Inside, the strobe lights are going strong and the music is deafening. Joanna and I need to scream our lungs out in order to continue our conversation. Dean and Beau, who were walking ahead of us, are immediately swallowed up by the frenzied mob.
“We lost the boys,” I shout in Joanna’s ear.
She shakes her head and points at the spiral staircase to our left. Sure enough, the guys are ascending the metal steps. Dean glances over his shoulder, finds us in the crowd, and gestures for us to follow them.
I discover that the staircase leads to the VIP area. We reach the top in time to hear Dean address the beefy bouncer manning the rope. “Dean Heyward,” he shouts. “Tony knows me.”
The bouncer touches the tiny Bluetooth tucked in his ear. His lips move, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. A second later, our little group saunters past yet another velvet rope.
Fortunately, the music isn’t as loud up here, so I don’t need to shriek like a banshee anymore. “Dean Heyward?” I tease. “Are we not using Di Laurentis anymore?”
He slings his arm around me, and the spicy scent of his aftershave infuses my senses, making me shiver. “Di Laurentis works better at country clubs or charity benefits. The Heyward name opens more doors in Manhattan.”
It sure does. Not only do we have access to the VIP lounge, but we’re given a spacious table by the wrought-iron railing that overlooks the dance floor. I take out my phone to check if Dillon texted—yep. She and her boyfriend will be here soon. I tell her to come upstairs when they arrive, then refocus on the conversation around me.
Joanna is teasing her brother about someone named Sabrina, but he’s insisting the relationship is over, which seems to upset his sister.
“You’re such an idiot. Seriously, Beau-Beau, you needed someone like her to keep you in line.”
Since Dean still has his arm around me, it’s impossible not to feel it when he stiffens. I study the hard set of his profile, and lightly squeeze his thigh. “You okay?”
“Ah, don’t mind him, sweetheart,” Beau says with a chuckle. “He always gets like this when the subject of Sabrina comes up. I think he’s still sulking that she snubbed him after they boned down.”
I’m not surprised to hear that Dean slept with this girl, whoever she is. What I am surprised about is my complete lack of jealousy.
The same thing happened during our drive to the city. Listening to Dean talk about “silent comers” and past hook-ups hadn’t upset me, not the way it had the night I saw Penelope pawing him at Malone’s. But I hadn’t felt threatened this time around. Maybe because they were clearly memories for him and not present day specters that could interfere with whatever we have going on? I’m not entirely sure what the reason is, but I like this odd, unexpected trust I have in him.
In the seat beside me, Dean is rolling his eyes in response to Beau’s taunt. “Trust me, I’m happy to be snubbed.”
I wait for him to elaborate. When he doesn’t, it heightens my curiosity, so I poke him in the side and say, “Spill, sweetie. I want to hear about this blood feud you’ve got going on.” As Hannah can attest, I’m too nosy for my own good.
“So do I,” Beau says honestly.
Dean waves it off. “It was just some stupid bullshit in sophomore year. No big deal.”
“Obviously it is if it still bothers you two years later,” I point out.
Reluctance creases his forehead. “Long story short? I was struggling in a course, but every time I thought I failed a test or wrote a shitty paper, I’d get an A on it. Me being a total moron, I didn’t connect it to the fact that I was banging my TA.”
Beau snickers. “Love it.”
I sigh. “Oh boy.”
“I know, it was a stupid move,” Dean says penitently. “Anyway, Sabrina and I were paired up on the final project. We each did half the work and it was graded separately. My half was C-material at best and we both knew it, except then our grades came back and I got an A. Sabrina got a B-minus.” His jaw tightens. “She was pissed. She went to the professor to bitch about it, and he ended up rereading every paper I turned in and every test I took—all graded by the TA I was screwing. Turned out I should have been failing the class. But I was acing it.”
Dean sounds so disgusted it startles me. Before we hooked up, I assumed he was the kind of guy who breezed through life on a free pass because of his looks and money. This story corroborates that. But the anger in his voice reveals something else—he doesn’t want the free pass.