Falling

Chapter 6

Deans POV

I should have gone upstairs with Lexi.

Seriously.

That’s what Dean Sinclair does.

Dean Sinclair flirts.

Dean Sinclair wins stupid drinking games.

Dean Sinclair definitely does not stand in a kitchen holding a girl’s drink like some kind of emotional support golden retriever while she slow dances with another guy.

And yet.

Here I am.

Holding Margaux’s beer like it’s a sacred artifact.

Fantastic.

“Dean?”

I blink.

Lexi is standing closer than I remember.

Which is saying something because Lexi has never really understood the concept of personal space.

“Earth to Dean.”

“Hm?”

She laughs softly.

“You’ve been ignoring me for five minutes.”

“Wasn’t ignoring you.”

“Really?” she asks. “Because I was beginning to think I suddenly became invisible.”

“Impossible.”

That earns a smile.

“There he is.” She reaches over and straightens the collar of my shirt. “Thought I’d lost my favorite flirt.”

I grin automatically.

“Favorite?”

“Please.” She rolls her eyes. “You know you are.”

Her fingers linger on my chest for a second longer than necessary.

Normally?

Normally, I’d flirt back.

Normally, we’d exchange some ridiculous banter and I’d have half the room convinced we were about to run away and get married.

But tonight…

My eyes drift back to the dance floor.

I watch as Noah’s hands linger on Margaux’s body.

His fingers are tracing her back, from her shoulders all the way to above her ass.

I watch how close they are, how Margaux’s head meets Noah’s shoulders.

How he makes her laugh, how visibly nervous she is.

Something unpleasant twists in my chest.

Something ugly.

Something I don’t like.

Something suspiciously close to…

Nope.

Not touching that.

Absolutely not.

“Dean.”

I look up.

Lexi.

She’s leaning against the counter, pretty smile in place.

“You know, this is getting embarrassing.”

“What is?”

“Me throwing myself at you all night.”

I grin.

“Bit dramatic.”

She smiles.

Then lowers her voice.

“A bunch of people are upstairs.”

“Mm.”

“But I wasn’t exactly inviting a bunch of people.”

My eyebrows rise.

“Lexi.”

“What?” she laughs. “Don’t act shocked. We’ve literally done this dance before.”

She’s right.

Not that dance.

But the flirting.

The teasing.

The thrill.

The no strings.

A part of me wants to say yes, because yes it easy, yes is fun and yes is Dean Sinclair.

“Come on.” she says softly. “One drink. Five minutes.”

I glance toward the dance floor. Margaux is smiling up at Noah.

And something ugly twists in my chest.

“Sure.”

Lexi smiles triumphantly.

“Thought so.”

Five minutes later we are making out in a random bedroom upstairs.

I am laid down flat on my back with Lexi on top of me.

She’s hot.

Really hot.

She’s kissing me down my neck, grinding on top of me.

She nudges me to take off my shirt while we are making out. She unzips her dress from the side and to my surprise her t**s spill out in the open.

Music vibrates through the walls.

Lexi is moaning softly between the kisses.

The air is hot and heated.

There’s passion and hunger.

Lexi asked me about something.

Honestly?

I have no idea what.

Because my brain is somewhere else.

Somewhere with brown eyes and terrible dancing.

“So…” Lexi says, “Do you have a condom?”

“Dean.”

“Hm?”

“Look at me.”

I do.

And immediately feel terrible.

Because Lexi is gorgeous.

Beautiful.

Funny.

Confident.

And she’s looking at me with genuine affection.

But my heart isn’t in this room.

It’s downstairs.

Probably overthinking herself into oblivion.

Probably apologizing to Noah for bumping into him while dancing.

Probably laughing.

Lexi on the other hand…

And a month ago?

Hell, an hour ago?

I would’ve leaned into it.

Would’ve made her laugh.

Would’ve whispered something ridiculous just to see her blush.

Instead -

I feel…

Nothing.

Well.

Nothing except uncomfortable.

Which is new.

Very new.

Lexi studies my face.

Lexi notices.

Of course she notices.

Her smile slowly fades.

“Oh.”

My stomach drops.

“Lex - ”

“Oh.”

“You’re kidding.”

“You’re done for.”

“I’m not done for.”

“You absolutely are.”

“I’m not - ”

“Dean.”

She shakes her head, smiling in disbelief.

“You came up here and you’re thinking about her.”

I run a hand through my hair.

“That’s not - ”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Dean.”

“Yes?”

“Get out of this bedroom.”

I burst out laughing.

“What?”

“I’m serious.”

She points dramatically toward the door.

“Go downstairs.”

“Lex - ”

“No, absolutely not. I refuse to be part of whatever tragic rom-com this is.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

She smiles fondly.

As I reach for the door, she calls after me.

“God, you’re hopeless.”

“Apparently.”

“And Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Go.”

I smile.

“Friends?”

She rolls her eyes.

“Unfortunately.” While falling back onto the bed laughing.

By the time I get downstairs, Luke is losing beer pong with enough enthusiasm to qualify for the Olympics.

