The Score
Page 7
I follow him inside. My mind feels foggy from the weed, but in a good way, and when Dean stops in the hall to hike up the sweatpants that are about to fall off his trim hips, for some reason I start giggling as if it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.
My humor fades when we settle on the couch, because Dean flops down directly beside me, slings one muscular arm around my shoulders, and tugs me close. As if it’s totally normal.
I frown at him. “Why is your arm around me?”
His expression is all innocence. “This is how I watch movies.”
“Really? So you put your arm around Garrett when you watch movies with him?”
“Absolutely. And if he’s nice to me, sometimes I slide my hand down his pants.” Dean’s other hand skims down to the waistband of my leggings. “Be nice to me, and I promise I’ll be even nicer in return.”
“Ha. Not happening.” I shove his hand away, but not before a spark of heat ignites between my legs. His bare chest is glorious, and it’s taunting me, begging my fingers to stroke all those roped muscles. And he smells really good. Like the ocean. No, like coconut. I’m feeling way too loopy to pinpoint the scent, but not loopy enough that I don’t register how my pussy is still tingling like crazy.
Oh, for crying out loud. My sex life must have really gone to the shitter if I’m getting all tingly in the presence of Dean Di Laurentis.
“What else do we have to do?” he counters.
I point to the TV. “Watch a movie.”
“I’d rather be watching you.” He waggles his eyebrows. “You know, when you’re shouting my name while I make you come.”
This time there aren’t any tingles. Just a lot of laughter that pours out of my mouth in uncontrollable waves.
“Jesus. You’re really bad for a man’s ego.” He looks insulted.
I suck in a gulp of air between giggles. Yep, I’m high and relaxed and in possession of no filters whatsoever, which means I can make fun of Dean all I want and blame the weed later. “I’m sorry, but you’re too fucking much sometimes.” I can’t stop laughing. “Do girls really fall for these lines?”
He makes an unflattering noise under his breath. “Put on the damn movie already.”
“Gladly.” I click the remote and shift all the way to the other side of the couch, leaving three feet of distance between us.
To Dean’s credit, he doesn’t say a word for nearly thirty minutes. His gaze stays focused on the screen, but from the corner of my eye, I don’t miss all the fidgeting he’s doing. Tapping his long fingers on his thighs. Raking a hand through his hair. Heaving a sigh as we watch the main character prepare an omelet in real time.
When she sits at the counter and starts eating the omelet—in real time—Dean erupts like a dormant volcano.
“This movie blows!” He groans. Loudly. “There. I said it. This goddamn movie goddamn blows.”
“I think it’s good.” I’m lying. Enduring this film is the equivalent of watching paint dry. Not even the pot we just smoked can make this experience even the slightest bit enjoyable, but I don’t want to admit that I’d made the wrong choice. You can’t give a guy like Dean the win. Ever. He’ll lord it over me until the end of time.
“There’s no way you like this movie,” he challenges.
“I do,” I insist.
He stares me down for several seconds, but my acting skills come in handy, allowing me to convey pure innocence.
“Well, I don’t. This is a whole new level of brutal.”
I offer a helpful suggestion. “Why don’t you go upstairs and jerk off again?”
Shit. Wrong thing to say. His green eyes instantly take on a seductive glint.
With a lazy grin, he leans toward me and drawls, “How about you do it for me?”
This guy is incorrigible. “Are we back to this? Do you ever take no for an answer?”
“I’m not familiar with that word. Nobody’s ever said it to me before.” He moves closer again, resting his palm on the cushion between us and giving the fabric a slow stroke. “Come on, let’s make this party more interesting. We’re home alone…we’re both good-looking…”
I snicker.
“It’ll be fun. Sex is always fun.”
“Pass.”
“Okay, no sex. How about just oral?”
I pretend to think it over. “Am I giving or receiving?”
“Receiving. And then giving. Because that’s how it goes.” He smiles broadly. “You know, the circle of life and all that.”
I can’t help but laugh. Say what you want about this guy, but at least he’s entertaining. “Pass,” I say again.
“Wanna make out?” he asks hopefully.
“Nope.”
“I’m a really good kisser…” He leaves that hanging as if to entice me.
“Ha. That just means you’re not. Every time a guy says he’s a good kisser, he sucks.”
“Yeah? You got any empirical evidence to back that up?”
“Of course.” I really don’t. And Dean knows the word empirical? Wow, maybe there is more than air inside that pretty head of his.
He looks ready to argue with me, but we’re interrupted by a loud burst of music from his phone. I scowl when I recognize the tune.
Men. They can’t take one second to put the toilet seat down, but they have the time to program the ESPN theme song as their ringtone?
Dean’s expression brightens when he sees who’s calling. He answers without delay. “Maxwell! What’s shaking?” He listens, then shoots me a hopeful look. “Wanna go to a party?”
I shake my head.
The person on the other end of the line is forced to endure Dean’s overly dramatic sigh. “Sorry, man. I can’t. I’m babysitting—”
I smack him on the arm.
“—and she doesn’t want to go,” he finishes as he glares at me. He pauses again. “No, she’s fully grown.”
What?
“I’m babysitting an adult, dude. G’s girlfriend’s friend.” Dean rambles on as if I’m not even in the room. “We’re watching this movie about a lady with cancer and it sucks…well yeah, cancer sucks in general. I mean, all my sympathies for people who have it, but this movie is god-awful. Yeah…no, game’s on Tuesday…truth…yeah, definitely. We can hit up Malone’s. Later, bro.”
