“Mmmm?” She sounds distracted. I stroke her lips again, and I’m gratified when her breath hitches.
“I do what I want, when I want it. And I don’t give a shit what other people think about me.”
That gets her attention. “Sounds nice, being able to do what you want all the time. Sadly, that’s not how life works.”
“You make life work for you, babe.” My fingers travel down her slender throat, skimming over her pulse point. “What do you want, Allie? Tell me one thing you’ve been dying to do but haven’t gotten around to doing.”
Her forehead furrows as she thinks it over. “Well. I’ve been wanting to start a new cleanse, but I keep putting it off.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“I go on these juice cleanses a couple times a year,” she explains. “It sucks, because you’re stuck on a liquid diet for two whole weeks, but you feel so much better afterward.”
“You’re a fucking weirdo. Pick something else. Something normal.”
She pauses, deep in thought again, and then her expression brightens. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to salsa dance.”
Fuck. That’s such a chick thing to say. “Then do it,” I tell her.
She chews on her lip again. “I don’t know… I mentioned it to Sean once but he didn’t want to take lessons with me, and I was too embarrassed to go alone. I looked into it and found out that if you show up alone, they pair you up with a random partner.”
“So what? It’s an opportunity to make some new friends.” I shrug. “I think you should sign up.”
“Are you offering to take salsa dancing lessons with me?” Her expression is hopeful.
I snort. “No way. I only do what I want, remember? And I do not want to salsa dance. But I think you should.”
“Maybe I will,” she says thoughtfully.
“That’s the spirit.” I give her chin a teasing pinch. “Stick with me, kid, and your entire life will change for the better. That’s the Di Laurentis guarantee.”
Allie heaves out a sigh.
“What?” I demand.
“I can’t decide if you’re being sincere or if you’re trying to get in my pants again.”
I waggle my eyebrows. “Who says it can’t be both?” When that gets me another sigh, my voice becomes gruff. “I’m being sincere.”
“Wow. I think you actually mean that.”
For some reason, her careful scrutiny has me shifting uneasily. And I’m suddenly wholly aware of the fact that I’m not wearing a shirt. She is too, because those big blue eyes drift lower, focusing on my abs before she wrenches her gaze away. The air between us seems to crackle. Allie’s pupils are dilated, and there’s no mistaking the rapid flutter of her pulse in the center of her throat.
I know arousal when I see it. Little Dean knows it too, and he promptly thickens behind my zipper.
“Allie…” My voice comes out hoarse.
She’s off the couch before I can blink. “Annnnd it’s time for you to go.”
She sounds overly cheerful, and I can tell she’s struggling to control the same waves of desire that are practically swallowing me whole.
When I remain seated, she frowns deeply. “Shirt up and go home, Dean.”
“Allie.” Slowly, I rise to my feet. My mouth is full of gravel as I say, “I want—”
She whips up her hand. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. I mean it, it’s time to go.”
I want to ask her how long she’s going to keep fighting this, but since I know it’ll only piss her off further, I keep my mouth shut and do what the lady asked—I leave.
On the drive home, I resign myself to another night of getting up close and personal with my right hand.
10
Dean
The next day, I have the misfortune of leaving the International Relations lecture hall at the same time as Sabrina. I tense up, waiting for the inevitable bitchy barb.
“You looked a little lost in there, Richie. Was Professor Burke not speaking slowly enough for you?”
Yep, there it is.
I roll my eyes. “Right, because I’m dumb. Good one.” I don’t bother asking her not to call me Richie. I can’t stop her from doing it any more than I can stop Summer from ditching my old childhood nickname. Sabrina decided I was a stupid, spoiled Richie-Rich type from the moment we met.
Of course, that didn’t stop her from banging me, now did it?
“So which poor freshman will be writing your paper for you?” she asks sweetly. “You have a whole slew of them on speed dial, right? I assume one of them wrote the LSATS for you, too.”