She took a large drink of water and focused her attention back on the TV screen. It was a ridiculous and potentially dangerous idea.
Teenage boys weren’t exactly known for their maturity and Dean more than fulfilled the childish role. The youngest in the family had been just slightly indulged more than the others and his attitude sometimes showed it. If she let on, even just a little, that she was starting to see him in a different light with each inch he grew taller and the progressive deepening of his voice that somehow began popping up in her dreams, he’d probably get hives at the very thought.
Her head was swimming in conflicting and confusing ideas and his bark of laughter from beside her jolted her back to reality. “What the hell are you laughing at?”
Dean laid a hand to his stomach with a light smack. “I-I-I can’t even…I have to rewind this.” He grabbed the remote and clicked the DVR backward a few scenes. “Check this out. Big bro man here gets completely trashed and winds up…you’ve just gotta see it.”
Jillian’s amusement at drunken stupidity transformed into horror as the young man’s drunken antics resulted in a complete loss of control of nearly every bodily function at the same time. And on national television.
She reached over and grabbed his arm. “Promise me you’ll never let me make that big of a fool of myself, drunk or otherwise.”
“Scout’s honor.” He held up three fingers on his right hand, his thumb and pinky touching near his palm.
She pressed her lips together in a thin line. “You were never a boy scout. Totally meaningless.”
He grinned. “You know I’ll never let anything happen to you, drunk or sober.”
Jillian settled deeper into the couch and laid her head on his shoulder, keeping a firm grip on his forearm. “I know, Sparky.”
Chapter Seventeen
Dean
Present Day
He glanced over at Jillian’s still slumbering form before adding the final scoop of grounds to the basket, closing the lid, and pressing the button to start the coffee he knew she’d be desperate for as soon as she woke. The single serve dispenser he normally used wasn’t going to be enough to tackle the drum line he was certain she’d have playing in her head.
Dean rested his backside against the counter and took a long drink from the glass of orange juice he’d abandoned long enough to start the coffee. Jillian’s drunken declaration from the night before played through his head once again.
My dad gambled away everything.
A twinge of pain had been his immediate reaction. Why did it take excessive amounts of alcohol to elicit the final piece of the puzzle?
Even as the question formed in his mind, he answered it on his own. For better or worse, no matter how much she bucked every tradition and proprietary behavior her mother tried to force down her throat, Jillian loved her family and was devoted to them. Addiction was a painful pill for loved ones to swallow no matter what form it came in.
And certainly Bradford—even in his head, he’d always added a little extra disgusted emphasis to the second half of her brother’s name because he found it to be the most pretentious name ever—couldn’t be bothered to help out in anyway. The tech company he ran from his seven bedroom villa in Phuket, Thailand was the only thing her brother cared about.
Dean gave a soft snort. As much as it annoyed him, he almost understood the eldest Monroe child’s continental move. Helena was an oppressive beast.
A small smile teased the corners of his mouth. In spite of her mother’s best efforts to mold Jillian into a cookie cutter version of herself, the feisty redhead had lived up to every personality trait attached to her ginger hair. She knew what she wanted for her life and lived it out exactly as she’d envisioned, no matter the backlash she received.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.” The string of curses accompanied the banging of limbs against wood as Jillian scrambled to rise from the couch, find her footing, and sprint to the bathroom.
Dean chuckled to himself as he trailed behind her, fully prepared to hold her hair or wipe her face with a wet washcloth. He sat on the side of the tub next to the toilet and gently stroked his fingers up and down her spine when the vomiting dissolved into sobs.
She slid on her knees closer to him, laying her head in his lap. “Why the hell did you let me go out last night?”
He shook his head. “I like how you managed to make this my fault.” He reached over to the faucet in the tub and soaked the cloth he’d barely been able to grab with his fingertips.
Jillian shivered slightly as he pressed the cold material to the back of her neck then melted into him with a marginally contented sigh. “That’s what white knights do, Sparky. If you’re gonna play the role, you gotta fulfill every part.”
“Who was the culprit last night?” He stroked her back gently, not missing any opportunity to touch her and kept his voice at a low tone to avoid sending a spike through her undoubtedly aching brain.
“My nemesis.” She mumbled into the denim covering his leg. “Tequila. It started out all innocent like with a margarita or two. Then Ainsley decided we needed to do shots.”
Imagining the perfectly styled and utterly proper girls her mother had roped into being her attendants getting shit-faced on tequila shots elicited a bark of laughter from Dean that had Jillian gripping her skull and groaning. He winced slightly. “Sorry, Jillybean.”
They sat in silence for a few more minutes before he bent at the waist to bring his lips close to her ear. “Want some help back out to the couch?”
She nodded her head without moving it from his lap which, unfortunately for Dean, meant that it caressed his thigh in a way that tested his limits of self-control. Only the internal reminder that he didn’t want to irreparably screw this up and certainly didn’t want to take advantage of Jillian hung over kept his jeans from getting tight.
Well, too tight anyway.
With one arm around her waist, he guided her back to the sofa and tucked the thick blanket around her securely. “Coffee now or later?”
