“Magpie, you need someone who can handle you. We all need someone who can handle us. The problem isn’t the handling; it’s when it’s not for your own good.”
“That doesn’t sound accurate. Shouldn’t we all be able to handle ourselves?”
“What fun is handling ourselves? It’s more fun to handle and be handled.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Now you’re just being gross.”
“Sex is a natural, healthy part of life. Some would argue it’s the best part of life. Of course, ‘some’ wouldn’t be you, since you’re too chicken to jump the hot guy.”
“He wants me to apologize for something that wasn’t wrong,” she complained.
“What did you do?”
“He thinks I should have called the cops and him or you when Cody and his friends showed up and tried to get in the house.”
Dean was suspiciously quiet.
“What?” she demanded. “You didn’t give me a hard time about it.”
He dug around in his salad. “Maybe that’s because I knew it would be a waste of my time.”
“You’re not saying it bothered you that I didn’t call you to come save me.”
“I’m saying he’s not wrong. It was a dumbass move to walk right up to the strangers trying to break into your house.”
“It was fine. Nothing happened.”
“Something could have. What’s the first thing I did when that drunk white lady hit my Fiat after all-you-can-drink mimosas in Tacoma?”
“You called the cops.”
“After that.”
“Your insurance company.”
The sigh he heaved was dramatic. “After that.”
“You called me,” she said.
“You picked me up, drove me to urgent care, and then took me straight to the car rental place and made me get a dumb SUV with four hundred airbags.”
“All things I’m sure you could have done on your own,” she pointed out.
“THAT’S THE POINT!” Dean howled.
“Geez. Dial it down before your neighbors call the front desk! What’s the point?”
“It meant something to me that you cared enough to show up and be there in my time of trauma. And I bet it meant something to you that I called you for help.”
Shit.
“People don’t bond over small talk and a fancy dinner out,” he explained. “They don’t bond over nice, normal things. We bond over getting T-boned by Felicias. Or a broken pipe that ruins brand-new hardwood floors. Or divorce or cancer or a house fire or the death of a really great mom.” He reached out and squeezed her hand to take the sting out of it.
She took a breath and blew it out again.
“Magpie, when you deal with everything on your own, you’re robbing the people who care about you of their chance to be there for you, with you. And that’s why you should apologize and have sex with Silas.”
“Excuse me. Don’t we have a rule about sex with contractors?” she reminded him.
“Don’t we make the rules? Doesn’t that mean we can change the rules when it suits us?”
“That’s not how rules are supposed to work,” she said dryly.
He threw his head back against the couch and groaned. “You know how you sound? Bo-ring. Like a little old lady in a pearl-buttoned cardigan tattling on Gladys across the table at bingo night. There is a whole big world out there, little girl. Bigger than houses that need flipping and subscriber counts and amassing piles of cash for what? A rainy day?”
“Are you having a midlife crisis?”
“One of us has to.”
“You have the midlife crisis, and I’ll have the existential crisis,” she volunteered.
“Does that mean I can date a much younger man?” Dean asked thoughtfully.
“How old is Sy’s brother, Michael?” She hid her smug smile behind one of the breadsticks. It wasn’t half bad.
“How should I know how old he is?” His shrug was careless, but his ears were turning pink again.
“He seemed a little starstruck by you. Of course, I guess we don’t know if he’s gay or straight,” she mused.
“Oh, he’s gay,” he said with authority. “But newly gay. You know I prefer to jump right in instead of playing gay tutor.”
“Huh. That’s a shame. He was cute. Seemed like the monogamous, dog-park-on-a-Saturday kind of guy. But I guess if you’re too chicken—”
“Listen here, missy!”