Slow Burn Part 40

He disappears into the bathroom, but doesn't shut the door. I catch a glimpse of him unzipping his jeans, then there's a flash of smooth tanned skin, and the sound of the shower door opening and shutting.

I stand there, listening to my heart pound in my chest. I have every intention of practicing restraint, and waiting outside like a decent hormone-infused girl-but I'm sick with need. Those hormones keep reminding my body what happened in the garage-and how amazing, overwhelming, and hot as h.e.l.l it was. My brain keeps telling them to shut up.

The hormones win. The open door and the comforting sounds of the shower running mock me. I start walking to the bathroom like I'm being pulled by a rope. Much too soon, I'm standing in front of the shower, staring at the blurred outline of Dean behind the steamy gla.s.s-enclosed shower. He's definitely naked.

Of course he's naked, dummy! Turn back, turn back!

My pulse is thudding thickly everywhere, making it impossible to concentrate. What am I doing in here? This isn't the time for-should I knock? Should I announce my presence with a loud ahem?

My hand reaches out of its accord, and opens the shower door. I inhale sharply. There's Dean, his hands braced against the tiles, head ducked under the spray of the shower...wet, sleek, so masculine and beautiful...the pure lines of his body, the curves of those gorgeous muscles. He is perfect...everywhere. I am just blown away.

Dean finally notices I'm there. His head comes up and we stare at each other, both of stunned into silence. Then he's reaching for me. "Come here," he says in a smoky voice.

I almost walk right in-but stop abruptly. Clothes, Juliet. I nervously s.h.i.+mmy out of my jeans, kicking free of them after a brief struggle. But then...I'm at a loss. Feeling desperately shy, I just stand there. I give Dean a helpless look-making sure I keep my eyes focused strictly on his face.

Understanding dawns on his face. Then before I can make up my mind what I want to do next, he's moving forward, picking me up and lifting me into the shower with him.

"Oh, G.o.d, it's freezing!" I shriek when the spray of water hits my skin.

He chuckles, bending down to adjust some k.n.o.bs. "Sorry, I needed to cool off."

The water instantly warms, turning into the perfect temperature in seconds. Dean has me trapped against the wall, with the water raining down on both of us. I imagine steam coming off my skin at the contact.

"Hi," he says softly, caging me in with his arms.

"Hi," I squeak. I search his face nervously. "Um...no s.e.x, okay? Not yet."

"No s.e.x," Dean agrees. He lets out a strained laugh. "Thanks for changing your mind about joining me."

"Don't thank me yet," I whisper, gliding my hands over his strong shoulders.

He lowers his s.e.xily sculpted mouth over mine, and I sink into the kiss. Yes, my mind screams. This is what I want to be doing. I could kiss Dean endlessly, and be content to do nothing else.

Um, well, maybe some other things, too.

My s.h.i.+rt comes off, then my bra, and I discover I'm okay with that as long as Dean keeps doing what he's doing with his hands and mouth. I love the way he touches me like he's starving for my skin, aggressive and intense. But I can feel him holding back, all straining muscles and uneven breathing. He's got all the moves, but he makes me feel like I'm the one with all the power. It's an unbelievable turn on.

Long after we're both mutually satisfied, we stay in the shower, just kissing and touching each other. Finally, Dean gets out first, realizing I now don't have anything dry to wear. He offers to throw my clothes in the wash, and I gratefully agree. I'm slightly mortified when I have to slip off my last article of clothing and hand it to him in a crumpled wet little ball. Being Dean, he doesn't say a word.

When he's gone, I turn the shower off, and wrap myself in the ridiculously soft towel he left out for me. I sit on the edge of the tub, feeling dizzy with a rush of emotions. That was mind-blowing-and I don't regret that it happened. But now I feel...ashamed that I couldn't control myself. s.l.u.tty. Confused. Guilty. Is it because I jumped from guy to guy so quickly? Like, I don't know how I can feel this way about Dean all of a sudden, when I was so infatuated with Johnny. They're so different! Johnny is wild and reckless-Dean is ruthlessly controlled and reserved. It's like they each other appealed to different sides of my personality. But with Johnny...I knew I was doing something that was bad for me, but I couldn't seem to help myself.