My humor fades when we settle on the couch, because Dean flops down directly beside me, slings one muscular arm around my shoulders, and tugs me close. As if it’s totally normal.
I frown at him. “Why is your arm around me?”
His expression is all innocence. “This is how I watch movies.”
“Really? So you put your arm around Garrett when you watch movies with him?”
“Absolutely. And if he’s nice to me, sometimes I slide my hand down his pants.” Dean’s other hand skims down to the waistband of my leggings. “Be nice to me, and I promise I’ll be even nicer in return.”
“Ha. Not happening.” I shove his hand away, but not before a spark of heat ignites between my legs. His bare chest is glorious, and it’s taunting me, begging my fingers to stroke all those roped muscles. And he smells really good. Like the ocean. No, like coconut. I’m feeling way too loopy to pinpoint the scent, but not loopy enough that I don’t register how my pussy is still tingling like crazy.
Oh, for crying out loud. My sex life must have really gone to the shitter if I’m getting all tingly in the presence of Dean Di Laurentis.
“What else do we have to do?” he counters.
I point to the TV. “Watch a movie.”
“I’d rather be watching you.” He waggles his eyebrows. “You know, when you’re shouting my name while I make you come.”
This time there aren’t any tingles. Just a lot of laughter that pours out of my mouth in uncontrollable waves.
“Jesus. You’re really bad for a man’s ego.” He looks insulted.
I suck in a gulp of air between giggles. Yep, I’m high and relaxed and in possession of no filters whatsoever, which means I can make fun of Dean all I want and blame the weed later. “I’m sorry, but you’re too fucking much sometimes.” I can’t stop laughing. “Do girls really fall for these lines?”
He makes an unflattering noise under his breath. “Put on the damn movie already.”
“Gladly.” I click the remote and shift all the way to the other side of the couch, leaving three feet of distance between us.
To Dean’s credit, he doesn’t say a word for nearly thirty minutes. His gaze stays focused on the screen, but from the corner of my eye, I don’t miss all the fidgeting he’s doing. Tapping his long fingers on his thighs. Raking a hand through his hair. Heaving a sigh as we watch the main character prepare an omelet in real time.
When she sits at the counter and starts eating the omelet—in real time—Dean erupts like a dormant volcano.
“This movie blows!” He groans. Loudly. “There. I said it. This goddamn movie goddamn blows.”
“I think it’s good.” I’m lying. Enduring this film is the equivalent of watching paint dry. Not even the pot we just smoked can make this experience even the slightest bit enjoyable, but I don’t want to admit that I’d made the wrong choice. You can’t give a guy like Dean the win. Ever. He’ll lord it over me until the end of time.
“There’s no way you like this movie,” he challenges.
“I do,” I insist.
He stares me down for several seconds, but my acting skills come in handy, allowing me to convey pure innocence.
“Well, I don’t. This is a whole new level of brutal.”
I offer a helpful suggestion. “Why don’t you go upstairs and jerk off again?”
Shit. Wrong thing to say. His green eyes instantly take on a seductive glint.
With a lazy grin, he leans toward me and drawls, “How about you do it for me?”
This guy is incorrigible. “Are we back to this? Do you ever take no for an answer?”
“I’m not familiar with that word. Nobody’s ever said it to me before.” He moves closer again, resting his palm on the cushion between us and giving the fabric a slow stroke. “Come on, let’s make this party more interesting. We’re home alone…we’re both good-looking…”
I snicker.
“It’ll be fun. Sex is always fun.”
“Pass.”
“Okay, no sex. How about just oral?”
I pretend to think it over. “Am I giving or receiving?”
“Receiving. And then giving. Because that’s how it goes.” He smiles broadly. “You know, the circle of life and all that.”
I can’t help but laugh. Say what you want about this guy, but at least he’s entertaining. “Pass,” I say again.
“Wanna make out?” he asks hopefully.
“Nope.”
“I’m a really good kisser…” He leaves that hanging as if to entice me.
“Ha. That just means you’re not. Every time a guy says he’s a good kisser, he sucks.”
“Yeah? You got any empirical evidence to back that up?”
“Of course.” I really don’t. And Dean knows the word empirical? Wow, maybe there is more than air inside that pretty head of his.
He looks ready to argue with me, but we’re interrupted by a loud burst of music from his phone. I scowl when I recognize the tune.
Men. They can’t take one second to put the toilet seat down, but they have the time to program the ESPN theme song as their ringtone?
Dean’s expression brightens when he sees who’s calling. He answers without delay. “Maxwell! What’s shaking?” He listens, then shoots me a hopeful look. “Wanna go to a party?”
I shake my head.
The person on the other end of the line is forced to endure Dean’s overly dramatic sigh. “Sorry, man. I can’t. I’m babysitting—”
I smack him on the arm.
“—and she doesn’t want to go,” he finishes as he glares at me. He pauses again. “No, she’s fully grown.”
What?
“I’m babysitting an adult, dude. G’s girlfriend’s friend.” Dean rambles on as if I’m not even in the room. “We’re watching this movie about a lady with cancer and it sucks…well yeah, cancer sucks in general. I mean, all my sympathies for people who have it, but this movie is god-awful. Yeah…no, game’s on Tuesday…truth…yeah, definitely. We can hit up Malone’s. Later, bro.”
