by Sarah Curtis
Dean had been to the bar a few times with Ray and the guys since he’d been hanging around, and Ray hadn’t behaved as though he had a girlfriend. Dean had even seen him leave with a woman once.
Was that what they were arguing about? Did the little pixie who held Dean spellbound find out?
Of their own accord, his feet moved him closer so he could hear actual words and not just shouted noise. And that’s when it happened.
Her eyes collided with his.
Green. That was their color. But hers were so bright and vibrant, they could only be called emerald.
Time stood still.
Dean wasn’t sure if he believed in love at first sight, but fuck him if he didn’t just fall hard, landing with a splat to the pavement.
Mid-rant, her mouth froze before it formed a small O. Her hands, which had been planted aggressively on her hips, fell, leaving her arms to dangle at her sides.
She took a step back from Ray, and Dean found himself taking another step forward, his heart thumping madly in his chest.
Ray looked over his shoulder, spotting him. “Hey, Dean.”
He knew it was none of his business, but he still found himself asking, “Everything okay here?”
Ray ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “Yeah, everything’s cool.” Recalling his manners, he gestured to the woman. “Dean, my sister, Sadie. Sadie, Dean.”
Sister. His new fucking favorite word. He held out his hand then thought better of it, quickly retracting it, but not before she lifted hers to make the grab. Fucking flustered for the first time in his life, he shoved his hands in his back pockets and shrugged. “Sorry, I remembered they were dirty.”
“The hazard of being an auto mechanic?” Her voice was melodic, and it was playing his song.
He shrugged again. “Something like that.”
They stared at each other for a few beats. What was fucking wrong with him? He was never at a loss for words around a pretty woman. Hooking up had always come easy. Women flocked to his good looks, height, and muscles, and he’d always said the right things to seal the deal. But in front of Sadie, he was coming up blank.
In a blink, he lost his opportunity when he lost her eyes, a spark of anger returning to them as they landed on her brother. “I have to get back to work. But you better show up tonight. No excuses.”
It was then Dean noticed what she wore. How he’d missed the brightly patterned scrubs, he had no idea. His only excuse was he’d been too captivated by her face. She filled out the baggy attire nicely, but he got the best view of all when she spun on her heel and marched away. She had a damn fine ass.
She stopped suddenly, pivoting. “It was nice meeting you, Dean.”
It wasn’t until she got in her car and drove away that it felt as though a fog had lifted and clear thinking once again resumed.
He stepped closer to Ray. “What was that all about?”
Ray shook his head. “Sadie can be a little…” he paused as if searching for the right word, “overzealous when it comes to our mother.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Hell, not that I blame her. Mom’s never been quite right,” he tapped a finger to his temple, “since our dad died seven years ago. Sadie’s constantly riding my ass to go over and visit.”
“Maybe you should.”
Ray stared at his feet, kicking a stone with the toe of his boot before turning his attention out toward the street. “Done some things I’m not proud of. I’ve distanced myself.”
Curiosity had him wanting to ask what but felt he hadn’t known Ray long enough to pry. He did feel comfortable enough to share, “Still, it seems like she wants you to visit. I wouldn’t waste an opportunity like that.”
Ray remained silent, and Dean took a step back to be on his way.
Ray’s words halted him. “You wanna come with? She might not be all there,” his finger tapped his temple again, “But she’s still a damn good cook. When’s the last time you had a home-cooked meal?”
Too fucking long, Dean thought. He tipped his chin. “Yeah, okay.”
He played it cool but inside he was grinning like the Cheshire fucking Cat. Because all he could think about was that he might get to see Sadie again.
After work, Dean followed Ray to a house that, while not rundown, was in need of repair. Age faded its once vibrant blue paint and sagged the roof shingles. The front lawn was mostly brown, which one would expect in the middle of summer, but its upkeep was also lacking, evidenced by the abundance of weeds in the mostly wilted flower planters and cracks of the sidewalk and driveway.