Red rimmed eyes peeked out from over the edge of the comforter she’d pulled up to nearly cover her face. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
Without a single cell in his brain participating in the action, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead softly. “I get it. It’s hard to talk about.”
She scooted deeper into the cushions and looked up at him with a slightly lost and completely pathetic expression that sent an arrow straight into his hopelessly in love heart. “Lay with me? Just for a little while?”
Before she’d even finished speaking, he was stretching out on the couch beside her. Like there was a chance in hell he’d be anywhere else.
***
Jillian
Present Day
Someone glued sandpaper to the inside of her eyelids.
That was the first thought that popped into Jillian’s head when she tried to open her eyes, followed quickly by the realization that for the first time in nearly a decade she had to have eaten meat. Raw, rancid meat. That was the only explanation for the horrific taste clinging to her tongue.
She scrambled over the top of Dean’s slumbering form to race to the bathroom and scrub away the evidence that she’d had way too much to drink and had subsequently emptied the contents of her stomach when she woke earlier. She groaned as she assaulted her teeth with the brush liberally coated with paste as the memories of the previous night as well as her undoubtedly charming earlier worship at the altar of the porcelain god replayed in her head.
After two rounds of mouthwash and a quick splash of cold water over her face, she finally emerged from the bathroom. With a quick glance to confirm Angela was still sleeping on the other side of Dean’s closed bedroom door, she padded back into the living room. The enticing aroma of coffee tugged her slightly to the right where Dean was filling an enormous white mug at the kitchen counter.
“Black and strong,” he softly announced as he handed her the warm cup. “Luckily,
your nap was short enough that the auto off didn’t kick in, so it’s still nice and hot.”
She took a small sip of the steaming brew and looked up at him. “You deserved better than that.” He opened his mouth but she held up her hand to silence him. “I know you’re going to argue to try to make me feel better, but I was an ass. I should have laid it all out to you from the beginning.”
At least half a dozen expressions cycled across his face, but she couldn’t identify a single one until his mouth settled into a cocky grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I shouldn’t enjoy you admitting you’re an ass this much, should I?”
Jillian shot him a narrowed glare and thumped his chest with the back of her hand. “You’re not making this easy, Sparky.”
“That was never part of this bargain.” He chuckled lightly and took a step closer to her. “But I accept your apology, soon-to-be Mrs. Carlisle.”
She twisted her lips to the side and squinted. “Mrs. Monroe-Carlisle.” It was important to her not to lose the strong tie to her grandfather, even for the brief period of time their union would last. Although she knew Dean wasn’t the traditional type, she’d hesitated mentioning her plan to keep her last name. Another less than stellar decision.
“That has a mighty fine ring to it.” Dean tapped his own coffee mug lightly against hers. “Happy Day Before Marriage, Mrs. Monroe-Carlisle.”
There wasn’t a single second of their interaction that was sexy or enticing. Not a moment that would incite romance or desire.
Yet as she stood in the small kitchen of his townhome with him, a powerful wave of lusty need swept over her and Jillian began plotting against her best friend…in the best way possible.
Certainly their two-decade-old relationship would be strong enough to survive adding sex to their fake marriage bargain. And it was most definitely a benefit Dean deserved for giving up his freedom for her.
Chapter Eighteen
Dean
Ten Years Earlier
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Dean slung the beach towel around his neck and shifted on his feet. A slither of discomfort snaked its way down his spine. When had discussing girlfriends and dating with Jillian become so uncomfortable? Hell, when had anything become uncomfortable with Jillian?
She was the one person, even more so than his brothers, that he could relax with. Hanging out with Jillian was probably the calmest he ever was.
Even though he did his best to come off almost as cocky as Wyatt and nearly as confident as Tanner, he couldn’t help but wrestle with an invisible weight of expectation. One that had never really been spoken, but one that lay heavily on his shoulders.
Tanner had practically been born in a three-piece suit and seamlessly stepped into his role at Carlisle International straight out of college.
For as long as Dean could remember, Wyatt ate, drank, and breathed the rodeo…to the extent that his parents had built a barn and stocked it with two horses and damn near every riding accessory needed to help Wyatt train to realize his dream.
And Connor was the epitome of ridiculous. An annoying combination of artistic talent and brains meant his brother could do damn near anything. It was only made worse by the fact that Connor was the most sensitive of all the boys and Dean’s ally against the two oldest who made torturing Connor and Dean their life’s mission sometimes.
But Dean…he didn’t really know his purpose. Most of the time he didn’t care, but he had an occasional twinge of jealousy at all three of his brothers’ focused paths in life. None of them wavered or doubted, just pursued the goals they’d long ago made.
He’d entertained everything from becoming a lawyer to an accountant to a veterinarian and practically everything in between. Nothing felt right, but nothing really felt wrong either. He could probably live with nearly any job, but he didn’t feel the pull or passion that he saw in his siblings.
But none of that mattered when he was with Jillian. He could kick back and just be Dean and that was enough for her.
Until now.
Which was annoying as hell.
