Falling

Chapter 9

Margaux’s POV

Something warm is beneath my cheek.

Something steady, rock solid…

Something that rises and falls. Definitely not my mattress.

Something that smells like cedarwood and laundry detergent.

My eyes slowly blink open.

Soft morning light filters through the curtains.

And then I realize exactly where I am.

Not in the apartment I share with Anna.

Not in my bed.

Not on a couch.

I’m…

Oh f**k!

Dean!

I’m practically wrapped around Dean Sinclair like one of his one night stands!

My head is on his chest. His hands are in my hair unintentionally stroking my scalp.

One of his arms is around my waist holding me tightly.

I am cradled on top of his bare chest with nothing but a hoodie clinging to me.

And sometime during the night, my leg has somehow ended up tangled with his using him as a personal heater.

I was sleeping -

Not next to him.

Not near him.

But… on top of him.

Mortification hits me like a truck.

What happened to absolutely no cuddling Margaux?

What the f**k!

I freeze.

Completely.

Maybe if I don’t move, I’ll spontaneously combust and save myself the embarrassment.

It’s not secret that I absolutely HATE jocks now I’m wrapped around one…

The one and only DEAN SINCLAIR!

Then I hear it.

A sleepy voice above me.

“…Morning, Babydoll.”

My eyes widen.

Dean’s awake.

Kill me.

Just kill me.

Maybe if I just ignore it then the earth will swallow me whole.

Slowly, I lift my head.

His hair is messy.

His lip is bruised.

And somehow -

He still looks annoyingly attractive.

His green eyes are half closed and sleepy.

And he’s smiling.

Not his cocky smile.

Not his flirtatious smile.

Just…

Soft.

“Morning,” I whisper.

Dean glances down at where I’m currently octopus-wrapped around him.

“I feel lied to.”

Heat rushes into my face. I can feel my face burning up and my stomach does a summersault.

“What?”

“You said no cuddling.”

“Oh my God.”

“You appear to have violated the treaty.”

“Dean!”

He laughs quietly.

Actually laughs.

And I immediately relax.

Because he’s teasing me.

Not making it weird.

Not making me feel stupid.

“Sorry,” I mumble, scrambling backwards.

He instantly lets me go.

“No apologies required, Babydoll.”

And something about the way he says it -

Gentle.

Easy.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world-

Makes my stomach flutter.

Which is ridiculous.

Because this is Dean.

Dean Sinclair.

Human red flag.

Professional menace.

Unfortunately.

I laugh.

And that stupid butterfly feeling returns.

Not because I like Dean.

Obviously.

Dean is Dean.

Dean is impossible.

Dean is annoying.

Just because we shared a bed and he probably heard me snore!

“Coffee?” he asks.

I perk up.

“You have coffee?”

Dean gasps.

“Margaux Finch, have I taught you nothing? I know tea is your favorite but you’ll have to survive on coffee this morning.”

I stare.

“You know that?”

He looks offended.

“Babydoll, I know your favourite pair of socks are the ugliest shade of green with pink dots.”

“That’s concerning.”

“That’s friendship.”

Friendship.

Right.

Friendship.

He hops out of bed.

And I accidentally stop breathing.

Because shirtless and grey sweatpants Dean Sinclair should honestly be illegal.

Broad shoulders.

Messy hair.

Bruised lip.

Defined muscles.

And…

A rather large bulge by his groin…

Good Lord.

He catches me staring.

His eyebrows lift.

I immediately look at the ceiling.

Oh my gosh!

The wall.

Anywhere.

“I’m making pancakes.”

“You know how to make pancakes?” I ask completely baffled.

“I can do a lot of things!”

“Oh, I am sure you can.” I say sarcastically.

He grins.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“I’m not flustered.”

“Babydoll, you’re talking to the lamp.”

I glare at him.

He laughs and disappears into the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting on the counter wearing his oversized football hoodie with a hot cup of tea in my hand.

My hair is messy, somewhat in a pony tail, somewhat not.

My makeup from last night is smudged.

His tea is surprisingly amazing.

And Dean…

Dean is making pancakes shirtless.

Which should not be affecting me.

Except…

It is.

Not in the way girls usually react to Dean.

Not butterflies.

Not really.

Just…

Comfort.

Which is somehow scarier.

He’s singing at the top of his lungs to Pour some sugar on me by Def Leopard. Blaring through his speakers but unfortunately can’t cover up his terrible vocals.

Completely off-key.

Absolutely terrible.

Even worse dance moves.

And smiling.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dean smile this much.

“Flip it, Gordon Ramsay,” I warn.

“Gordon Ramsay wishes his pancakes looked like mine.”

He attempts to flip the pancake in the air but it goes flying.

Hits the ceiling.

And sticks.

I choke on my tea.

“No!”

Dean stares upward and lowers down on his knees while holding his hand to his heart.

Offended like he just lost the love of his life to death.

“Traitor.”

I burst out laughing.

Real laughing.

The kind I haven’t done in days.

Dean points the spatula at the pancake.

“You and I are no longer friends.”

The doorbell rings.

Dean sighs.

“Ignore it.”

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

“Persistent.”

“Probably Luke or Declan.” He says rolling his eyes.

Dean walks over.

