Page 54 of The Score

Huh. Maybethatshould be my television show.

By the timenine o’clock creeps up, I’m ready to, as Will Smith so aptly phrased it, get jiggy with it.

I’ve undergone a beautification process from head to toe. I’m waxed, polished, scrubbed, and lotioned, and I even flat ironed my hair after blow-drying instead of leaving it at its natural state ofkinda wavy.

It feels like a waste to go through so much trouble beauty-wise and then not wear a little black dress or some sexy lingerie, but I figure Horndog Dean is going to rip my clothes off the second he gets here, so I’m in yoga pants and a tank top. No bra (because, again, what’s the point?), but I am wearing panties because I don’t like going commando unless I’m feeling scandalous. Sometimes I’d do it when Sean and I were going to a fancy restaurant. It drove him crazy knowing I wasn’t wearing anything underneath my?—

You’re not allowed to think about Sean when you’re minutes away from sleeping with another guy!

Too late. Sean’s in my head now. I still haven’t agreed to meet him in person, but I know I should probably give him an answer one of these days before he resorts to the bulldozer approach. He does that a lot.

Case in point: showing up at my dorm uninvited.

Which drove me to flee to the safety of Garrett’s house.

Which drove me into Dean’s bed.

Seems like there’s a morality tale in there somewhere, a nugget of wisdom that Sean would benefit from acquiring.Push your ex-girlfriend too hard and she sleeps with a manwhore.

Or maybe it’s better if he skips that particular lesson. Besides, it’s an unfair indictment on my part, because it wasn’t Sean’s fault I slept with Dean. It was my decision to do it.

And now I’m making the decision to do it again.

Dean is five minutes late. I fidget impatiently on the couch while I wait for him, unable to concentrate on the episode ofSolangethat’s playing on the TV. I haven’t watched the show since the night Dean was over, and I’m startled to realize it’s not as much fun without him. I kind of enjoyed his running commentary and how every five minutes or so he’d pause the show to announce, “Allie-Cat, I have no fucking idea what’s going on!”

It was…cute.

Oh brother. Did I really just use the wordcutein conjunction with Dean? I jot down a mental note to never say that out loud. He’d probably accuse me of having a crush on him.

Footsteps thump in the hall, causing anticipation to rise in my chest. My heart does a silly, unwelcome flip when two knocks thud against my door. It’s a manly-soundingthump-thuuuump, and when I swing the door open, Dean is standing in front of me. He’s wearing faded jeans with a rip inone knee, a hunter-green cable knit sweater beneath his Briar jacket, and a black wool hat.

“Hey.” I’m suddenly feeling awkward about this whole situation.

“Hey.” He tugs off his hat as he strides inside. I notice his hair is wet, as if he’s just come out of the shower. His gaze travels to the television. “Oh shit, what did I miss? Did Marie-Thérèse manage to find a copy of Claude’s will?”

“I don’t know. I started the episode about three minutes before you showed up.”

“’Kay, well, if you watch any more without me, shoot me a text to let me know what happens.” He tosses his hat and coat on the couch.

I swiftly pick them up. “Nope, these are coming with us. Boots too,” I add, gesturing to the black Timberlands he’s in the process of removing.

“Where are we taking them?”

“My room. I don’t want there to be any evidence of your presence in this room in case you forget something. This is a covert operation.”

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Bond.”

In my bedroom, I drop his stuff on the desk chair. Then shit gets awkward again, because Dean is standing there. Five feet away. Smirking at me.

“What?” I mutter defensively.

He shrugs. “Nothing.” But he still doesn’t make a single move toward me.

“You’re just going to stand there? Come here and do something, damn it.”

The corners of his mouth quirk up. “Do what?”

I’m even more frazzled. “I don’t know. Kiss me. Take my shirt off. Anything.”

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