Chapter Twelve #3
He slugged down more water, his dark expression a far cry from the unmistakable joy he’d emitted at the bar.
The dude was so closed off, he refused to tell us he had at one point (Clearly?
Presumably?) lived in Chicago even though we were in Chicago.
It stung, him keeping us at arm’s length.
I’d overshared my little heart out. Not necessarily to put us on even ground after reading the letter, but it couldn’t have hurt to show him I had baggage too.
Now, I realized it didn’t seem to help either.
“Be honest,” Phoebe said, shooting Dex a wry smile. “Did you used to be fun?”
“I used to be a lot of things,” he muttered. “This is Bree’s place.”
“And Bree is…”
“Behind the bar.”
Phoebe bent over to bonk her head on the table.
“You are the most annoying person in the world, oh my god. Stop being evasive for once in your goddamn life.” Dex looked at her, his eyebrows inching upward.
“I promise no one cares if you used to live in Chicago, or if you have friends, or if you have the ability to actually smile. The broody douchebag thing is getting old, man. You’re almost fifty. ”
“I’m thirty-one,” he reminded her. She let out strangled moan and lifted her head, fixing him with the flattest look imaginable.
“That’s too old for the bullshit.”
I sipped my drink, unsure of whether I wanted to agree with Phoebe or defend Dex, and then someone crashed into my chair, sending my mojito down the front of my T-shirt. I jumped to my feet, chair clattering, the cold zipping down to my bones.
“Shit!” I gasped at the same time Dex growled, “What the fuck?”
“Sorry, sorry!” A group of twentysomething girls decked out in lacy veils and penis-shaped jewelry giggled their way past. Of course a gay bar would be their ideal choice for a bachelorette party. I let the irritation burn, if only because the copper mug had kept my drink too cold.
“Bitches,” Phoebe said. One of the girls hiccuped, eyes widening, and hurried off. “How self-absorbed do you have to be to have your bachelorette party at a gay bar?”
“Maybe she was bi,” I said, pinching my shirt and pulling the damp cloth farther from my skin.
“Those were the most sexually repressed girls I’ve ever seen,” Phoebe replied, looking to Dex for support. “Obviously straight.”
“Fuckers,” Dex muttered. When he turned to me, his eyes dropped to my drenched shirt and immediately to the ceiling. “You, uh.” He coughed. “You good?”
I glanced at my shirt to find my bra on full display. “Oh, awesome.” Phoebe took a look at me and snickered into her water. “Are we almost ready to go?”
“What?” Phoebe nearly dropped her drink. “We just got here!”
“Yeah, but I think busting the tits out before midnight is frowned upon in most establishments.”
“Change your shirt!”
“All my shirts are at the hotel.”
“Come on,” Dex said gruffly, pointedly staring over my shoulder. “I have a shirt in the car.”
Something significant bloomed in my chest, and I focused on the sprig of relief, deciding it was safest. “Cool, thanks. Come on, Phoebe.”
She scowled. “Why do I have to go?”
“I’m not leaving you alone in a bar.”
Her scowl deepened. Dex said, “Come with me.”
Phoebe’s sour face disappeared in a flash of light, and she hopped to her feet without protest. I gave Dex a searching look and he tipped his head slightly, indicating I should follow as well. He led us to the bar where the woman he’d hugged waited for us with a luminous smile.
“This is Bree,” Dex said. Her smile only widened at his deadpan delivery and she reached over the bar to shake both our hands.
Bree was shorter than both of us, but carried herself in such a way that she seemed tall.
Her dark brown skin was dewy, glowing, and tattoos snaked down both arms. “This is Violet and Phoebe.”
“Bree Calloway,” she said, looking between Phoebe and me. “It’s very nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot.”
My eyes cut to Dex. “Really?”
“From our friend, Gavin,” Bree clarified. “Would you believe I’ve put up with Dex’s shit for like fifteen years and he couldn’t be bothered to fill me in?”
“Fifteen years?” Phoebe’s eyes widened. “That’s longer than I’ve been alive.”
“Let’s pretend you didn’t say that so I don’t have to kick you out of my bar.”
