genuine memories with. But what kind of person brings up taking a girl’s virginity in front of her boyfriend and parents at a restaurant? God, what a pig!
When we step outside, Dean yanks his arm out of my hands and stomps to the car, leaving me behind in the cold wind. My heels clack against the pavement as I try to catch up. When I reach his car, he’s holding the passenger door open for me to get in, and without a word, I tuck myself in, anxiety bubbling all the way up my throat.
The moment he slips behind the wheel, I rush out, “Dean, I’m—”
He holds his finger up. “Not now.”
I frown, disarmed. I’ve never seen Dean upset. Not even with his friends or anyone. He’s usually Mr. Happy and Chill and Trouble-Free. I sit quietly as he pulls out of his parking stall and makes his way to my apartment. I assume he’s going to shove me out of the car while it’s still moving, but he doesn’t. He parks, gets out, opens my door, and follows me all the way into my apartment.
We walk into my kitchen, and he helps himself to a bottle of water in the fridge, his jaw muscle ticking angrily as he leans against my kitchen counter, still fuming like he was at the restaurant.
I take off my jacket and lean against the counter opposite him. My voice is quiet when I say, “Hey so…fight’s over now. I think you won.”
“Fuck that guy,” Dean growls, shoving a hand through his hair. “Fuck him and fuck his French horn.”
My brows lift as I huff out a little laugh. “Jeez, what’d his French horn ever do to you?”
“This isn’t funny, Norah,” Dean snaps, shooting fiery eyes at me. “He was talking about taking your virginity in that restaurant, wasn’t he? All that bullshit about tasting your cookie before college? I’m pretty good at reading subtext, so I knew exactly what he was saying.”
My face flushes with embarrassment. “Yes. I have no clue why he brought it up. That was so weird.”
“You gave it to that douchebag?” Dean seethes, pointing at the door like Nate is on the other side of it. “Why him? Of all fucking people?”
“I was young?”
“And drunk?”
“No, I wasn’t drunk,” I snap back. “I was seventeen, and he was going away to college in California. I was getting ready to start culinary school, and I felt weird that I hadn’t had sex yet. Neither of us had…it wasn’t about a connection or a relationship. I didn’t have feelings for him. It was just something I wanted to do.”
Dean licks his lips and shakes his head. “It was a box you needed to check off one of your precious lists, wasn’t it?”
Anger spikes in my belly. “Don’t mock me. I was a kid, and I had sex…that’s it. I didn’t know he was going to bring it up over a decade later in front of a judgmental dick like you.”
Dean shoves himself off the counter and paces in front of me, squeezing the half-empty water bottle in his hands like it’s Nate’s neck. “I should have waited out in the parking lot for him to come out so I could kick his ass.”
“And hit inanimate objects like Nate?” I reply with a laugh, trying and failing to lighten the mood. “Dean, you don’t need to kick his ass.”
“The hell I don’t,” he snaps, turning on his heel to pin me with wide, wild eyes. “It was bad enough he threw it in your face, but he has some fucking nerve talking about that in front of me. You and I are together. I’m your goddamned boyfriend!”
“Fake.”
“What?”
“Fake boyfriend,” I correct softly, watching him deflate a bit as his face twists in a strange swirl of anger and confusion. I step forward to elaborate. “Meaning this is all fake, so you shouldn’t care what some guy says about me.”
“I don’t have it in me not to fucking care…” Dean sets the water bottle down on the counter, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I care? I’m sleeping with you. You’re my friend. I care about you. I should have keyed that fucker’s car. I bet it was that pretentious Bentley I saw in the parking lot. You should give me his parents’ address. A thirty-year-old man still living at home with Mom and Dad deserves to have his car fucked with.”