Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“We’re not people?” Cillian asks.
“Not people we hate,” Dean replies, and I lean over and kiss him.
“He fuckin’ gets it.”
“That’s because you’re practically the same fuckin’ person,” Rory says. “Hey, maybe that’s why you like each other so much. It’s like you’re fucking yourself.”
Dean rolls his eyes.
“You’re an idiot,” I tell Rory.
“Yes, but a correct idiot,” Cillian adds.
“Fuck you both.” I give them each a middle finger.
“T, you know they’re right.” Aislin reaches over and lowers one of my arms.
“So now you’re betraying me too, huh?”
“Is there something so wrong with being like me?” Dean asks.
“Yeah, you’re a fuckin’ hothead,” I counter, though yes, I’m just like him.
“Oh, and you’re the definition of cool, calm, and collected?” Dean raises his brows.
“A fucking saint.” I take a bite of stew. It was Cillian’s night to cook, and he was smarter than most of us, putting stuff in the crockpot earlier today.
Everyone at the table except me bursts into laughter. I can’t lie, I have to bite back my smile too because we all know I’m anything but a saint.
We finish eating together, the whole time giving each other hell the way we’re so good at.
This dinner is another reason Dean is here with me. The people at this table are who fucking matter, and I’ll do anything in my power to hold on to that.
When we’re done eating, we all join in and clean up the kitchen, before each of us takes a beer into the living room.
Rory fires up the PlayStation, not something I do often because it feels like I always have too much on my mind or too much to do. Dean is competitive as shit, though, and before I know it, he and Cillian are arguing about who’s a better shot. Rory is losing himself in the bong, and Aislin is sitting beside me with her head on my shoulder.
“I’m glad he’s back,” she whispers just for me.
“Me too. Shit could get twisted, though,” I answer honestly.
“We’ll figure it out. I’m on your side, always.”
I nod, chest full. I don’t return the words, but I don’t need to. Aislin knows I’ll do anything for her.
The games continue until about ten when I want my man back, so I drag Dean upstairs with me.
“I need a haircut.” He runs a hand over his head.
“Sit down. I’ll do it.”
He nods, stripping out of his clothes, then closing the toilet lid and taking a seat.
I take the electric shaver out of the cabinet, oil it, and add the attachment for the length he keeps. The familiar buzz fills the bathroom as I take the first swipe over his head, watching the brown hair fall to the floor. There’s something really fucking hot and intimate about doing this for him, about grooming what’s mine.
I stand between his legs, Dean’s hands on my hips, under my clothes, his thumbs rubbing over my hips and making my cock rise to attention. We both ignore it as I continue cutting his hair. The only time he lets go is when he has to turn around so I can clean up his nape and make sure the line is straight.
“Thank you,” Dean says.
“I did it for me. I like it.”
“I meant for everything. Tonight. Me being here.” It’s the closest he’s come to mentioning my father. It doesn’t take a genius to read through the lines. He’s thanking me for the fact that he’s still here, with us, with me. That he’s still mine despite everything.
I turn off the razor and set it on the counter. “You might not be saying that if you knew I won’t ever let you leave.”
He turns around, giving me a small smile. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“Oh, I can keep them, all right. And I will.”
I kiss him, then turn the shower on. Dean sweeps up the hair, and then we step into the stall together. We wash up and jerk each other off before stumbling naked to bed together.
“Are we starting To the Lighthouse?” Dean asks, picking up the Virginia Woolf book from the nightstand.
“It was your turn to choose,” I say.
Dean nods, opens to the first page, and starts to read.
I pull him close, close my eyes, and focus on nothing but him.
*
Something is off.
Dean is passed out beside me, but I haven’t been able to sleep all night. I can’t explain how I feel or why…just know something is off. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s to trust my gut.
As quietly as possible, I roll out of bed and tug on a pair of underwear. I don’t make a sound as I walk to the window and look through the slats in the blinds. The property looks like it always does, lit up by lights we keep on so we can see anyone or anything that doesn’t belong. It’s quiet, the thick army of trees blowing slightly in the wind. It’s getting colder, the Massachusetts weather moving toward winter.