He takes his plate, brings it to the table, sits next to me. “I told him to be careful with you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Guess the devil gave back some of my soul.”
My anger fades to something warmer. Dean is being earnest in such a Dean way. It’s sweet. Weird. But sweet.
“Thought that was my only concern.”
“Are you admitting to having feelings?”
He shoots me a look. Get real. Offers me half his sandwich.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re drooling.”
“Because I’m thinking about Ryan naked.”
“Yeah.” He leaves the half in front of me, picks up the other half, takes a monster bite. “But that’s a constant thing for you.”
I laugh. “True.”
“I thought he was still in love with her.”
“He isn’t?”
“I don’t know. But I know the look on his face after he left you alone in his room.” He takes another bite. Chews. Swallows. “Something hurt him.”
“Was she still there?”
“Yeah. They had an awkward goodbye. She left with Mr. Khaki Pants.”
I laugh. “I call him Boat Shoes.”
“Fuck, that’s better.”
“Thanks.”
“What could anyone see in him?” he asks.
“A six-figure salary and a white picket fence.”
“Ryan makes plenty.”
“How do you know?”
“We’re partners. We all make the same.”
“How plenty are we talking?”
He laughs. “Enough for a white picket fence.”
“And all the boat shoes you could dream of?”
“And then some.” He finishes his half of the sandwich. Licks his pointer finger clean. “It wasn’t her, Leigh. It was you. Something you did. Or said. Or something he thought about you.” He licks his middle finger clean. “I wasn’t worried you’re gonna hurt him—”
“I’d never.”