Chapter 9
Nine
I avoided Dean like the plague for the rest of the night.
Every glance. Every interaction. Every lingering moment where our paths might’ve crossed—I dodged him like my life depended on it.
I tried to blend into the crowd, talking to strangers instead of my friends just to stay away from him, but my skin burned every time I felt his presence.
Every time he looked at me.
Every time he laughed.
Every time that deep voice carried across the backyard and curled in my ear like a memory I didn’t want to touch.
Other women at the party were falling all over him, and I hated him for that, too.
I didn’t want to admit it, but some ridiculous, petty part of myself was jealous… while wanting absolutely nothing to do with him at the same time.
It was confusing, frustrating, and when I found myself in the kitchen with Katie and Tuesday, safe from the chaos outside, I exhaled for the first time in hours.
“Okay,” Tuesday said, grabbing the tequila bottle by the handle. “Are we making these margaritas the good way, or the responsible way?”
Katie snorted, more tipsy than I’d seen her in a long time. “You do realize we have tiny humans watching us now, right?”
Tuesday rolled her eyes and dumped a generous pour into the blender. “Okay, half-responsible,” she argued.
God, I needed this. Needed to be safe, and, tucked away with friends who would distract me. I pulled in a slow comfortable breath and grabbed the lime juice from the counter and poured in a large chug while Katie added the triple sec.
The three of us had this down to a science, even though we never measured a single thing.
We’d gathered around this blender on too many occasions to count—on summer nights when the air was still hot, after ball games when dirt still clung to our shoes, or on days when being together was the only thing that made sense.
They always turned out perfectly, though I don’t think any of us would say a word if they didn’t.
I dropped the ice into the blender, hit the button, and the machine roared to life. Katie started slicing limes and placing wedges into neat little stacks on the cutting board. Tuesday queued up a song on the speaker, then began wiping down the counter like she suddenly needed something to do.
I moved to the cabinet above the fridge, stretching up on my toes to grab the glasses—but when I turned back around, both Katie and Tuesday had gone quiet. They were whispering, heads tilted toward each other, stealing glances at me like I was a puzzle they needed to solve.
“What?” I asked, flipping off the blender so I could actually hear them.
Tuesday cleared her throat, then drew in a breath like she was bracing to reveal some kind of scandal. “Sooo,” she said, drawing out the word in that tone that always meant trouble. “What’s the deal with you and Dean?”
My spine straightened. It shouldn’t have. I should’ve been expecting this—should have realized that Jake would have gone straight to Katie after the scene with Dean in the kitchen. “Nothing,” I said too quickly. “Why?”
Katie laughed, not unkindly, but with a spark of knowing that said she didn’t buy my lie for a second. “That didn’t sound like nothing. Spill it”
I grabbed the glasses and started dipping the rims into salt, letting the motion buy me a few extra seconds. “I have nothing to hide,” I said lightly.
But even to my own ears, I sounded like a bad actress.
From the corner of my eye, I caught the glance Katie and Tuesday shared—one of those wordless exchanges that said bullshit louder than either of them ever could.
“That’s not what Jake said,” Katie muttered under her breath.
My spine tensed. I wasn’t sure what I hated more—the fact that Jake had talked about me, or the fact that I hadn’t been there to defend myself. I reached for the pitcher, taking my time to pour each of us a full glass, forcing a laugh I didn’t feel.
“He was a client,” I said finally. Clean. Simple. Mostly true.
Tuesday cocked her head. “That’s it? You didn’t date? He didn’t ghost you or forget to call?”
I barked a laugh that came out a little too sharp, too forced. “No. Why?”
“Because Jake said things were… tense,” Katie added the last word, watching me closely.
“And you’ve been giving him death stares all night. I’ve had to stop John from going over there at least twice because he wants to punch the guy. He’s convinced Dean’s done something to wrong you,” Tuesday added, like she was pointing out spinach in my teeth.
I almost choked on my margarita. “Seriously?”