She planted her fists on her hips and gave him an irritated glare. “Exactly what’s wrong with a double date?” She lightly punched his bicep. “Ashamed to introduce your girlfriend to your best friend?”
He rolled his eyes and climbed in the bed of Wyatt’s old truck that his brother had left behind when he moved out of town in search of the rodeo fame he’d always dreamt of. He laid the towel on the bed liner and stretched himself out, the early September sun beating down on him, drying his damp skin. “You ought to know that girls get weird about stuff like that.”
Jillian flicked the edge of the terrycloth she’d hastily wiped over her freckled shoulders spreading it out beside him. “That’s just dumb.” She rotated her head and lifted her sunglasses. Before he even met her penetrating stare, he knew she was definitely ready to lay down the law according to Jillian. “If she doesn’t like me then clearly she isn’t good enough for you.”
He smirked at her, squinting against the bright sunlight. “Got your bossy pants on there, Jillybean?”
She grinned in response and slid her sunglasses back in place. “Never leave home without them, Sparky.”
Dean shifted slightly on the towel. “Fine, fine, we’ll do this double date crap.”
“Good.” She lifted her head far enough to hold her mass of hair on top of her head before laying back down and letting the wet tendrils fan out around her. “I’ll take care of all the arrangements.”
He groaned. “Sounding like the Ice Queen there, Jillybean. We don’t need to be going all fancy here. My pinky doesn’t stick up when I drink. Biologically impossible.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Ya know, being ‘new money’ and all.”
His comment was rewarded with a sharp elbow to his ribs and then a second jab when he chuckled in response to the first.
“Dinner and movies casual enough for you, Casanova-wannabe?”
A wave of gratitude washed over him that the fleeting moment of discomfort had passed and they had easily fallen back into just being them. “That works for me. Just make sure your little preppy boyfriend knows how to wear something other than button down shirts and sweater vests.”
“Sure thing, Sparky, as long as you tell your girlfriend to ditch the halter tops and Daisy Dukes.”
Her quick retort brought out an immediate bark of laughter.
He held up three fingers, his thumb and pinkie touching near his palm. “I will make sure she is on her best behavior. Scout’s honor.”
Jillian yawned. “You were never a scout so that isn’t exactly comforting.”
He turned his head to face her and stared at her just slightly longer than normal. Had her nose always turned up slightly at the tip and looked that cute? He blinked a few times. What the hell was that kind of thought? This was Jillian. “When do you want to commence with the torture…I mean plan this double date?”
“Maybe in a few weeks? I have a heavy course load right now and need to get a little more grounded in it before I get all distracted by Spencer in a sweater vest.”
Dean groaned at her giggle and laced his fingers behind his head, letting the heat from the sun and the exhaustion from a day swimming in the lake pull him into a light sleep.
***
Jillian
Ten Years Ago
Dean pulled off the end of the covering of his straw and blew into the tube, shooting the paper at Jillian across the table. She balled up the wrapper and tossed it back at him with a smirk.
Spencer huffed in the booth beside her and warmth crept up the back of her neck when she realized she’d very nearly forgotten her very new boyfriend was sitting beside her.
She turned slightly in her seat and focused on Spencer. “What did you think of the movie?”
Small crinkles formed around his chocolate eyes as he slid his arm along the back of the bench seat and his thumb stroked her shoulder. “It was a bit predictable and the humor was…rather im
mature.”
Dean snorted across the table and tossed an entire jalapeno popper in his mouth. “Immature? You’re almost seventeen, not forty. I think you just need to lighten up, my man.”
Erica slid her hand inside the crook of Dean’s left arm and scooted closer to him. “I thought it was funny. Although some of the fight scenes were just…” She shivered dramatically and Jillian fought the urge to roll her eyes.
Jillian shrugged in response. “They were okay. Not nearly as good as our favorite series, right, Sparky?”
He took a long drink from his soda then nodded vigorously. “I mean, I guess they did the best they could with no superheroes or otherworldly powers available to them.”
The two easily fell into their normal post-movie discussion from the plot to the acting to hypothesizing whether or not a sequel would happen and, if so, what it could entail. The waitress came and dropped off their food and they only stopped talking to inhale large bites of their food.
On one of the few breaks, Erica folded her arms across her chest. “Dean, I’d like to speak with you outside, please.”
Dean slid out of the booth and stood to the side, offering a hand to Erica as she moved across the seat and got to her feet beside him. He fell in step behind her, casting a glance over his shoulder to where Jillian and Spencer still sat, lifting his shoulders slightly.
Spencer let out a low whistle. “Can’t say I blame her.”
She speared her fork through lettuce, tomato, and cucumber, stuffing the mass of vegetables in her mouth. The familiar rebellious thrill shot through her knowing her mother would have a fit seeing her well-trained daughter eating a decidedly not petite bite of food. “What are you talking about?”
He lifted both brows, cutting through his chicken with a delicate finesse Jillian was certain her mother would have swooned over. “You two. You’re behaving as though you and Dean are on a date and we are just accessories.”
Meant to be More (Meant to Be Series Book 4) Page 13