Page 142 of The Score

He looks surprised. “Yeah?”

I nod. “She’s trying to teach it to herself by watching a French soap opera.”

Mr. Hayes grins.

“I’ve watched two seasons with her.” I sigh ruefully. “It ain’t half bad.”

That gets me a full-blown laugh. It comes from deep in his throat, lighting up his blue eyes. “You ain’t half bad either, pretty boy,” he says, and then he walks out of the room.

ALLIE

I’m waitingfor Dean in his room when he walks in on Sunday night. I would’ve picked him up from the airport, but he left his car in the short-term parking, so he drove back from Boston himself.

His green eyes soften when he sees me. “Hi.”

“Hi.” I hastily stand up, but neither of us makes a move toward each other. We’re standing five feet apart.

The distance is unbearable.

With a strangled noise, I throw myself in his arms and he catches me easily, his big hands settling around my waist and pulling me close. I bury my face against his chest and whisper, “Thank you for checking on him.”

“You’re welcome.” I feel his fingers thread through my hair. He tips my head back, forcing me to look at him. “He’s fine, babe. I promise. I think he just called the ambulance as a precaution. His wrist is a little sore, but that’s it. He’s totally, completely fine.”

I’d already heard all this over the phone, from both him and my father. But the reassurance and certainty in Dean’s eyes is what I needed to see. I hug him tighter as relief pours through me.

His lips brush my temple. Then he inhales deeply, as if he’s smelling my hair. “I missed you,” he murmurs.

“I missed you too.” Swallowing, I ease out of the hug and meet his gaze. “I don’t need any more alone time.”

A slow smile curves his lips. “Thank fuck.” He flops on the edge of the bed and tugs me into his lap. “I’ve been going crazy without you these past few weeks.”

“I know. But the time apart was good for me. I needed to take a look at my life, and to take a look atmyself, just me, and not the me that’s always in a relationship. I needed to know I could be alone.”

“And can you?”

“Yes.” I scrape my fingers over the dark-blond stubble on his movie-star jaw. “But I don’t want to be alone. I want to be with you.”

He kisses me. Soft and sweet, no tongue. Just his lips brushing mine, over and over again until I’mwhimpering for more. Just when I part my lips to invite his tongue, he pulls away.

“Wellsy said you’re thinking of turning down the Fox pilot.” There’s a chiding note in his voice.

“Argh. Why is everyone giving me shit about this?” I sigh. “I haven’t made my decision yet.”

“But you’re planning on turning it down.”

I hesitate. Then nod.

It’s his turn to sigh. “I know why you’re doing it, babe, and I’m sorry, but I can’t let you.”

I blink and I’m off his lap, my butt hitting the mattress. Dean walks over to where he dropped his coat. He reaches inside one of the pockets and his hand emerges with an envelope.

Oh no. Stupid aliens are déjà vu’ing my brain again.

He slaps the envelope in my hand and says, “Open it.”

I open it without a word, and yep, I find the same fucking thing that Sean tried to give me. Confirmation numbers for two flights to Los Angeles. For crying out loud. Do all guys share one brain or something? Like a collective consciousness that causes them to make the same bone-headed moves?

“You’re not coming to LA with me,” I inform Dean.

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