Page 16 of Dean

“How old is this?” I ask, and he shrugs.

“Popcorn doesn’t go bad.”

I snatch it from his hand and stare at it. “Dean. This is from fifteen years ago.”

His eyes crinkle at the corners. “No shit?”

“Yeah. Shit. I’m not eating this. We will die.”

He huffs a small laugh and then leans forward again, rustling around a bit more. Seems I’m going to have to rearrange this cabinet as well. Which is fine. I’m living here for the time being. I can make myself useful.

He pulls out another bag, and I check the date. It’s expired, but it’s not nearly as old as the previous one, so I let it go.

“This is acceptable. But Dean, be warned. I will be throwing away all this old shit when I go through these cabinets.”

“You going to organize my life?” he asks as he pops it in the microwave. It beeps and he turns to me, his arms folded across his chest. He’s wearing his sweats again and a tight white t-shirt. He must have changed while I was in the shower.

I just didn’t really notice it until now.

I can see his nipples through his thin shirt and the faint outline of the tattoos on his chest, and I find myself wheezing. I want to explore each one. I wonder if they have any meaning. Or if he was just young and dumb and got whatever looked good at the time.

Thankfully, before I can say anything, the popcorn starts to explode, the bag puffing up, and a minute later we’re back on the couch, sitting side by side, eating right out of the bag.

“I mean, the butter is a little un-buttery, but I can cope,” I say around a mouthful of popcorn.

“Yeah? I can’t tell a difference.”

“That’s because your tastebuds are old. Like you.”

He snorts and shoves at me before handing me the bag for another well-placed scoop. As I do this, he turns the murder doc on and I settle into the couch, pulling my knees up onto the cushion and dragging a blanket over my lap.

“God, I love this. I can already tell you who the murderer is.”

Dean eyes me. “Should I be concerned now that you’re living with me?”

“Um, no. I’m not a creep.” Only slightly. Like when I masturbated on your bed with your shirt up my nose. But I don’t say that. Just stuff my mouth with more popcorn. “I mean, I won’t kill you in your sleep. You don’t have to worry about me lingering over your bed and like, staring at you while you sleep with a knife in my hand.”

Dean’s eyes crinkle and he lets out a loud laugh. “What the fuck, Avery?”

My cheeks flush. “Yeah. Well, you get the point. Anyway, let’s just watch the movie, yeah?”

“I mean, I kind of want to hear more about your lurking around the house with a knife. Should I sleep with my door locked?”

Probably should, Dean.

“I won’t be coming into your room. I’m respectable.”

“I know you are.” His voice is serious now and he turns back to the TV. “I do trust you. Wouldn’t have invited you to live here if I didn’t.”

“Good.”

I stuff more popcorn into my mouth and stare at the screen.

I will behave. I will be the best, most respectable roommate ever.

I promise.

CHAPTER THREE

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