Chapter 22
“ Y ou are beautiful,” Dean offers his hand.
This outfit almost didn’t make it out of the closet.
My first official date with Dean. The fit has to throw a fit.
“Thank you,” I blush, taking his hand. I chose a casual, drop-waisted emerald dress.
“We don’t match,” Dean grumbles under his breath. He’s wearing a loose black dress shirt with linen pants to match.
“Yes, we do.” Cue lopsided smile. “My dress and your,” pointing at him. “ Eyes .”
His lips twitch. “You’re good at flirting, lovebird.”
“Thank you, ogre.” My chest warms at the praise.
“But the fact still stands,” his hands are the perfect temperature. We walk to one of the cars in the driveway. Hina and Katarina left before us. “We’re not noticeably matching.”
Dean looks upset by this. I unclip the two hairclips near my crown. Dean watches me as I clip it onto his breast pocket. “There,” I take a step back. “Now we’re noticeably matching. ”
Our moment is broken when someone clears their throat.
Lois stands with a small, vlogging camera. “We should get going.” She hands the card to Dean, unlocking the car, and takes the back seat.
“No one went with Hina and Kat.” I’m confused getting into the passenger seat. “Then why…?”
Lois shrugs, “Just doing what Austin told me.”
Dean’s back is stiff as a rod. I’ve seen his discomfort in front of the cameras and having someone follow us on our first official date? Not fun.
Plus, Lois has a precedent of controlling the day.
Dean starts the car.
“You should read the riddle before we go.” Lois clears her nose, shuffling forward with the camera switching back and forth on our faces.
With forced cheeriness, “Sure,” I say.
Dean has the card out before I look at him. “It starts with a lump, a twirling vision. Not much to be seen, until you put your hands on me. Give me a slap, turn me around, and watch as I become divine.”
Lump? Twirling vision? Give me a slap?
Someone tell Austin to stick to his day job.
“Do you think it’s from your list?” I ask Dean. I have a feeling it’s from mine, but you can never be too sure.
“Don’t think so,” he replies. His brows cramp as he traces the riddle.
“Um,” I read it again. “ Give me a slap and turn me around could be pottery.”
“Pottery?” I sense his bemusement.
Glaring, “Yes. Pottery . It’s on my list.”
Lois sighs and shuffles backwards. “You got it, but maybe act like you don’t know what it is. Go around the city, get confused.”
“We’re not idiots,” Dean scowls. “Anyone could get this.”
I’m pretty sure I hear Lois’ swallow. “Well, whatever then.” She connects the address to the car and then we’re driving to the city.
When I play around with the radio, Lois tells me to stop.
When I roll the window down, she tells me to put it back up.
When I look at Dean, she tells me to look out the window.
Is this how Ate feels when she takes me with her and Easton?
“Why’s pottery on your list?” Dean asks. He looks undeniably sexy with one hand on the wheel. He’s done it a thousand times before but seeing him drive with confidence is a new turn on.
The question pulls me to the past. Depression is an evil creature and I watched it slip its contagious saliva in Ma’s mouth as a child.
I can count on one hand how many times I saw my mother smile and all of the reasons had to do with the wheel in our basement.
“My mom used to be a potter,” it comes out thick.
Heavy. Laden with unresolved emotions. “I wanted to feel the happiness she felt when she made—uh, I don’t know—a pot or a bowl, or a cup. She loved it. Still does.”
“You’ve never done it with her?” His tone deepens with curiosity.
“No,” I shake my head. “She’s not the type to ask.”
“But you could’ve, right?”
It hits me right in the chest. Not a bullseye, the arrows cut through it. Piercing me wide open with nowhere to rest. I never tried with Ma either .
“Yawn,” Lois shuts the camera. “You need to be having interesting conversations. The world doesn’t need to know about your mommy issues, Nova. And Dean? Please. Ask a worthwhile question. Or talk about yourself, Jesus. Can’t do anything right, these contestants.”
Dean’s jaw tenses.
I rest a hand on his thigh. When he glances at me, his gaze softens and the tick in his jaw loosens. A win is a win.
Thirty minutes later, Dean parks in front of a cute shop. Pottering Away .
Pots of fake flowers decorate the windows from outside.
Excitement buzzes through my skull.
“I’ll go set up inside,” Lois dashes out of the car.
“She’s a piss off,” Dean mutters.
I chuckle. “At least she isn’t forcing us to hold hands and kiss.”
It’s meant to be a joke, but Dean’s eyes turn molten.
“She’d gain points if she asked us to do that.”
My lower half convulses. “Flirt,” I blush.
“Learning from the best,” he teases with a quick smirk.