“There he is!” he announces dramatically. “Romeo returns from his tragic balcony scene.”

“I’m not Romeo.”

“Good. Romeo dies.”

“Comforting.”

Luke throws a ball.

Misses spectacularly.

Then blames gravity.

Naturally.

Twenty minutes later, I’m three drinks in, not drunk, just pleasantly numb, and absolutely destroying everyone at beer pong.

Which is unfortunate.

Because winning means people keep challenging me.

And losing means Luke sings.

Which nobody deserves.

“Dean!”

I turn around.

And immediately forget how beer pong works.

Margaux.

Her cheeks are pink.

Her hair is slightly messy from dancing.

And she’s smiling.

Actually glowing.

Noah stands beside her, looking unfairly happy himself.

Of course he does.

“Babydoll.” I grin. “Back for your sacred beverage?”

She laughs.

“Oh! Right.”

I hold up the can.

Luke appears out of nowhere.

“He almost committed murder over that thing.”

“I did not.”

“He threatened Bryce.”

“Bryce touched the can.”

“By accident!”

“Intent is irrelevant.”

Margaux laughs, shaking her head.

“Noah, can you get me some water?” she asks.

“Oh, sure.”

“Thanks.”

Noah smiles and disappears into the crowd.

And suddenly -

It’s just us.

The noise of the party somehow fades into the background.

Margaux shifts awkwardly.

“Actually, I wanted to tell you something.”

“Sounds serious.”

“No!” she laughs. “Nothing bad.”

My heart resumes beating.

Good to know.

“Okay, hit me.”

She twists one of her rings nervously.

And immediately I know she’s worried about something.

Classic Margaux.

“Um… Noah and I are probably staying a bit longer.”

I nod.

“Okay.”

“You don’t have to wait for me.”

“Margaux.”

“No, seriously. I don’t want you getting stuck here because of me.”

I smile.

“Babydoll, you’re talking to the guy who once waited three hours outside a nail salon because Luke lost his car keys.”

“HE HAD THEM IN HIS POCKET!” Luke shouts from across the room.

She giggles.

God, that laugh.

“But really,” she says softly. “You can go.”

I look at her.

Really look at her.

And maybe it’s the way she’s worried about inconveniencing me.

Or maybe it’s because she’s talking like she’s asking permission.

But something protective immediately rises in my chest.

“Hey.”

Her eyes meet mine.

“You never have to worry about that.”

“What?”

“If you want to stay, stay.”

“Dean - ”

“No, I’m serious.”

I soften my voice.

“Have fun. Dance with your pretty boy.”

She laughs.

“But don’t spend the whole night worrying about me.”

“I don’t -”

“You do.”

Her guilty expression says enough.

I smile.

“And babydoll?”

“Yeah?”

“If you need anything - ”

I shrug.

“Anything.”

Her smile fades slightly.

“Dean -”

“I’m serious.”

“You have rehearsal tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“And it’s already late.”

“I know.”

“And you’ll probably be asleep.”

I snort.

“You have known me for weeks and you think I sleep?” “Baby, I am the life of the party!”

She laughs.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

I step closer and lower my voice.

“If somebody makes you uncomfortable?”

Her expression softens.

“You call me.”

“If your ride falls through?”

“You call me.”

“If you decide you’re tired?”

“You call me.”

“If Noah turns out to be a serial killer?”

She bursts out laughing.

“Dean!”

“I’m covering all possibilities.”

“He’s not a serial killer.”

“That’s exactly what a serial killer would want us to think.”

She shakes her head, smiling.

But then her smile turns softer.

Warmer.

And suddenly she’s looking at me like she does during those quiet moments after rehearsals.

“You’re really sweet, you know that?”

I grin.

“Don’t spread rumors.”

“No, I’m serious.”

“I have a reputation.”

Her eyes sparkle.

“Oh no. Not the hottest fuckboy reputation.”

“Exactly. Very prestigious.”

She laughs again.

Her eyes linger on me for a second.

Long enough that my pulse stumbles.

Long enough that something unreadable flickers across her face.

Then…

“Found water.”

Noah returns.

And whatever that moment was -

Whatever almost happened -

Disappears.

Noah hands her the bottle.

And he’s smiling.

Happy.

Trusting.

Good.

He’s good to her.

That’s good.

Right?

Margaux wraps her arms around me unexpectedly.

And for a second, I freeze.

Then hug her back.

Instinctively.

Protectively.

She squeezes tighter.

“You’re the best.”

My eyes close for just a second.

Because she has no idea what those words do to me.

“No problem, babydoll.”

She pulls away with a smile.

Noah slips his hand into hers.

And this time…

This time, it hurts.

Because she smiles at him.

And he smiles back.

And they fit together so naturally.

Noah gives me a grateful smile.

“Thanks for bringing her tonight, man.”

I force my grin wider.

“No problem.”

As they walk away I catch myself watching until they disappear into the crowd.

And when Luke appears beside me, he doesn’t even make a joke.

He just looks at me.

Then at the unopened can still sitting beside the cups.

And sighs.

“Oh, Dean.”

And somehow -

Those two words hurt more than they should.