Dex rapped his knuckles on the counter. “Can you watch her for a sec? We need to get a clean shirt from the car.”
Bree flashed me a grin. “I’m such a gentleman. I didn’t even look.”
I couldn’t help laughing, even as a tiny rush of anxiety blew through me at the thought of leaving Phoebe alone with a virtual stranger, charming as she may be. I touched Phoebe’s shoulder as she parked herself on one of the stools. “Are you good?”
“I’m awesome. Bree, is there anything frozen I can legally drink?”
“Kid, I’ve got mocktails on mocktails. What’s your poison? Strawberry? Cherry? I’m a pineapple gal, myself.”
Dex’s fingers wrapped around my upper arm, gently tugging me toward the exit. I kept glancing over my shoulder, watching Phoebe beaming in Bree’s presence. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen her posture so perfect.
“I hope I didn’t overstep,” Dex said quietly, his fingers gently squeezing my arm. My pulse synced up with the thumping bass in the speakers. “Bree is one of my closest friends. I don’t trust anyone more than I trust her. Phoebe is safe with her. I promise.”
It meant something to me that Dex cared for Phoebe and me enough to follow us out into the city after hours of driving when all he wanted to do was sleep. His unshakable trust meant even more.
“I trust you,” I said, surprised by just how much I meant it.
He kept his hand on my arm until we were outside.
The air had cooled with the sinking sun, sending a chill to my bones.
I shivered and tugged at my damp T-shirt, holding it as far from my skin as it would stretch.
Dex had parked his car nearby on a bustling street, passersby bumping us unapologetically until Dex was growling deep in his throat.
I pretended not to be turned on by the sound.
Dex swung the trunk open and rifled around for a moment before emerging with a folded, perfectly pressed gray button-up. I bit back a smile and said, “I shouldn’t be surprised you keep spare shirts in your car.”
“I keep clean shirts in my car,” he amended, handing it off to me. The fabric was softer than it looked, like silk under my fingertips. “For this exact reason.”
“Do women often get drinks spilled on their boobs in your presence?”
That muscle in his jaw jumped. “Can we get back to the bar? You can—Jesus!”
I’d tugged my wet shirt over my head in the middle of his sentence, unable to take the stench of rum anymore. Dex immediately grabbed my waist, his hand hot and rough against the soft skin, and tugged me closer to the car, blocking me from view of the sidewalk.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
I laughed shortly, wishing I couldn’t still feel his handprint burned into my skin. “What’s the big deal? You saw me in a bathing suit yesterday.”
“The entirety of Chicago didn’t.”
I studied him, locking on the rosy flush inching up his neck, his hands now clenched at his sides.
He was attracted to me and he hated it. Blinding euphoria engulfed me—I almost giggled out loud.
Suddenly, it wasn’t inappropriate or unfair for me to fantasize about Dex, it was normal.
We were two hot adults on a road trip together. Of course thoughts would crop up.
I smiled and slipped his shirt on, deftly buttoning it from the bottom. “One time I posed nude for an art class,” I told him. He turned sharply toward me, keeping his eyes trained on my face.
“Really.”
“Mm-hmm. So there are at least twenty nude portraits of me in existence.”
Something flared in his eyes, almost certainly recognizing why I was screwing with him. I took my time with the last buttons, biting my cheek to fend off a shit-eating grin, and then he leaned a shoulder against the car and lowered his gaze.
His eyes traveled down my body, his shirt hanging loosely from my frame, the flippy skirt showing off my legs, back up again. Lingering.
Fire engulfed me.
“You wanna know something funny?” he said.
I threw on a smile, as if his lazy perusal of my body hadn’t turned me on more than my ex-boyfriend ever had. “You’re going to tell me something funny? Oh, absolutely.”
He shut the trunk of the car and brushed past me. “I posed nude for an art class too.”
“Liar.” I grinned, following him down the sidewalk. The bar sign flickered in the distance. “You’re lying, right? You have to tell me if you’re lying.”
He smiled in a way that told me he relished my curiosity and could stoke it until it crackled into a consuming blaze, leaving nothing but ash. But god, that smile.
I’d let him.