His clothes, his demeanor—it was like he’d shed a skin, and then grown into himself, somehow.
“Since when do you drink coffee instead of beer?” she asked.
Dean chuckled softly. “Since I started trying to do things right.”
Jamie wasn’t ready to trust him yet, but his eyes pleaded with hers, and this new version of him was too intriguing for her not to at least hear him out.
They walked to the coffee shop on the corner, ordered drinks and found a table by the window. Their spoons made music against the ceramic cups, a thick silence in the air between them.
“I suck at this,” he said.
“You do,” she replied matter-of-factly “You’re used to women throwing themselves at you.”
Nervous laughter was followed by him rapping his knuckles against the table. He was uncomfortable, but she liked seeing him like this, some of that suave exterior flayed away.
“I did try, you know,” he said. “With the whole college and photography thing. But when my dad said he needed me in the business, I knew that was it for school, and for…us.”
He looked up at her. Green eyes glittered.
“It was right after our night by the cove when he told me that,” he said.
Some of the anger Jamie had been harboring melted into regret—sadness for the teenager who’d been so excited over a possible future, only to have it dashed before his eyes.
“That’s why you said it was a mistake.”
He nodded. “I didn’t want to hold you back.”
One by one, the pieces started falling into place. The words “we still good” had never been a dismissal. They were his way of checking on her, of making sure she’d stay in his life in some small way even when he wanted her to find someone else.
“Explain that picture you took at the wedding,” she said. “The one of me by the cake.”
Dean sighed. “You were gorgeous that day. I almost couldn’t concentrate on anything else. But I felt like, the way my life was, I could never be more for you than the hired help. The guy who got you out of a bind.”
The idea made her heart hurt. He didn’t see himself the way she did—the artist beneath the gruff exterior, the playboy with the beautiful soul inside. She reached over, tentative at first, then took his hand in hers and threaded their fingers together.
“You’ve never been that guy to me.”
“I know.” He squeezed her hand and gave her a small smile, one that lit her up from the inside out. “You’ve always believed in me. Now I’ve got to believe in myself. I don’t want to be that guy anymore, which is why I told my dad I was quitting, unless he agreed to let me change things.”
“And he’s going to?”
“Yes. Everything we talked about in New Hampshire and more.” Dean’s excitement was tangible.
“That’s amazing,” Jamie said. “I’m so proud of you.”
He beamed, then looked down at their joined hands.
“I knew you would be,” he said softly. He ran his thumb over her knuckles, then swallowed and inhaled a shaky breath as his eyes found hers again. “I’ve been an idiot, pushing you away. I should’ve said this sooner, but you have to know it’s not just sex with you, and never has been, because I love you.”
She blinked. “What?”
“I love you,” he repeated. “I have since I was sixteen years old. And all I want out of life is to find some way to make my family’s business succeed, take some pictures and wake up next to you every day until I’m a hundred.”
Jamie couldn’t reply at first, her emotions so thoroughly tangled she couldn’t tell what she was feeling. She opened her mouth, hoping she could find the right words, but he stopped her with a shake of his head.
“Don’t say anything yet. Let me finish.”
She nodded, and then Dean’s face darkened. His brows pressed low, lips pinching to a thin line.
“I can’t offer you much now. I think down the line I can, but Jamie, I meant it when I said you deserved an amazing life. I know you wanted to be in New York, and if I’m the reason you never—” His words dropped off. He cleared his throat. “My parents broke up because my mom got stuck here. No matter how I feel about you, I don’t want you to stay here for me. You’ll end up hating me, and I couldn’t live with that.”
There was so much hurt in his eyes. So much insecurity and fear. Jamie had always combated those kinds of emotions with humor. She waved a casual hand in the air.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I already made my decision. I’m not sticking around Portland for you.”
He drew in an unsteady breath. “So you are leaving, then.”
She paused for a moment, just to mess with him, then said, “Nah. I actually kinda like it here, and there’s a fashion design program at the Maine College of Art I’ve been thinking of applying to. I’m going to give that a shot.”
His eyes went wide, that childlike hope she hadn’t seen in years shining out of them.
“That would make you happy?”
“Yes. I can go part-time if I get in and keep my job at the center too, because I don’t want to give up swimming either. I’m pretty good at it.” She shrugged and grinned, folding her other hand around both of theirs. “The best of both worlds, without the expensive Manhattan rent.”
He laughed and leaned toward her until their shoulders touched. Jamie studied their entwined hands, the curls of ink peeking out from under his sleeve.
“I wish you’d told me sooner,” she said.
“Told you what?”
“That you love me.” She took a breath. It was a heavy moment, one that definitely required more air. “Maybe if you’d told me the way you felt, it wouldn’t have taken me so long for me to figure out that I love you too.”
All the tension rushed out of him, the sheer emotion in his eyes making full impact on Jamie’s chest. She had more to say though, more he needed to hear about how she truly felt, so she kept talking.
