Page 15 of Dean

I mean, how could you not? It’s so grabbable.

Dean runs the brush through the damp strands, his fingers grazing the back of my neck as he does, and my entire body lights up.

What does he think of me right now? Does he like me with long hair? Would he like me in my skirt and heels? Or would he become like my ex-roommate, angry and uncomfortable at the sight?

I don’t know, and I suddenly really need to know the answer.

I want to know so bad. I need to know if he will accept me as I am…or who I want to be.

He brushes out the strands for quite a while, and my eyes start to droop from the tug on my scalp, from the rhythmic stroke of the brush across my back. And then finally, I feel his fingers part the strands and start working the pieces over each other.

A curse escapes his mouth at one point and he sighs. “Gonna start over.”

I don’t fucking mind. I am just happy he’s touching me.

Keep touching me, Dean. This is my kind of heaven.

When he’s finally done, he grunts. “Yeah, could use some work, but not bad. Elaine would be proud.”

Ah yes. I have to remember that. He’s straight. This means nothing.

But still, I have a heart. This isn’t about me. I turn my head, my chin resting on his bent knee, and I meet his eyes.

“How long has it been?” I ask, even though I know the answer. I want to hear it from him.

Dean rolls the tip of my braid around his finger and shrugs.

“Twenty years. It gets easier each year. It’s been so long that it’s almost like a distant memory that I can look back on fondly.”

“I get that,” I say and then turn my face so my chin is resting on his thigh. “You ever want to remarry?”

Dean reaches out and his finger traces the line of my cheekbone. I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it, but my god, my heart.

“If I find the right person.”

And I don’t miss the way he saysperson, not specifying gender. It gives my silly little heart some hope.

I could be his person. I could so be his person.

No, bad Avery. No.

“Your legs still hurting you?” he asks, his voice a little gruff.

“I mean, yes, but it’s nothing that a light massage won’t fix. Anyway, we need to watch the movie. We need to find out who killed all those people.”

He turns his gaze to the TV screen and nods.

“Yeah, nothing more exciting than a nighttime movie about murder.”

I scramble up next to him and bob my head. “Oh, you have no idea. And where’s the popcorn?”

“Shit. Forgot it.”

I pop up and head toward the kitchen, Dean right behind me.

“You don’t know where it is.”

He pulls open a cabinet and rustles around, coming out with a packet of popcorn.

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