“I’m sure Pierre’s down,” Hollis pipes up. When the French-Canadian gives him the finger, he smiles sweetly. “What? I thought that’s what you guys did up in Quebec, no? Blow your buddies while whispering sweet French nothings to them?”
Pierre snorts. “You’re from San Francisco. I’m pretty sure that’s the blow-your-buddies capital of the world.”
A round of smack talk ensues, which is cut short when a frazzled waitress appears to serve Megan and me. Meg orders a vodka cranberry. I ask for a glass of water.
“Water?” Dean mocks after the waitress dashes off. “You sure you don’t want anything else, baby doll? Maybe…hmmm…how about tequila? I always pegged you for a tequila girl.”
I narrow my eyes at him. Fortunately, nobody else puts much stock in the comment. Why would they? It’s not like any of them know that tequila is the reason I wound up in bed with Dean. The only person who knows is Dean, who promised to keep his mouth shut about it.
But…the teeny smirk on his face is making me antsy.
Why do I get the feeling he’s about to spill the beans?
11
Allie
I’m still glaring at Dean when my phone vibrates in my purse. I absently fish it out and my breath catches when I see the message.
Him: Remember when I took that tequila shot off your tits?
I look up to find Dean blinking innocently at me. But I can see his arm moving under the table. Sure enough, a follow-up message appears.
When I poured it all over your nipples and licked up every drop? Mmmm. Getting hard just thinking about it.
Argh. I can’t believe he’s sexting me in the bar. During his friend’s birthday hang.
I grit my teeth and text him back.
Me: Cherish the memory, sweetie. Cuz it’s never happening again.
Him: U saying u didn’t like it when I was sucking on those sexy nipples?
The nipples in question tighten into hard peaks. I know the padding of my bra hides the traitorous response, but the way Dean’s smug gaze drops to my breasts tells me he knows.
I draw a breath and answer, Meh. It was all right.
His smile widens. “Naah,” he says in response to something Wilkes just asked. “I’m not worried. Yale’s goalie has nothing against G’s slapshot.” I guess they’re talking about their game against Yale on Saturday, but I’m too busy watching the subtle movement of Dean’s arm. He’s typing something else.
Him: Hmmm. I see. What about when I licked your pussy? Just all right too?
I ignore the sharp clench between my legs and scowl at him.
“Allie,” Megan says in exasperation.
“Sorry. What?”
“I was asking about your play. Rehearsals started this week, didn’t they? How’s it going?”
“Pretty good,” I answer in an absent tone. I can’t tell if Dean is typing something else. I hope not. “The guy who’s playing my dead husband is fun to work with. How’s yours going?”
“Shitty.”
“Aw, I’m sorry, hon.” I know Meg isn’t happy with the playwright she’d been paired with, and I don’t blame her, because he happens to be the most pompous asshole in the drama department. Everything he writes is pretentious and brimming with over-the-top angst. He thinks he’s the reincarnation of Arthur Miller.
“‘Slade’ likes to rewrite entire scenes during rehearsal.” She puts quotation marks around his name, which makes Fitzy chuckle.
“I don’t think you know how to use air quotes,” he informs her.
“No, I do. ‘Slade’ isn’t his real name. It’s actually Joshua Sandeski.” She snorts derisively. “This ass is so full of himself I’m surprised he doesn’t poop out little brown replicas of his smug face.”
The guys hoot at the disgusting image she’s painted.
“First day of classes, we all had to sit around in a circle and introduce ourselves to our fellow actors.” She glances at me. “Remember that?”
“Oh, I remember,” I say dryly.
“Anyway,” she tells Fitzy, “this jerk stands up and says, ‘I’m Joshua Sandeski, but I go by Slade. Refer to me as anything else and I will not respond.’ And he wasn’t kidding. Any time the teacher slipped up and called him Sandeski, he would flat-out ignore her.”
“That’s the douchiest thing I’ve ever heard,” Dean remarks.
Shit, his arm is moving again.
“I think it’s ballsy,” Hollis disagrees. “You know what? Fuck it. I’m pulling a Slade and giving myself a solo name. From now on, you guys can only refer to me as ‘Thunder.’”