?” he asks as soon as he answers.

“What? It’s cold.”

“Are you sure?” he presses.

“Yes, it’s winter in northwest Indiana.”

“Right. It’s not peachy.”

“I’m not being held hostage,” I rush out in a whisper, forgetting that “peachy” was the word I was told to use in case I was actually being forced to call home and act like everything was fine. “But I did go home with a guy from a bar tonight.”

“Do you need someone to come get you? I can call the local police and—”

“Stop,” I whisper. “No. I really like this guy.”

“That’s why you called?”

“Shut up and let me talk. I met this guy at the bar and told him I was Blaire from Canada. I didn’t think we’d hit it off. But we did, and I kept up the whole Canadian act. But he’s actually pretty awesome and a total hottie and I don’t know what to do.”

Mason is silent for several seconds. And then he bursts out laughing. I scramble to turn the volume down on my phone.

“It’s not funny.”

“It’s fucking hilarious. Please tell me you didn’t try to have a French-Canadian accent.”

“Not this time. But he’s going to hate me if I tell the truth, right?”

“Well,” Mason says, and I can tell he’s getting a little uncomfortable. “I take women home from bars, and I usually don’t care what their names are…if you know what I’m getting at.”

“I do. I know guys don’t bring chicks home from bars because they’re hoping to find marriage material, but it wasn’t like that. I think it started out that way, but then it turned into…into something more.”

“Don’t read into it too much, sis,” he says gently. “The guy took you home for what sounds like some no-strings sex. Gross. I can’t believe I’m talking to you about this.”

“Should I call Sam instead?” I ask dryly, knowing Sam is the biggest man-whore I’ve ever met.

“Hah. He’d tell you to sneak out and find another guy to take you home instead. But really, Ror, this guy isn’t looking for anything more, even if you think you felt something. You’ve never had a one-night stand before, right?”

“Right.”

“Then this should be your last. You had your fun, now go back to being the youngest old person I know, okay?”

I let out another breath, getting what he’s saying. And I don’t want to be one of those women who clings to any shred of hope that some guy will fall for me, using sex as a way to try and earn said love.

I’m smart. Independent. Capable.

And a terrible liar.

“Okay.”

“Do you need a ride home or anything?”

“No. I’m going to go back upstairs and try to sleep. I’m exhausted.”

“Gross,” he says with a shudder. “I’m going to call you in the morning and make sure you’re okay. Can you text me the address of where you are and the guy’s name?”

“Want me to go through his wallet and send you a photo of his ID?”

“Yeah, that would be great, actually. I can run him through the database and—”

“Mason, I’m joking. I’m not going through his wallet. His name is Dean, he’s a contractor, and his brothers own a bar called Getaway here in Eastwood.”

“That’s enough. I’ll be able to find him.”

I roll my eyes. “I hope you never have a daughter.”

“Kids aren’t in my future.”

“Keep having one-night stands and you never know.”

“Not funny. Be careful, Rory.”

“I will be. Night, Mason. Love you.”

We end the call and I inch forward, certain I’m going to find Dean standing in the kitchen, ready to kick me out after hearing everything I said. Though I’m sure Mason is right.

Dean didn’t go to the bar tonight looking for a girlfriend. He was looking to hook up, and that’s exactly what we did.

Twice.

Quietly, I creep up the stairs and get back into bed. Dean’s breathing is slow and rhythmic. It’s comforting and could easily lull me to sleep.

Trying to remember Mason’s warning, I slip back under the covers, moving closer to Dean. For the warmth. Not because being next to him feels so damn good.

I close my eyes, exhaustion pulling me down. In his sleep, Dean wriggles closer and puts his arm around me.

This is meaningless sex. He won’t even remember my name in the morning.

But I’ll remember his.Chapter 13DeanI wake up with hair in my face and half the covers pulled off of me. Gray clouds cover the sky, and muted light comes in through the bedroom window.