I like this side of Dean.
We get out. Dean holds the shop door. He follows close behind.
The space is small. Could probably only fit about five students without feeling stuffy. There’s small stools, turning tables, and a whole lot of clay lying around.
“Welcome to Pottering Away!” A woman in her mid-forties bounces out from thin air. I step backwards and bump into Dean’s chest.
He steadies me with a hand on my hip.
“Sorry,” I look back shyly.
Her pink hair matches her makeup and outfit. “I’m Elisabeth, your pottery instructor for today.” She has a slight accent, but nothing I can’t understand.
“Hi,” I wave excitedly. “I’m Nova and this is Dean.”
“I know,” she reciprocates the wave. “I voted for you guys to go on a date.”
“I like her,” Dean whispers in my ear.
I choke on a laugh. “Of course you do. ”
“Let’s get started shall we,” Lois sets up a make-do setting for us. A small professional flash shines in front of three stools.
“We’ll be using two stools.” Elisabeth says to Lois. “You can remove the lights.”
“I need them for?—”
Elisabeth says something in French? Then the lights in the shop turn off. A ray of sunlight lights up the space. Dark but still enough light to see.
“For the romance,” Elisabeth emphasises. “Lighting is key.”
Lois mutters under her breath, then turns the professional lights off.
Elisabeth guides Dean and I to one spot, she drags another stool behind the one there.
“Elisabeth, don’t we need separate turn tables?” I ask her.
“Yeah,” Lois adds. “I need it for the camera shots.”
“No, no.” She exclaims, bouncing to the table on the opposite side. “This pottery class is for couples. We don’t make, we create a relationship. In this class, the clay will teach you physical intimacy.”
Don’t know how much more we need. I can feel Dean without touching him.
“That seems unnecessary,” Lois voices. “We should have a regular pottery class.”
“Did it look like I asked for your opinion?” Elisabeth sharply retorts. “Take a seat, Louise . The class will begin.”
“It’s Lois—” Elisabeth glares at her. “Never mind.”
“I’m scared of her.”
Dean’s chest vibrates with a chuckle. “I want her autograph.”
I roll my eyes.
Dean’s thighs settle on each side of my legs as we settle onto the stools .
“Perfect,” she gleams. “In front of you is a lump of clay that you’ll slowly dampen. It takes practice.”
“Wouldn’t know.”
It makes me cough. “You did not just say that,” I whisper back. “Crude.”
“Honesty isn’t bad,” his hot breath tickles my ear.
“Never said it was, but?—”
He teases me, “Focus, lovebird.”
My mouth falls open.
Dean lets me work the clay until it’s pliant enough to turn. It rubs against the soles of my fingers, making it hard to mold.
“Here, let me.”
That’s when Dean’s hands are there. They bracket over mine. Neither of us know what to do, but all he needed was to watch Elisabeth do it and he’s got it down.
His thick fingers pulse against mine. Caressing them with thick callouses.
It’s sickening how my heart gasps like a woman in heat.
There’s no finesse to our movements, but it’s cathartic.
He retreats, pulls, pretends I’m taking the lead when he keeps his hands there. He’s in control of every movement.
His breath on my neck.
The sigh in my chest.
Every second is an awakening.
“You okay?” He whispers in my ear.
I squeeze my eyes shut. He’s everywhere. In my system. On my back. His chest rubs against me. His fingers solidify every nerve that doesn’t exist. It’s a rebirth.
“Yes,” It comes out breathy. Totally unhinged.
We follow Elisabeth’s instructions. I don’t know what she’s saying or how she’s saying it. I’m busy recounting how to breathe .
“Is wanting me something you possess or desire?” I ask after regaining a slither of my voice.
Thick fingers press between mine. Dean’s breath silkily brushes against my neck when he says, “Neither.”
Then he’s there, pressing himself closer to me. “I crave you, Nova. But don’t mistake what I feel for an addiction. It’s a depraved, anesthetic that puts me under a place where my mind is full of you.”
The words restore blank spaces in my organs. Dean Vuk melts into the goosebumps on my body and is changing me in all ways I want unchanged.
“Just say you like me,” I tease.
“I like you,” not a second later.
My breath catches.
“Alright, can we try doing this from over there?” Lois interrupts the moment. The wheel turning creaks. “The shot just isn’t great from here.”
Elisabeth gives us an annoyed look.
“Actually, we’ll do that after I take a piss. I’ll be back.” She rushes to the bathroom.
“What I’d do to run away from her,” I joke. “She’s ruined like three of our moments.”
“More,” Dean grumbles. “Would you run away with me if I asked?”
