Getting Played (Getting Some 2)

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It’s after nine when we get home. Dean drives back with us to get his car, but comes inside after we pull into the driveway. Jason heads straight up the stairs without being told.

“I have to shower and hit the hay—it’s a school night.”

I hit the jackpot in the good kid department with him. Though, I guess that means I should be prepared for karma to even things out with baby number two. It’s probably going to be a demon.

“Hey—how was that calculus homework?” Dean calls after him. “Did it kick your ass?”

“Nah, I didn’t even break a sweat.”

“I’ll have to up my game.”

Jason waves. “I’ll see you in school tomorrow . . .” he pauses awkwardly “. . . Dean.” Then he shakes his head. “Still weird.”

“You’ll get used to it. See you tomorrow, Jay.”

After Jason’s bedroom door closes, I move to the kitchen with Dean following close behind. I get a glass of water from the refrigerator.

“Do you want something to drink? Tea or water or lemonade?”

“I’m good.”

The pitch-black night outside the window makes the dimly lit kitchen feel cozy and safe. Being here with Dean, just the two of us alone, fills the air with a close, familiar intimacy. He leans against the counter, arms crossed, and my eyes roam over the toned, rugged forearms beneath the pushed-up sleeves of his black sweater. I take a long drink of water as I look at his hands next—those big, sure hands. The remembered feel of them on my body brushes across my skin, and my breasts tingle with an achy need.

A ghost of a smile teases Dean’s lips, as if he can sense where my mind is wandering.

“There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you,” he says.

“Go ahead.”

“Am I really the only person you had sex with in five years?”

I laugh. “Yep.”

A growly sort of sound comes from his throat.

“That’s a goddamn sin. I could cry.” He drops his hands, leaning closer, his chin dipping, and his voice rough. “How is that even possible?”

“I was . . . busy.”

“No one is that busy.”

I was working two jobs, trying to save up for a place I could afford on my own. My parents never gave me a hard time about living with them, but I knew it wasn’t how they wanted to spend their retirement years. They’d raised their kids and when I had Jason, they had to start all over again. And babies are bossy. You’ll see.”

Dean takes his glasses off and sets them on the counter. Then he gazes down at the bump between us—but there’s nothing tender or paternal in his expression now.

His eyes are heated. Possessive.

I know that look, I remember that look. I saw it above me, behind me—it’s the expression he wore when he couldn’t wait another second to push inside me. To have me, take me, make me his.

He scrapes his teeth across his bottom lip and my own lips part in answer. His eyes drag up over my breasts, my neck, settling on my mouth.

“What are your plans the rest of the night?”

I try to play it cool even though my muscles are strung tight and every cell in my body is reaching towards him.

“I’m going to get changed, get into bed . . .”

“I like where this is going . . .”

I smile. “And then I have some videos to edit. Sketches for the nursery to finish.”

Dean inches even closer. So close I can feel the heat of his chest, sense the ripped muscles hiding beneath his shirt, smell the seductive scent of his skin.

If I lift my chin and lean just a bit—I could kiss him right here, right now.

He touches me with the tip of his finger—just the tip—dragging it along my collarbone, and that soft brush of a touch is almost enough to make me moan.

“Want some company, Lainey?”

Yes. God yes. Please, please, yes.

The words are right there on my lips, waiting for breath. Because I want his company—in my bed, in the shower, here on the kitchen counter—I know firsthand how blissful Dean Walker’s company can be.

“I . . .”

My heart thrums quick and hard, and I lick my lips . . . but then I shake my head.

Because I have to be smart about this. We have to be smart. Adult. Responsible.

No matter how much it sucks.

“Dean, I think it would be a mistake for us to get involved romantically.”

His brow furrows. “Again, I’m going to go with ‘a little late for that, don’t you think’ for $500, Alex.”

“Jeopardy?” I raise my eyebrows. “Cute.”

“I can be adorable when I want to be.”

“I’ll rephrase—I think it would be a mistake for us to get involved romantically now.”

“Ah, I see.” He mulls that over. And he shrugs. “We can just fuck, then.”

My pelvic muscles clench—and my vagina thinks this is an amazing idea.