“Then stop wasting your time.”
“How do you know—”
“You didn’t get anywhere near his cock.”
I take a seat at the dining table. Pull the blanket tighter around my chest. “How are you sure of that?”
“You look desperate.”
“Fuck you.”
He turns to me. Unbuttons his jeans. “Sure. Let’s go. Right now.”
I roll my eyes.
He motions to the couch. “Fifteen minutes of anonymous sex. Nobody has to know.”
“You’re not even offering seriously.”
He shrugs. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not.
“You aren’t.” I feign disgust. It’s a game Dean and I play. He pretends he wants to fuck me. I pretend I find him revolting. I’m not sure how it started, but it’s our regular routine.
Dean doesn’t want me. He did once—he offered to “let me ride Prince Albert” a dozen times. Until, one day, he stopped offering.
Well, he stopped offering seriously.
He laughs. Buttons his jeans. “Yeah. But don’t get your hopes up it means I respect you.”
“I don’t want your respect. How disturbing.”
“What the fuck did you do to him, Leigh?”
I’m not sure if I want to smack Dean for the implication or hug him for finally looking out for his brother. “Nothing.”
He turns the stove off. Slides grilled cheese onto a ceramic plate.
“Where is he?”
“On a run.”
My eyes go to the time on the microwave. Nearly midnight.
“That means you fucked with his head.”
“And Penny?”
“I saw his face after he talked to her. Then again after he came downstairs. You did something to him.”
“Maybe he should take some responsibility for his mood.”
“Maybe you should take some responsibility for lying to him.”
That’s a fair point. But what’s Dean doing on a high horse?
“I’m not gonna tell you to be responsible or honest or some shit like that.”
“Good.”