“You’re the person I’ve compared everyone else to over the years. The reason I ended every relationship I’ve been in. And it wouldn’t have mattered to me if you were a mechanic or a photographer or a doctor.”
Dean closed his eyes and bowed his head.
“I’ve always belonged to you,” she said, her voice cracking. “Since that night in your truck, I’ve been yours.”
He lifted his head on an exhale and kissed her. It wasn’t rough or hard, not fueled by desperation or lust. It was soft and sweet, a tender brush of lips, a stroke of his mouth over hers that soothed all the scars of the past six years.
Dean pulled back and pressed his forehead to hers. “Say it again.”
“Say what.”
“That you love me.”
Jamie smiled. Brought her lips to his ear. Whispered, “I love you” and chased her teeth along his earlobe. Dean shivered, wove his free hand into her hair and kissed her again. The tug of his fingers and quick slip of his tongue against hers stole her breath.
Panting, she peeked over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening, then gave him a sultry look from beneath lowered lashes. “I don’t want you making decisions for me again, okay? There’s only one place I want you doing that.”
His eyes blazed. A low groan sounded in his throat.
“Not in my life,” she said. “Just in your bed.”
He pulled her hair a little harder. Jamie’s eyes drooped shut. When she opened them, his gaze was fiercely trained on her. Still watching her, still taking her in.
“What is it with you and watching me?”
Dean half laughed, half winced. He let go of her hair and ducked his head down, cheeks coloring.
“Are you actually blushing?”
He exhaled hard. Embarrassed Dean was like a meteor shower—rare and easily missed if you didn’t catch it quickly enoug
h. She nudged him until he lifted his head. His cheek was curved up to one side, the playboy smirk erased by a bashful smile she’d never seen before.
“I’m kind of a reaction junkie,” he said. “The sights and sounds of pleasure…I get off on it.”
“No wonder you were always such a good photographer. You like to watch.”
He grunted. It was a fingernail snagged on something. A caught nerve.
“What?” she asked.
“Watching you. It’s been my longest-running fantasy. Ever since you showed up in detention dressed as an angel.”
An empty ache grew and pulsed inside her. “Really?”
Now it was his turn to lean in close, his grin wicked. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about watching you get yourself off in those sparkly wings. That halo.”
Jamie bit her lip. She wanted him somewhere private. Wanted him securing her wrists above her head and fucking her, hard and fast. Overpowering her. Consuming her.
“It was never about the costume, though,” he said.
She was almost disappointed. “No kinky role-playing for you?”
Dean’s smile gentled. “No. It’s because I saw you that day. The real you. Angel face. Bad kid underneath. Wild. Free.” He kissed her. “You.”
Tears sparked in her eyes. Her heart skipped a beat. He saw her. He’d always seen her. Better than anyone else ever had.
They finished their drinks, and he put his arm around her as they made their way down the street. It wasn’t an absent-minded touch, or a movement made out of drunken playfulness. It was purposeful, intentional. One that told everyone who walked past them that she was his.
The sun was starting its descent when they reached the parking lot, the air growing chilly and crisp. Jamie huddled close to him and placed her palm on his chest, a gentle touch above the etched-out stars over his heart.
The meaning of his other tattoos had come to her easily. This one was still a mystery.
“What do the stars mean?”
He covered her hand with his. Blond lashes drifted low. “They were a reminder.”
“Of?”
His eyes met hers. “To stay away from love.”
“With me, or anyone?”
“Both,” he said. “Mostly you.”
She pursed her lips, mouth twisting to the side. Dean pecked her with light kisses until she giggled.
“I put the stars here to remind myself that I couldn’t offer anyone a future. That it was better not to love anyone at all.” He spread her hand out, a light touch to each fingertip. “I didn’t want to need love. Because then I could lose it.”
She shot him a wry grin. “So that’s why you’re such a player.”
A hoarse laugh burst out of him. He played with the tips of her fingers. “Not anymore, I guess?”
It was a question and an offer. Jamie shook her head up at the sky and looked back at him again.
“Dean Trescott, off the market. Women are going to come after me with pitchforks.”
He smiled. “So we’re doing this? For real?”
She looked into those little-boy eyes, thinking of how much they had in common. How long they’d both been hurting, but pretending they were okay. Too scared to admit how they felt, afraid of the toll rejection would bring.
It was time to put that behind them.
She wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed him.
“Yeah,” she said. “We are.”
Chapter Fourteen
Dean hauled another armful of junk into the bin in the parking lot. It landed on top of the pile with a gratifying clatter. It had to have been the thirtieth time he’d done that today—his back ached and his hands were a mess—but every thud of metal against metal made him happier than he’d been in years.
He glanced out at the harbor. The red-brick buildings of downtown were lit with the orange flame of the sinking sun, the waterfront thatched with cloudy pockets of blue, pink and red. It was the kind of early evening that begged to be photographed, but there would be others.
Right now he had a more important task at hand.
