Page 104 of The Score

“Maybe.” Dean sighs. “Beau says they’re kinda strict. He went to all-boys Catholic schools his whole life.”

I bite my lip. “Maybe we shouldn’t take him home, then.”

“Probably not.” Dean leans forward and taps the driver’s seat. “Forget the first address. Just take us to Heyward Plaza, please.” He glances back at me. “I’ll let him sleep it off in the penthouse.”

Fifteen minutes later, we’re in the hotel elevator. It’s weird, but a few measly hours at the nightclub and somehow I’ve already forgotten that Dean lives in a fricking palace. I’m once again amazed by my luxurious surroundings, and so is Beau, whose blue eyes widen when he stumbles out of the elevator.

His jaw falls open as he stares at the endless wall of windows that overlook the sparkling city skyline. “Holy shit. I feel like a prince.”

“I know, right?” I say to him.

Still shaking his head in astonishment, he staggers toward the huge armchair near the C-shaped leather sectional and collapses on it. Within seconds, he’s snoring.

Dean wraps his arms around me from behind and kisses my neck. “Bedtime?” he asks.

I twist around. “I’m not tired,” I confess. “Do you feel like watching a movie?”

“Actually, I’ve got something even better.” He waggles his brows enticingly. “Go change into something comfy. I’ll get it set up.”

Get what set up? And I hopecomfyactually meanscomfortableand that he’s not expecting me to come back in a lace teddy and garter belt.

I left my overnight bag in Dean’s room, so I quickly dash up the stairs to the third floor—I still can’t believe this place has three fucking floors—and change into cotton boxers and a tank top. When I return to the living room, I find Dean sprawled on the couch with the remote in hand. He’s shirtless. Shocking. But his low-slung trousers show off the sexy tee of his hips, and my tongue tingles with the urge to lick all that delicious man flesh.

I moisten my suddenly dry lips and walk toward him. “What are we watching?”

“See for yourself.” He clicks the remote, and I gasp when the opening credits ofSolangeflash on the largest screen I’ve ever seen outside a movie theater.

“How is this on?” I exclaim.

“I called ahead before we left Briar and asked the concierge to track down season two for us.”

I’m dumbfounded. After I’d randomly stumbled on this show while surfing YouTube, I paid a girl in my dorm to download all the episodes.Solangeis huge in France, but nobody here has heard of it, which means it’s nearly impossible to find online, and ordering the DVDs off Amazon is pointless because they only work on European players.

“You made one phone call and got your hands on an obscure French soap opera?” I stare at him. “Fuck. The Life of Dean is truly glorious.”

“Told ya.” Stretching out on his back, he raises one hand and beckons me.

I waste no time snuggling up beside him and resting my head on his shoulder. His bare chest is warm and sturdy, and he smells heavenly. I don’t bother asking what kind of aftershave he uses, because it’s probably something I’ve never heard of that costs a thousand bucks a drop.

We lie there for a while watching the show, which now features a whole slew of new characters who are causing trouble for Solange.

“You know,” Dean muses, “if Marc had half a brain, he’d dump Christine and hook up with Monique.”

“I like Christine,” I protest. “She’s sweet.”

“She’s conning him, babe. Nobody is that sweet all the time.”

“Iam.”

Dean’s snort vibrates against my cheek. “Yeah right. You’re maybe twenty percent sweet. Tops.”

I pretend to be hurt. “Do you really think that?” I ask in a small voice.

He strokes a soothing hand down my spine. “Nah,” he says gruffly. “Don’t worry. You’re one hundred percent sweet.”

“Ha. I wasn’t worried in the slightest. Just wanted to hear you say that.”

He chuckles and holds me closer. As the episode unfolds, we get more engrossed in it, falling silent to watch. Dean is absently caressing me, his long fingers grazing the side of my boob with each slow stroke of his hand. I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it, but it makes me feel…fine, it’s making me horny.

---