Dean parked along the curb, kicked down the stand on his bike, and shut off the engine. As soon as Ray did the same, quiet descended on the neighborhood. Dean scanned the block. Not a soul in sight. Older residents, he surmised, their kids grown and moved away. It was a neighborhood waiting for the next wave of young homeowners to come through to start the cycle all over again.
Ray entered the house without knocking but shouted his presence. Dean, on his heels, stepped inside, shutting the front door behind him.
The inside was as tired as the out. Yellowed wallpaper—its seams buckling and peeling—covered the living room walls. A brown sofa with concave cushions sat against one wall with a dark-cherrywood end table next to it. A matching coffee table was planted in front of the couch, its feet digging into the shaggy, green carpeting. A large entertainment center filled the opposite wall and held an outdated, boxy TV, a stereo with speakers, and a DVD player. The rest of the shelves held a collection of movies. A sliding glass door with its heavy, floral-print draperies pulled open took up the back wall, letting in the last of the sunlight—light that did the small room no favors.
The otherwise drab room was cheered by the smells coming from the kitchen—a mixture of meat and garlic that made his stomach rumble when he got his first whiff. If the food was even half as good as it smelled, Dean knew he was in for a rare treat. He’d been living on fast-food and basic crap he could cook for so long, his stomach might not know what hit it.
“Ray! I’m so glad you could make it.”
A rail-thin woman appeared from out of a doorway, wiping her hands on a plain, white apron that was tied around her waist, emphasizing how tiny it was. But it wasn’t just her waist that was small. Her arms and legs were bony, and her collarbones protruded from a sunken chest. Add to that, hollowed cheeks with sharp, jutting cheekbones, and she was, in a word, frail-looking. Her brown, lifeless hair was swept away from a face lined more from fatigue or illness than age. The dark circles under her eyes were a sharp contrast to her pale complexion, as was the bright-pink, artificial blush that stained her cheeks.
She stopped a few feet away, hesitating, before letting the hem of the apron drop and closing the distance to Ray. She placed her hands on his biceps, giving him a weak smile. “I’ve missed you.”
Ray dipped his head and kissed her cheek. “Been busy, Ma.”
“Of course.” She took a step back, and her smile grew a bit brighter as if the news of him being busy and not that he was ignoring her made her happy. “Of course, you are. Owning your own business is hard work.”
Acknowledging Dean for the first time, her smile faltered, but her tone stayed cheerful. “You brought a friend.”
Ray gestured to him. “Ma, this is Dean. He started at the shop a few weeks ago. Promised him a home-cooked meal.”
Dean took a step forward, hand extended. “Nice to meet you. Dinner smells amazing.”
It was hard to tell under all the fake, but it appeared as though her cheeks got a little pinker. She laid her hand in his, and Dean was careful not to squeeze too hard, worried the bones were as fragile as they appeared. “And it’s always nice to meet a friend of Ray’s. You boys come on into the kitchen. I stocked the fridge with beer just in case.” She turned another beaming smile at Ray. “Got your favorite.”
“Thanks, Ma.”
The kitchen was larger than the living room and equipped with
a six-seater oak table where Ray directed Dean to sit. No sooner did he plant his ass, then a beer appeared in front of him.
“Thank you, Mrs. Pierce.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Please, call me Gigi. Mrs. Pierce was my mother-in-law—may she rest in peace.”
Ray snorted, and Dean’s eyes shot his direction. “Dad’s mom was a bitch.” He explained. “Whichever direction she might have gone, up or down, I can guarantee she’s not peaceful. More than likely, she’s causing a shitstorm.”
“It’s not nice to speak ill of the dead,” Gigi scolded.
“Just calling ‘em as I see ‘em, Ma.”
Dean chuckled into his beer, and a moment later, he heard the front door open, accompanied by a shouted, “Mom?”
His senses went on full alert.
“In the kitchen,” Gigi shouted back.
