Dean (Face-Off 6)

His face turns to stone. “We can go. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready to do.”

I wave him off. “I’m good. We haven’t been here long. Let’s stay a little while longer, and then we can go back to your house.”

“We’re in,” Dean says to the frat boy with dark ink running up the length of his biceps.

Worst-case scenario I have to kiss Dean. Silvia was right about one thing. My best friend is hands-down one of the hottest guys on campus. Some girls hate me because of our friendship, while others cozy up to me to get in a good word with Dean. Tall and toned, he has muscles everywhere, bulging from beneath the tight black shirt stretched across his thick chest.

He’s the best defenseman in the league and one of my father’s top picks for the NHL Draft this summer. Despite his modest upbringing, Dean has a lot going for him. He never thought he would ever have a shot at becoming a professional hockey player until he made the men’s ice hockey team on the first try in his freshman year. For his sake, and his mother’s, I hope Dean takes his career all the way.

Dean glances over at me with a worried look on his face. He runs a hand through his dark, wavy hair to push a few strands off his forehead. “I don’t want you to kiss some random,” he whispers. “You’re too good for this frat shit. This was a stupid idea. We should’ve gone to O’Shea’s instead.”

I flash a crooked smile and tip the beer in my hand to my mouth. “Stop worrying about me, Dean. It’s our last semester of college. We’ll be out of here in a few weeks. So, why not have fun, right? We said we would play. Let’s get throu

gh this round, and then we can go.”

Dean has more experience than me. But with Dean at my side, I’m not scared. He has a way of calming me down without saying a word. Just knowing he’s here with me is enough.

If we weren’t best friends, Dean would be my type. Hell, he’s every woman’s type. He’s the perfect mixture of sweet and rough, a gentleman when he needs to be and a dick when it comes to any man who gets near me. I’ve always wondered if his feelings for me extend beyond friendship. My brothers and Silvia constantly annoy me with their questions about our relationship.

Until tonight, I never thought much of it. Because he’s Dean. My best friend. The one person I can talk to without judgment. He knows me as well as Silvia. I can tell him anything and be anyone when I’m with him.

But now, because of these stupid frat guys and their silly game, we might find out if there’s something more between us. What if there is? My heart races so fast I can’t catch my breath. Beads of sweat dot my forehead. It’s the beer, I tell myself, even though I know it’s the nervous energy shooting throughout my body.

I watch everyone take their turns playing Russian Roulette with shot glasses of vodka and water. For every shot of vodka we find, we have to perform a dare. Of course, all of them involve something dirty.

Dean switches his beer to his other hand and watches the game unfold. I can tell by the concern furrowing his brows that he wants to back out. After we take our shots—both of them full of vodka—one of the fraternity brothers tells us we have to do a dare.

The boy on the couch across from us throws a key onto Dean’s lap. “Top floor, last door on the right.”

What the hell?

Chapter Three

Kat

Dean lifts the key from his jeans like it’s burning a hole through his thigh. He glares at the idiot frat boy who wants Dean to take me upstairs. A strange look crosses Dean’s face that I cannot place. I’ve never seen him look so… conflicted. Does he want to take me upstairs?

“Nah, man,” Dean says after a long, awkward pause. “We’re just friends.” He throws the key back to the blond boy who dared us. “It’s not like that.”

“Nick Baldwin’s daughter is worth extra points,” one of the guys says loud enough for me to hear, and I want to smack the smirk from his face. Asshole.

Dean launches the key across the table, and the same guy catches it and immediately throws it back. This time, it lands on my leg, the cold metal burning my skin with the promise of what this means. If we follow through with our dare, our friendship will never be the same. We both know this, and yet I lift the key, feeling the dull ridges between my fingers.

“Let’s get this over with,” I say against the shell of Dean’s ear.

His body goes rigid, and then he sits back enough for me to see his eyes narrow. “I’m not going to fuck you in some nasty room in a frat house, Kitten.”

Dean is the only person to ever call me Kitten. One time he swore I purred when I laughed, and from that day forward, my nickname was born. He never uses my real name when speaking to me directly.

“We can pretend,” I whisper. “No one will know the truth.”

He nods and then helps me up from the couch. While Dean doesn’t even closely live up to his reputation on campus, the people in the room with us expect more from him. I could care less what any of them think about me. I’ve never turned down a challenge, and I don’t plan to start now, not with everyone watching us.

Dean leads me by the hand up the basement stairs, through the crowded living room, and past tons of drunken people dancing, until we reach the top floor of the old Victorian home. This is for appearance sake, nothing more. No one will even notice how long we’re gone or if we bother to come back.

Once inside the bedroom, Dean shuts the door behind us and locks it. I was expecting a bed, but instead, there are two couches, a coffee table, and a flat-screen television hanging on the wall. I sit down and grab the remote from the table to turn on the television. If we have to pretend, we might as well keep ourselves entertained.

“I’m sorry.” Dean sits next to me on the couch, places his hand on my knee, and gives it a quick squeeze. “I should’ve known better than to bring you into the basement. That’s where all the fucked-up shit happens in this house.”