With Dean-I don't know. I didn't know I had all these feelings for him, doing a slow burn inside of me-until it ignited, and I almost exploded with the force of them. I shouldn't have gotten into the shower with him. It's too soon. What must he think of me?

My body is still tingling from the experience, but my mind and heart are plagued with self-doubt. When Dean comes back with one of his s.h.i.+rts for me to wear, I make him leave the bathroom so I can put it on. I'm mortified to be naked underneath, but I just cannot go commando in jeans. The seams, you know.

Dean's soft gray s.h.i.+rt smells like him, and is long enough to be a modest dress on me. Feeling mildly ridiculous, I make myself leave the relative safety of the bathroom. I wonder if Dean knew I was going to be this easy. Probably most girls are easy for him. That doesn't make me feel better.

"Hey," I mutter, forcing myself to meet his eyes. I offer him a hideous smile.

"Hey, yourself." He shakes his head at me. "You think too much."

"I do," I admit, standing there awkwardly.

Dean pulls me over to his bed where we sit down side by side. "Tell me," he says simply.

And I do. I blurt out everything-my fear and confusion, the shame I feel about not being able to control myself. About Johnny and Nick. I hate bringing them up to him, but with Dean...I don't want to hide anything.

He stays quiet while I verbally puke out my angst. Only when I'm finally out of words, crimson with embarra.s.sment, does he say anything.

Dean speaks slowly, carefully. "What happened just now was pretty intense. Maybe you're not ready for those feelings yet."

I make a face. "I'm seventeen, not twelve."

A hint of a smile plays about his lips. "Seventeen's still pretty young."

"You're the same age," I point out. "And don't say it's different for a guy."

He shrugs. "I was thirteen when I first had s.e.x-with an older girl from town. Thought I would feel like the s.h.i.+t. I didn't. I felt nothing." He looks up. "It was the same thing with all of them. Once, I ran into a girl the day after I slept with her-I didn't recognize her. She cried."

I unconsciously s.h.i.+ft away from him. "I don't blame her," I say honestly.

Dean nods once. "I'm careless with people, sometimes. So I try not to get involved."

"No, you're not!" This time, I reach over and take his hand, squeezing it for emphasis.

His light-filled eyes are unreadable and mysterious as he holds my gaze. "Not with you. You're different."

"Oh," I say, and melt like b.u.t.ter. I'm such a sucker. To hide the stars in my eyes, I think of something to ask him. "Do you regret having s.e.x at such a young age?"

Dean seems to mull this over. "Yeah," he says finally. "I don't think I knew what to do with all the s.h.i.+t that was running through my head at the time, so I tried to deal with it in the wrong kind of ways. Then s.e.x became this meaningless thing I did to pa.s.s the time."

"So...been having any meaningless s.e.x lately?" I ask casually, trying not to stiffen up to give away my sudden tension.

He pulls my hand over to his lap, turns it over, and rubs small circles in the center of my palm with the rough pad of his thumb. "I don't want meaningless s.e.x anymore...I haven't in a while. I'd rather wait for this girl I know. She's not ready yet, but I'd rather not have s.e.x with her than be with a hundred different girls whose faces I wouldn't remember in the morning."

"Hm. Well, I don't know if that's incredibly hot, or incredibly disturbing."

"It's true. I have a hard time with faces."

There is a small self-deprecating smile on Dean's face right now. I kind of want to kiss it off of him. Then I realize, I can. I lean over, and press my lips to his. He immediately deepens the kiss, pulling me toward him, until I feel myself falling into the sweetest sunlight.

I draw back, laughing. "Why did you wait so long?" I blurt out. "To talk to me again...to tell me how you felt?"

He doesn't react right away to my blurted out question. "Shortly after I came back, I looked you up. I saw you around a few times, but I didn't know if you'd want to talk to me. I heard your parents got divorced."

"Yeah," I say with a sigh. "It happens."

"Yeah, well, I thought I'd just keep my distance until the timing was right. You always seemed to have a boyfriend," he says, a note of annoyance creeping into his voice.

I snort a laugh. "What? I've had, like, three boyfriends-total!"

Dean ignores that, standing up and rolling his shoulders back in a quick stretch. "I'll go check on your clothes," he says, and heads toward the door.