Still shirtless.

Still holding a spatula.

And opens the door.

Luke practically falls inside.

“Romeo! I bring -”

Luke freezes with a shocked look on his face.

Dean’s jaw tightens.

Noah stands behind him.

And Noah freezes too.

Everyone freezes.

Because from Noah’s perspective…

Dean Sinclair is shirtless.

His lip is bruised.

His hair is messy.

And I’m sitting on the kitchen counter.

Wearing Dean’s hoodie.

Holding Dean’s coffee mug.

Looking like I belong here.

Oh.

Oh no.

Luke’s eyes widen.

“Oh.”

Noah’s face falls.

Not angry.

Not furious.

Just…

Hurt.

And suddenly I want to die.

“Noah!”

I jump off the counter.

He looks relieved.

Actually relieved.

“Margaux.”

His shoulders sag.

“I’ve been calling.”

My eyes widen.

My phone.

Still upstairs.

Crap.

“I’m sorry!”

Dean immediately speaks.

“Her phone’s upstairs.” He says in a very hostile voice. Anyone with ears could hear the annoyance in his voice.

Noah’s eyes flick to him.

Then back to me.

Then to Dean’s bare chest.

Then to the hoodie.

And something uncomfortable settles over his face.

Luke, meanwhile, is looking between us like he’s watching Netflix.

“Oh, this is awkward.”

“Luke,” Dean warns.

“What? It is.”

“I was worried,” Noah says quietly.

And immediately my heart squeezes.

Because I still like him.

Because despite everything, seeing him standing here makes my stomach flutter.

“Right!” Dean cuts in with a scoff.

SHUT THE f**k UP DEAN!

Noah’s eyes flicker to Dean then back to me, ignoring Dean’s comment.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him softly.

“I couldn’t find you anywhere, I tried calling, texting… then Ethan happened and Dean came to fetch me and I slept here.”

Luke coughs.

“In Dean’s bed.”

“Luke!”

“What? Jesus, I’m providing context.”

Dean glares.

Noah blinks.

And I think he actually stops breathing.

Luke’s eyes widen.

“Oh.”

Dean closes his eyes.

“Luke.”

“Oops.”

I want the ground to swallow me.

“Absolutely nothing happened!”

“No, I know.”

He says it quickly.

Too quickly.

His voice is gentle.

But his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Dean wouldn’t.”

Dean goes still.

Because that sentence says two things.

One,

Noah trusts me.

Two,

Noah doesn’t see Dean as competition.

At all.

And for some reason…

Dean looks away.

“Coffee?” he asks nobody in particular.

Luke raises his hand.

“Always.”

Dean disappears to the kitchen.

Noah steps closer.

His eyes soften.

“Are you okay?”

I nod.

“I am now.”

And I mean it.

Because I still have a crush on him.

Still.

But then…

From the kitchen -

Dean drops something -

And second Noah walked through that door, Dean changed.

Not obvious.

Not to anyone else.

But I notice.

The jokes are shorter.

The smiles are tighter.

And every time Noah says my name, Dean suddenly finds something incredibly interesting in the coffee machine.

Which is impressive considering he’s currently abusing it with unnecessary force.

Luke notices too.

Of course he does.

Luke whistles.

“Damn, Romeo’s having a rough twenty-four hours.”

“Yeah, rub it in now.”

“No, seriously. First Ethan rearranges his face. Then he drives across town for you.”

Dean appears instantly.

“LUKE!”

Too late.

I blink.

“What?”

“Ethan did that?” Noah interrupts.

Dean immediately looks annoyed.

“I’m fine.”

Noah ignores him.

“He hit you? What? Why?”

“He looks worse.”

“Dean.”

“What?”

“Did he hit you?”

Dean grips the mug in his hand.

“Noah, I said it’s fine.”

“And I asked if he hit you.”

“He did,” Luke answers.

Dean closes his eyes.

Luke points.

“He hit Romeo first.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Dean…”

“He shoved me.”

Luke scoffs.

“He punched you.”

“It wasn’t…”

“He punched you in the face.”

Noah stares.

Then looks at me.

Then back at Dean.

“You fought Ethan because of Margaux?”

Dean laughs.

Not his usual laugh.

This one sounds annoyed.

“What else was I supposed to do? Ask him politely?”

Noah goes quiet.

And I swear Dean immediately regrets saying it.

Because he turns away and busies himself with the coffee again.

But Noah keeps staring.

Not angry.

Not upset.

Just…

Thinking.

And that’s somehow worse.

Luke freezes.

Dean looks ready to murder Luke.

Noah still holds a frown.

“Across town?” I ask still stuck on the previous topic.

Dean scratches the back of his neck.

“It wasn’t a big deal.”

Luke stares.

“Not a big deal? Brother, you looked ready to kill anyone who breathed wrong near her.”

“Luke.”

“No, seriously.”

“Luke!”

I stare.

Dean is bright red.

Actually red.

Dean Sinclair is blushing.

Noah notices too.

And for the first time,

Something unreadable flashes across his face.

Not jealousy.

Not exactly.

But something.

And Dean notices.

And Noah notices Dean noticing.

And suddenly…

The air feels different.

Not hostile.

Not angry.

Just…

Tense.