Page 51 of At First Flight
“I want that too,” he murmurs, voice low and steady, like a promise he has every intention of keeping. “But only when you’re ready.”
Dean takes a slow step closer, his gaze never leaving mine. There’s no teasing in his eyes now. No clever smirk or easy charm. Just sincerity—raw and warm and steady.
“But more than that…” His voice dips, rough around the edges. “I want the rest of it. I want to take my future wife on a real date. Not because it’s expected. Not because it’s convenient. But because I want to learn everything about her.
“I want to know her favorite color. The dessert she orders when she thinks no one’s watching. What makes her laugh until she can’t breathe, and what breaks her heart wide open.”
He’s right in front of me now, close enough that I can feel his heat, the scent of him wrapping around me like a memory I haven’t made yet but already miss.
“I want to know what she dreams about in the middle of the night,” he continues, voice barely above a whisper. “What makes her tick, what sets her soul on fire. I want to know what she looks like in candlelight… the way her eyes shine when it’s just the two of us at a quiet table, sharing something that feels like more than just a meal.”
His hand lifts slowly like he’s afraid to break the moment, and he brushes a stray piece of hair behind my ear.
“And I want her to know she doesn’t have to give me everything all at once,” he says softly like it’s a secret just for me. “I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”
And somehow, with my heart thundering and his words pressed against the cracks of all the places I’ve kept guarded, I believe him.
I shouldn’t. God, I shouldn’t. But I do.
Because the way Dean looks at me like I’m not just someone passing through, not just a broken heart in recovery, is dangerous in a way that doesn’t scare me. It seduces me. He’s not asking for all of me right now, but with every word he speaks, with every gentle look, he’s pulling pieces of me into his hands like he knows exactly how to hold them.
I drag in a shaky breath, blinking faster than I want to admit. He doesn’t even realize it, but he’s just obliterated another piece of my armor with that speech. And now I’m standing here in the ashes, heart exposed and too full, wondering how in the hell I thought I could survive this if it was only ever meant to be a fling.
Because this? This doesn't feel temporary.
What happens when a fling isn’t enough? What happens when I realize I want the whole damn thing, dates and candlelight and the feel of his hand curled around mine on the porch swing years from now?
I power down my laptop, my fingers slightly trembling over the keys. There’s no way in hell I’m finishing that online journal this afternoon—not with Dean still in the room, not with his words still echoing in my head, filling every quiet space inside me with hope and fear and this ache I can’t shake.
“Alright, you win. But we go as friends,” I say, blowing out a puff of air as I close the device and shove it into my bag.
Normally, I’d be furious with someone interfering with my time since I get so little of it right now, but when I turn to find Dean smiling like a kid on Christmas, all my anger slips away.
“Got it. Friends. I really didn’t think you’d give in so easily.”
“Whelp, I haven’t eaten anything since this morning, and I…”
“What do you mean about not eating since this morning?” he demands.
“I… sometimes when I get so engrossed in what I’m working on, I forget to eat.”
“How often does this happen?”
“More often than I care to admit. It’s fine. It happens a lot when my team is focused on something. Well, what used to be my team.”
Grabbing my hand, Dean yanks me from the room, down the hall, and out the side door of the school without a glance back at me until we approach the SUV.
“Get in,” he spouts, his lips curling up as if he’s in anguish.
I slip under his arm and into the passenger seat, figuring I can grab the expensive coupe he allowed me to drive this morning later. As he walks around the front of the vehicle, I take a second to admire the way the gray T-shirt hugs his broad shoulders, wide chest, and taut abdomen. Even his jeans are snug on his fucking amazing ass. I wonder what his boxer briefs look like beneath the denim.
I have to stop fantasizing about the man.
He slams the door shut, and I jump in my seat. Dean’s playfulness slips away like the lines on the road as he pulls away from the school. I watch in fascination as his strong hands twist around the steering wheel. Even his knuckles are attractive.
Fuck, I need to get laid.
I make a mental note to myself to send Ashvi a message to see if she wants to go out soon. Slipping my hand into my bag, I reach for my phone only to jerk back against my seat as Dean takes the turn onto Main Street with the finesse of an F1 racer.