Sadie walked in, and as impossible as it seemed, she was prettier than he remembered. Her heavy mass of hair was now piled atop her head, and he marveled at how she managed to keep it all contained. No longer dressed for work, she wore a short-sleeved tee with a scooped neck just low enough to reveal a hint of cleavage and, fuck him, a pair of cut-off jean shorts. Shorts that made it hard not to notice that, though she may not be tall, her legs were fucking perfection—lightly tanned, smooth, and with the exact right amount of definition. He’d never considered himself a leg man, but with the way Sadie’s were making his dick hard, he figured hers were the exception to the rule.
“They didn’t have romaine, so I had to get iceberg. I hope that’s…” She hesitated as her eyes landed on him. “Okay,” she finished distractedly.
“That will be fine, dear.” Gigi didn’t seem to notice the tension that suddenly filled the room.
Dean lost Sadie’s eyes when they moved to her brother. “Glad you could make it, Ray.”
Ray tipped his head Dean’s direction. “You remember Dean?”
She took a few steps to the counter and set the grocery bag down on top of it before he got her eyes again. “Yes, of course. Nice to see you again, Dean.”
It’d been a throwaway greeting, but her eyes told a different story as they lingered, taking in all of him she could see. They trailed over his shoulders. Followed a path to his forearms that rested upon the table. Stopped to linger on his hands. Moved to his fingers that were curled around the beer bottle.
Testing a theory, he raised the bottle to his lips and took a pull. Her eyes followed the movement and stayed planted on his mouth even when he set the bottle back down on the table.
His lips tipped up a fraction. “Nice to see you again, too, Sadie.”
At the sound of her name, her eyes flew up to his. A light blush tinged her cheeks as she stuttered, “Yes… well… um…” She angled back to the counter and started pulling shit out of the bag. “I’ll, um, make the salad.”
Dean turned to Ray. He appeared oblivious, sipping his beer, but looks could be deceiving because not a few seconds later, he leaned close to Dean and said under his breath, “What the fuck was that?”
Dean took another pull of his beer, lifting a shoulder. He liked to think he made Sadie flustered—in fact, the thought made his testosterone levels spike through the roof—but he wouldn’t share that with her brother.
Ray stared at Sadie, something working behind his eyes, and Dean could only speculate at what he was thinking. Most likely what Dean wondered—was Sadie as affected by him as he was by her?
“Hope you boys brought your appetite,” Gigi announced, placing a platter on the table.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m starving.” But Dean wasn’t looking at Gigi or the food when he answered. His eyes were on Sadie.
Dinner had been consumed—pot roast, stewed potatoes, salad, and garlic bread—all of it fucking delicious, and the sun had set by the time the apple pie was dished up. Sitting across the table from Sadie was sweet torture. Watching her mouth as she ate, talked… breathed. And because he was watching her, he noted that her eyes moved to him frequently. And every time she’d caught him staring, she’d blush.
Fucking adorable.
He’d become obsessed with her during that meal.
He’d never been drawn to a woman the way he was to Sadie. Her voice. Her laugh. The cute way she talked with her hands, flinging her fork around and stabbing it at people to make her point. The way her eyes would light up when talking about her job as an ER nurse and the knowledge that, while challenging at times, she loved it because she loved helping people.
As they sat around the dinner table, Dean learned that not only was she gorgeous on the outside but a fucking knockout on the inside, as well.
And that was why, while he ate apple pie with vanilla ice cream oozing into all the crevices, Dean had decided Sadie Pierce was his.
"I won't sleep with you, you know."
Dinner was done, but Ray was still in the house with his mom.
Seeing Sadie step outside, Dean had taken the opportunity to get her alone. She hadn’t said anything when he’d followed her out the door, so her comment, out of left field, threw him.
"What?"
"I assumed that's where all this attention was going."
She wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t entirely right either. "While I admit that thought has crossed my mind,” once or twice or even a thousand times, “that's not all I want from you."
