Page 7 of Honey Pot

I was shoving my sheets into the washing machine when Dean found me.

“How are you doing?” He asked but didn’t want the answer. His blond hair had gotten longer and grew in honey curls around his thick neck, ears, and jaw, but his blue eyes remained bright as he watched me.

“Exhausted.” I rolled my eyes and dumped in the soap and a handful of the lavender beads I bought from the grocery store once a week. Staring inside, I shrugged and dumped in a little more.

“That’s why they never leave.” Dean pointed to the container. “Your bed doesn’t smell like a frat boy’s. If you let it sit for a week, you’ll never wake up to anyone.”

“You love how my bed smells,” I teased and watched his strong jaw tighten.

We weren’t in a place for those jokes, not after what had happened with his mother. He was still tip-toeing around his conservative family like they might disown him for being gay.

After the ball season, we sat down and concluded that what we wanted and needed from each other was very different. I was using Dean as a distraction from my issues. That wasn’t to say I didn’t love him. I always had. I knew the moment I saw his stupid boyish face at warm-ups. But that’s not enough. I couldn’t run in circles pretending he would ever be ready to be out. It wasn’t healthy for me, and I would never force his hand. That wasn’t my story to tell.

Dean shrugged. We were having a hard time finding our way back to being friends. Every conversation was a chance to pick at old scabs.

“I figured you wanted to go for a run, but you did that without me.” He sounded annoyed. “So how about some lunch? My treat?”

He was trying to be a friend, and I couldn’t deny his pretty smile.

“Hilly’s,” I demanded, my stomach betraying me. I could use a plate of their french fries right now. They had never been and would never be as good as Duke’s, but they were hot and close enough to the real thing. “Pretty please, Big Guy.”

“I’ll bring the truck around.” Dean started to walk away from me when I sighed.

“I’ll drive,” I offered, with Dean raising an eyebrow at the suggestion.

I never drove because I was always drunk, and when I did drive, I was usually drunk anyway, but I was turning over a new leaf. For Ella and Arlo, but I’d never admit to that. Tying my recovery to other people was a big no, no. But I needed the anchor, and they were the most stable part of my life.

Dean shrugged, seemingly convinced, and turned on his heel to grab his wallet before we climbed into my car. The Supra still needed hours of work. In typical fashion, I had gotten bored listening to Arlo preach about car mechanics. It was rusty, and I couldn’t even begin to explain the state of the engine under the hood, but I didn’t care. Momma had helped pick this car out, and I wasn’t giving it up without a fight.

“Cael,” Dean groaned about the leg space in the passenger seat. “I get you wanna live out some sickFast and Furiousdream, but this is cruel.”

“I don’t know.” I stared over at him. His head brushed the ceiling of the small car and his muscular thighs were practically tucked up to his stomach in the seat.

“Looks hilarious from this angle.” I laughed, threw it in reverse, and whipped from the garage. His hand flew to the handle above his head as I took every corner too fast.

When we arrived, Hilly’s was empty. During the lull between Harbor sports, the small two-story brick building that housed the old-school diner-style hangout was dead. Once hockey began, the service would skyrocket again, and people would crowd around the entrance to get in so they could watch the game.

“Hey, Kayla.” Dean waved to her as we passed through the main floor.

It was dark inside; dim lighting hung over rich-colored cushioned booths and sizeable round scuffed-up tables. The shabby floors had just enough shine left to reflect all the neon signs on the walls.

“Boys.” Kayla leaned over her desk, pretty red hair cascading down over her trim shoulders. I turned in a half circle, climbing the first couple of stairs up to the loft backward. I leaned back, holding onto the railing, and opened my mouth.

“Never going to happen, Cody.” She rolled her eyes and waved me off.

“You’ll surrender one day,” I said.

“The day you start wearing full shirts, I’ll let you take me out.” She pointed to the ratty navy blue crop top that hung across my belly button. The Hornets athletes’ logo faded from the sun.

“And hide this adorable tummy? Never.” My smile mirrored hers as I shrugged, turning back and taking the stairs two at a time to catch up to Dean.

He slid into the booth and leaned against the cushion with an exasperated sigh. “You know Kayla would absolutely—” I paused, tracing my eyes down his massive, muscular frame. “Go for that. Your mom would give you a medal for bringing her home.”

“You think?” Dean opened one eye to look at me. I would never let him bring a girlfriend home just to placate his mother.

“Not a chance.” I smiled at him and licked my bottom lip. “She’s so far out of your league she might as well be space,Elon Musk.”

“I don’t—” He started to talk his way through the confusion but stopped. By far, one of my favorite pastimes was contributing to Dean Tucker’s constant state of bewilderment with obscure pop culture references from the dark holes of the internet.

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