I wave my hand over my tank top and black jeans. "Of course."
He leans back in his chair with a knowing smile. "No fucking way."
"I have been to Vegas."
"And?"
"Well…"
"You hated it?"
"Only almost everything about it." I laugh. "Just that."
"It's not your kind of place."
"Yours?"
He shrugs. "It's was a thrill when I turned twenty-one. But the whole bar, club, hookup thing got old fast."
"You should have been putting it all on red."
"Maybe that was my problem."
I scoop another bite of my eggs. Chew. Swallow. In the light, the sparseness of Dean's apartment is more obvious. The bare walls and empty shelves are lonely. "How long have you been getting tired of your routine?"
"Awhile. But I didn't realize it until I saw you again."
"I mean that much to you?"
"I didn't think so, but yeah. You're the only woman I've ever trusted."
"You trust me?"
"Yeah."
"Even with everything with your mom?"
"I'm not gonna pretend that isn't in the back of my mind somewhere, but, yeah, I do."
"Oh." My cheeks flush. Somehow, this is more intimate than anything he's told me. It shouldn't be news—last night, he promised he'd stick around no matter what—but it is. I reach for the proper response. Find nothing. "These eggs are really good."
"Thanks."
"I didn't realize you cooked."
"I don't. I know a few things."
"So, I can cook?"
"Can?" He aches a brow. "Please. Take it off my hands. Unless you want to eat grilled cheese every night you're over here."
I stifle a laugh. "Is that really it?"
"Mac and cheese, too."
My lips spread into a smile.
"Spaghetti with broccoli and frozen meatballs. I can do that. Get veggie meatballs for you or leave them off."