He trudged back inside, wiping his brow with a dirty forearm as he stepped through the wide bay door. He’d sweat straight through his shirt, which was crazy considering the fact that it would be November in the morning. It was a good workout, though. A shower was definitely in order, but that was hours off.
Maybe not too many, though, considering the help he had.
Half the guys were over here today, clearing a path through everything stored on the first floor of the warehouse. His father was directing things, and Connor and Mikey had taken the day off work to help too. They’d split the place into sections: the far right was where they’d stacked body parts. Engine pieces in the middle. Boxes of files were up against the left wall, ready to be scanned and shredded.
Dean grinned at the concrete slab, visible for the first time in years. He’d been surprised to see there was actually a floor there, underneath all that stuff. Watching his father sort through things, it occurred to Dean why the old man had been such a packrat. It wasn’t just about saving money. He’d held onto everything he could because he’d lost so much, and was terrified of losing anything else.
It was an emotion Dean could completely identify with.
Now both of them were ready to let go of the past, and a new future was shining out from that cement block, one Dean had never wanted to try for because he’d thought it was impossible.
Maybe reaching for the kind of life he wanted wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
He bent over, gearing up to haul the next pile out to the Dumpster when he was suddenly attacked from behind. Arms and legs wrapped around him as something heavy smacked against his side, knocking the wind out of him.
Dean fell forward and caught himself on the wall. “What the hell, Matthews?”
Jamie dug her chin into his shoulder. “How’d you know it was me?”
“The chlorine smell. Gives you away every time.”
She’d complained about constantly smelling like pool chemicals, but the scent didn’t bother him. If anything, it reminded him how recently Jamie had been naked.
She stuck out her tongue, then nuzzled his cheek. “Sorry my bag hit you.”
So that was what had careened into him. “What the hell do you have in there, anyway? A brick?”
“The November issue of Vogue.”
He huffed out an amused breath through his nose. “You and your fashion obsession.”
It wasn’t an obsession anymore—it was the career she was trying for—but teasing her was his sole privilege, now that they were officially dating. He shifted her weight on his back.
“You know, if you weren’t my favorite girl, I’d have dropped you on your ass by now.”
Jamie giggled. “If you did that, then you wouldn’t have anyone to go the Halloween party with tonight.” She kissed his cheek, then hopped to the ground and pulled out a pamphlet. “I grabbed this for you today.”
He glanced at what she was holding out, then held up his dirty hands and shook his head.
“Take it upstairs. I’ll look at it later.”
She grinned, that fantastic Jamie smile that was all his. A glittering hair band held back her wild curls. Curls he’d wrapped around his fist that morning when she’d woken him up with her mouth.
She’d slept in his bed nearly every night in the two weeks since their talk at the coffee shop. It had meant Mikey hadn’t been taking up his usual place on his couch. Dean felt badly about it, but had a feeling his buddy understood. He and Jamie needed to make up for lost time.
They’d done more than make up for it, their nights filled with crazy nonstop sex. Several mornings too. They’d both been late for work more than a few times. He couldn’t get enough. Against the wall in the living r
oom. In the hallway. On the kitchen counter.
In the back of his truck under some blankets by the beach, because yeah, that needed to happen.
The life he’d been afraid wouldn’t be good enough for her—nights at home and meals that subsisted mostly of PB and J and cereal—didn’t seem to bother her either. She actually had a thing for junk food, although the hours she spent swimming and getting sweaty with him more than took care of burning off the calories. He was keeping the pounds off himself, now that he was working out daily and scaling back on the beer.
He didn’t seem to need the booze anymore. Not when he was coming home to Jamie every night. She’d filled his world with life in so little time, and he was surprised how quickly he was ready to offer her what he’d never given anyone before.
It went beyond wanting to give her a key to his apartment, though. He was ready to let her decorate the place, to move in and make her energy a part of his world.
To let the world know he was taken.
Jamie tucked the information on the Maine College of Art’s photography program into her bag and walked backwards to the door.
“See you up there when you’re done,” she said. “And don’t forget to let me know when you’re coming up. I don’t want you to see the costumes until they’re done.”
“You’re not finished with them yet?”
She’d been working on their Halloween outfits as a trial-run project, to see if she could sew something decent on her own. She’d been pretty hush-hush about them too, hiding them in a box she stashed in her car whenever he came home.
“Almost. Just be glad I still have all my fingers,” she said merrily.
Oh, he was glad all right. He wanted every single one of those fingers clasping his when he made her come later tonight.
Dean went back to work, a big stupid grin on his face. He didn’t care. Jamie was upstairs waiting for him, in the mini studio he’d created for her in an empty corner. He’d surprised her one morning by setting up a table in the space where the most light filtered in and telling her it was hers. Now that table was littered with dozens of charcoal pencils, her magazines in haphazard piles. She’d brought over an easel and propped a new sketchpad on it. The most recent additions were a mannequin torso she’d found at Goodwill and an antique sewing machine she’d bought off Craigslist.
The Hierarchy of Needs (The Portland Rebels #2) Page 15