"No?” She sounded skeptical. “Then what is it that you want?"
He grabbed her hand and led her farther down the driveway. “To spend time with you. Get to know you.”
"I don't date my brother’s friends."
“Don’t know if I’d classify Ray and me as friends. I just work for him.”
“And yet you’re here.” She raised a brow.
He shrugged. "It was a home-cooked meal." He tugged her hand, turning her to face him. “Give me one shot.”
Taking a step closer, he cut the distance between them until their bodies almost touched. He brought a hand up, cupping the side of Sadie’s neck, his thumb resting on her pulse and fingers squeezing her nape.
Something worked behind her eyes, and the tip of her tongue came out to wet her bottom lip. “Okay,” she finally answered, the word spoken so low, he almost didn’t hear it.
But he did hear and smiled. “Thank you.”
They stayed like that, locked in each other’s stare. His eyes roamed her face. They touched on the perfection of her skin, the soft rounding of her cheeks, her pert, little nose with its light dusting of freckles along the bridge and kept roaming until they landed on her lips. Her pulse sped under his thumb when he started to dip his head, giving in to their full, plump temptation.
But before he could make contact, he heard the front door open and the screen door slam shut.
Spell broken, Sadie took a hasty step out of his grasp as Ray came into view. “Yo. You ready to hit the road?”
“Yeah, give me a minute.” Dean turned back to Sadie. “When can I see you again?”
“I’m working this weekend, but I’m off Monday.”
He nodded. “Labor Day. I’m off, too. I’ll pick you up at noon.”
Without giving her a chance to answer, he lightly brushed his lips to hers. Ray was already sitting astride his bike as Dean started toward his.
“Hey, you don’t know where I live.”
Still walking, he looked over his shoulder. “I’ll figure it out.”
Chapter Three
“Where are we going?” Sadie asked, throwing a denim-clad leg over the seat of his bike.
Dean had arrived a few minutes before noon to pick her up. She’d answered the door slightly winded, a little flushed, and dressed in shorts and a tank top. As much as he loved looking at her bare legs, motorcycles and shorts didn’t mix. Wanting to keep her skin flawlessly smooth, he’d made her change into pants.
“The happiest place on Earth.”
“Disneyland on a holiday. Are you nuts?”
/> Chuckling, he shook his head. “Not crazy—special passes.”
She raised her brows. “How’d you get those?”
“I have connections.”
“And are those the same connections that told you my address?”
“I can’t give away all my secrets on the first date.” Winking, he handed her a helmet. “Put this on.”
Slipping it on her head, she asked, “Where’s yours?”
“I don’t usually wear one.” Getting on the bike, he situated himself, Sadie snuggly pressed behind him. It would be the longest fifteen miles he’d ever ridden. Her arms hugged his waist. Scratch that. It would be the most uncomfortable fifteen miles he’d ever ridden.
“That’s not safe, nor is it legal.”
Kicking up the stand, he started the bike, throwing over his shoulder, “That’s why you’re wearing one.” Revving the engine, he backed from the visitor’s spot and took off, not giving her a chance to respond.
Dean had never been to Disneyland, and he couldn’t say he’d ever go again, but even with the crowds, long wait times for unimpressive rides, and the blazing heat that claimed relief in only a few select areas of the park, Dean couldn’t say he was sorry he came.
And it was all because of Sadie.
Her smile, laughter, and overall enjoyment made every one of his grievances worth it. Hell, by the end of their first date, he knew he’d walk through fire if it made her happy.
Walking hand-in-hand with a beautiful woman who made him smile and with a blissfully brisk evening breeze cooling his skin, Dean was content for the first time in more years than he could remember.
“What made you decide to move to California?”
He wasn’t surprised by the question—Sadie had discovered he wasn’t a native when he’d admitted it was his first time to Disneyland. What did surprise him was the timing of the question. Not back at the start of their date when she’d learned he’d only moved there a month before, but hours later when they were nearing its end.