My blood flow pauses. Sound around me ceases to exist.
My head whips around. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“We… can’t.”
“Who said?” He raises a brow.
He’s serious.
Elisabeth quietly squeals, shaking her clay-covered fists like maracas. “There’s a sink there. I’ll distract her, but hurry!”
I don’t have time to think. Dean pulls me up. Somehow we washed and dried our hands, then we dart out of the store.
He doesn’t hop in the car. How gentlemanly of him to leave it for Lois.
Instead, he starts running .
And me? I’m holding his hand, running alongside him.
“This is crazy!” Wind blows in my hair as we run through streets, passing small shops, people on bikes, cars honking. The sun shines above us. Molten lava, some kind of colour that burns down my back.
I’m laughing.
He’s smiling.
“Where are we going?!” I yell again when he swoops us through more streets. My chest burns, but adrenaline and him keep me going.
Dean turns his head wearing a full-blown smile. “I don’t know!”
I shake my head while laughing. It doesn’t matter where we go because I trust him.
He stops somewhere.
We’re breathing—heaving.
Calves aching. Stomachs cramping.
Dean turns around to look at me and without waiting, I wrap my arms around him.
His body is rock hard everywhere. Not a single part of Dean makes me want to let go. He’s perfect to me. In every way possible.
He doesn’t return the hug. He stands still, completely frozen.
I messed up.
Pulling away, embarrassment flooding my cheeks. “Sorry, I… wasn’t thinking.”
I don’t dare look at him.
“Come here,” he rumbles.
I shake my head. “No, I’m good here. Thanks. ”
“Nova,” he warns.
I look up.
Hard muscles, soft eyes. An enigma for my soul.
Dean opens his arm for a hug.
“I’m sweaty,” I refuse.
“Don’t care,” he mutters.
Another shake.
“Nova,” another guttural warning, but I’m stubborn.
I shake my head again.
“Fuck it,” he growls.
Safe arms wrap around me.
Dean pulls me tight against him. A palm pushes me to his chest like he wants to protect me from the rest of the world. He nuzzles me into himself, and I let myself be nuzzled .
My arms remain around him when I pull back, “I’m actually mad at you.”
He lowers his head, nudging his nose with mine. “Can you be mad while hugging me?”
“Okay,” I shrug nonchalantly, but the smile gives me away. I fist the material of his shirt from the back.
Gosh, I want him bad .
I don’t know how long we stay wrapped around each other, but when we pull apart, there’s a crowd of people swarming around us.
That’s when it comes to me.
Smell of gas and sounds of electric whirring buzz past us.
Luzern Central Train Station.
“Did you plan this?” I ask him.
Dean’s chest falls with a breath. “No, should we call it fate?”
I tilt my head. “Didn’t take you as someone who believed in fate.”
“Only when you’re involved,” he replies .
He holds my hand again while looking around. He reads a screen far from away, then checks the time on his watch. Me? Well, I’m helping him do manly things like this.
“Dean,” I shake his arm when I see Lois among the crowd. She’s talking on the phone, her face red and angry. How did she…?
“The mic,” he says quickly. “Take it off.”
“What?”
He unclips mine then his, throwing both to the side.
His gaze holds determination when he looks back. “Remember when you said you trust me?”
“How could I forget?”
“I need you to believe those words now.”
Dean pulls me onto a train. People walk past us. Small bags hitched over their shoulders, luggage rolling around. He walks us into another cabin, all while keeping an eye out the window. Dean turns back to smile at me.
I’m a flower meeting the sun after a cold night. He brings me back to life.
“Sit here,” lowers me onto a window seat. When Dean lets go, he takes the empty seat to my left.
An announcement echoes through the speaker in German before translating in English.
“Welcome onto the Gravity Express. We will be making our way to Zermatt in the next three hours. We are happy to have you with us on this trip. Don’t forget to stay in your seats until the flashing lights are turned off. Thank you.”
My eyes widen. “Dean…” This is no small runaway.
Something Dean Vuk—the man who avoids talking about himself—doesn’t do.
He looks with strong confidence. “You trust me.”
“I do, but?—”
“No buts. We trust each other and you need this. We need this.”
“They’ll be pissed.” The train starts moving.
“After they’ve been trying to separate us,” his voice thickens with anger. “Let them.”
Can’t argue with that.
“What’s the plan then, ogre?” I catch a glimpse of his chest exhaling.
“I didn’t think this through but for now,” he surprises me by curving a palm over my cheek and pulling it down on his shoulder. “Sleep.”
He then links our fingers together.
The buzz beneath my feet, and the warmth coming from Dean lull me into soothing darkness.