They both nodded, twin expressions of amused concern stretched across their faces.
I stared down at the salted rim of my glass, wishing I could pour the whole thing over my head instead of drinking it. “Sorry. I… I must be stressed.”
That was weak. Even I didn’t buy it. But I needed something—any reason to change the subject.
Tuesday didn’t let me off that easily. She leaned across the counter, her elbows pressed into the granite, eyes glinting with amusement. “Maybe Dean could help you with that.”
Katie snorted into her drink. “Seriously. That man is damn good-looking. If I weren’t married…”
“Okay.” I raised my hands, palms out as if to surrender. “We are not doing this.”
“Oh, we’re definitely doing this,” Tuesday said, chin in her hand like she had popcorn ready. “Because you’ve been weird ever since you got here.”
“I haven’t been weird.”
Katie arched a brow. “You haven’t said two words to Dean all night, and that’s not like you.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but they were right.
And worse—I hated how good they were at reading me.
So I did what I always did when I didn’t have the words: I grabbed my glass, took a long sip, and turned toward the deck. “I do not have to stand here and take this kind of harassment.”
“You can run, but you can’t hide,” Tuesday called after me, her voice singsong and smug.
I didn’t answer, just pushed through the back door and let the night swallow me.
The air hit my skin in a rush—cooler than before, carrying that faint scent of smoke and citrus and something sweet.
The light had shifted. Maybe I had too. Now that my friends had pointed it out, the difference in my behavior was impossible to ignore.
I’d only been inside an hour, maybe less, but everything out here had changed. The backyard had emptied, the games and drinks abandoned. Now everyone was tucked in around the fire pit, golden light flickering over faces, soft laughter curling through the dark.
I moved toward them slowly, my drink warming me from the inside out. Each step was a little steadier than the last, but my heart was slightly out of rhythm.
The patio lights hung above like a net of stars, swaying gently in the breeze. God, I’d always loved this space. It felt like something out of a memory I hadn’t made yet, soft and safe—the kind of place where something important might happen.
And then I saw him.
Dean.
He stood across the fire, leaning lazily against the railing as though he had nowhere better to be. But at the same time, he looked like he belonged here. As though he’d been here every night for the last decade…
My eyes locked onto his face, wondering if he’d ever been to one of these parties before, but that would have been impossible. I would have remembered him. I was certain I would have introduced myself. And Dean wasn’t someone you could ever forget.
The firelight caught the sharp cut of his jaw and the slight bend in his nose that hinted at a break from some long-ago accident—probably playing sports.
His mouth was full and relaxed, moving with a quiet confidence as he spoke to someone out of frame.
A beard shadowed his jaw––worn with confidence as though he had nothing to hide.
His dark hair was a little too long at the collar, curling just slightly, like he'd run a hand through it one too many times.
He looked tired. Not the bad kind—more like someone who'd lived a little too hard and didn’t bother pretending otherwise.
And God, he was beautiful.
Not perfect. But in a real way that somehow made it worse. Like you could reach out and touch him.
“Speak of the devil,” Jake said behind me, loud enough for everyone on the deck to hear.
I flinched, breath catching, and almost dropped my margarita.
Dean’s head turned. Sharp. Like a switch had flipped somewhere inside him. His gaze found mine across the glow of the fire, and he stopped moving.
Just like that he wasn’t lounging anymore.
The shift was small. A straightening of his spine. A drop of his arm. A stillness that hummed too loud to ignore.
My stomach flipped, but Jake kept talking, oblivious. “We were just talking about you.”
But I barely heard him, because Dean’s eyes were still on me, searching mine as though he knew things about me that I’d never said out loud…
And for a breath too long, I couldn’t look away.
I forced a smile and raised a brow. “All good things, I hope?” I said, pretending that every nerve in my body wasn’t aware of Dean’s presence.
Jake grinned wider. “I was just telling everyone about your cherry trick.”
Oh god. Please, no...
“No, no,” I said, turning to face Jake, already shaking my head. “We’re not talking about that.”
“Come on,” someone behind him groaned. “Now we have to see it.”
I narrowed my eyes at Jake, regretting more than ever the night I’d had too many shots of tequila and tried to teach the whole gang how to do it.
“That was years ago,” I argued. “And tequila was involved.”
“Perfect!” someone shouted, and a bowl of cherries and a bottle of Patron appeared out of nowhere, as if this was all part of the plan.
By the door, Katie doubled over laughing. “You brought this on yourself.”
Dean still hadn’t said a word—but he hadn’t looked away from me, either. Not once.
“You’ve got ten seconds,” Jake said, tossing a cherry into my drink with an exaggerated bow. “Show us your skills, Em.”
The crowd began to cheer, and I gave them my best withering stare. But my fingers were already reaching for the stem out of my drink, knowing I wasn’t about to get through this night without giving them what they wanted.
I popped the stem into my mouth, as the group, led by Jake, began to count.
“Ten.”
“Nine.”
“Eight.”
“Seven…”
“Six.”
I pulled the knotted stem out of my mouth and held it up in the air.
The group roared, and Jake lifted me off my feet like I’d just won some imaginary contest I never wanted to enter.
I curtsied when he set me down, rolled my eyes, and handed him the stem. “Happy now?”
But Dean still hadn’t moved.
He was still by the railing, still watching. He’d seen the whole thing. The stupid, embarrassing thing… but he didn’t look like he was judging me at all. In fact, he looked intrigued. Amused.
When I walked past him to refill my drink, I felt him lean in—just close enough for his voice to find me.
“Impressive,” he murmured, his breath warm near my ear.
I didn’t look at him, and didn’t stop walking either.
But for some reason my pulse stuttered in a way I hadn’t felt since I was a teenager.
And for the first time all night, I stopped pretending that I didn’t want him to notice me.
It was close to midnight when I slipped into the living room to grab my bag. Katie and Tuesday had disappeared long ago, off to settle crying babies and collapse into sleep.
I had lingered for a while—gathering empty bottles, straightening the kitchen, pretending I had a reason to still be there—other than the one I wasn’t admitting to anyone.
But eventually, I couldn’t justify it anymore, so I slipped out the front door quietly, without a word, hoping to leave unnoticed.
I felt his presence before I heard his voice.
“Leaving without saying goodbye?”
My hand was still on the door handle as the sound of his voice—low and familiar—knocked the air from my lungs.
I turned slowly, heart hammering.
Dean stood at the edge of the driveway, barefoot, hands tucked in the pockets of his hoodie as though he’d come out in a rush.
“Sorry,” I said, trying to sound casual. “You and Jake were deep in conversation. I didn’t think you’d notice.”
He moved forward, stepping under the streetlight so I could see his face. “I noticed.”
Just two words—but the way he said them. Quiet. Certain. They slid under my skin and settled beneath, warm, rich, unwelcome.
He kept walking toward me, unhurried, and I froze in place. I couldn’t move, not even when he leaned against my car like he belonged there.
“I’ll make this trip as painless as possible,” he said, voice soft.
I let out a dry laugh. “You say that now.”
“I mean it. Then you’ll never have to see me again.” He tilted his head, his gaze steady. “I’m not the bad guy you think I am.”
I lifted my chin. “I didn’t say you were.”
His eyes searched mine. “Then why have you avoided me all night?”
“I didn’t avoid you.”
“You could’ve fooled me.”
I reached for the car door and pulled it open, needing space, needing this conversation to end before I gave away more than I wanted to. “I’ll text you tomorrow with my terms.”
His mouth curved—slow and crooked, like I’d said something funny. “I’ll be waiting.”
“Okay then.”
He took a small step back, hands sliding into his pockets again. “Goodnight, Em,” he said, barely above a whisper.
I hesitated. Just for a second.
“Goodnight.”
Then I closed the door, turned over the ignition, and drove away.
I didn’t look back, even though every part of me wanted to.