When he's gone, I carefully lie back on his bed, suddenly exhausted. I think I'm tired enough to fall asleep right now-if Dean's bed weren't so freaking uncomfortable. Oh, my gosh, it's like lying on a rock! No wonder he has insomnia...I'd rather pace the halls than lie on this concrete slab. Ow.

Despite the discomfort, I'm too lazy to get back up. I keep my eyes closed. My mind is racing, trying to put the events of the day into perspective. I think about what happened in the shower, blus.h.i.+ng wildly. I'm sure I'll be replaying those events in my head for years to come. But I also think about what Dean said about me not being ready for that kind of stuff. Maybe he's right. Maybe the conflicting emotions I always feel directly after those kinds of experiences are because I'm not-I don't know-mature enough to handle it. Then why do I think about s.e.x all the time? Maybe I'm a freak. Other girls I know are comfortable enough to talk about their experiences, and they don't make it seem like a big deal. It seems like a big deal to me.

I guess I fall asleep, because the next thing I know, I'm opening my eyes to a darkened room. Dean's sitting on the bed, next to me, working on his laptop.

"Hey," I mumble, rubbing my eyes with both hands.

He glances over at me with a smile. "You're awake."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep on you." I sit up, yawning. "What time is it?"

"About five, and don't worry about it. You obviously needed the rest."

Oh, my back! Trying to stretch out the kinks, I feel about eighty. "Thanks. Um...have you heard about Johnny? How he's doing?"

"I talked to Sarah-Johnny's mom," Dean clarifies when I look at him in confusion. "He's still got a slight fever, so they're watching him. Other than that, he's okay. p.i.s.sed, but okay."

"That's good," I say relieved. "Are my clothes done?"

"They're right there. You feel like getting something to eat yet?"

At the thought of food, my stomach lets out an embarra.s.sing rumble. Rubbing it sheepishly, I nod. "I'm starving."

Dean chuckles, shutting his laptop, and getting to his feet. "Get dressed. I'll take you somewhere for dinner."

I stand, too, clutching my freshly laundered clothes to my chest. "That sounds great. I'll just, uh, be right back."

I get dressed in record time, twirling my hair up into a messy bun. I can't do much about the rest of me without some makeup, so I'll get Dean to take me somewhere with dim lighting. I dash back out with a huge grin on my face.

"Is this our first official date?" I ask, watching him stick his keys and phone in the pockets of his jeans.

"Guess so," Dean replies, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. "Where do you want to go?"

I hesitate. "Somewhere not around here." I don't think I'm ready to run into anyone we know just yet.

"Whatever you want."

We end up going to a quiet little restaurant about forty-five minutes out of town. It has a bizarre little gift shop right in the center of it, but the lighting is dark and we're more likely to run into my old lady neighbor than anyone from Leclare, so I'm happy. Actually, I'd be happy anywhere with Dean.

We talk about everything. Okay, I may have to do a little prodding-I don't think Dean will ever be the type to volunteer information. We touch the whole time, and I have the scary thought that I don't ever want to let go.

What's even scarier? The growing certainty that, eventually, I'll have to.

Chapter 42.

We're all crowded into Johnny's room, taking turns blasting him for almost getting himself killed. It's making him cranky as h.e.l.l.

"s.h.i.+t, Nick, you drink as much as I do." Johnny scowls at his friend, who is leaning against the chair Ben and Arianna are squeezed into.

Nick is using the remote attached to Johnny's bed to flick through the channels on the television mounted on the wall. He doesn't tear his eyes away from the screen when he replies. "Actually, I've cut down a lot lately." I detect the slightest flush on his tanned face when he mutters, "Alcohol makes me do stupid s.h.i.+t."

I can tell Johnny hates being picked on like this, but it's not like he can get up and escape, not with his leg heavily wrapped. He sends an evil glare around the room, and s.h.i.+fts uncomfortably. There's a lot of dark blonde stubble on his face, and it makes him look tougher, leaner. I notice both Kara and Arianna checking him out.

I'm standing in the little s.p.a.ce next to the window, my arms crossed over my chest. Dean is here, and I have to stop myself from constantly looking at him. He hasn't said much of anything, and though he and Johnny don't interact, neither do they seem openly hostile towards each other. I do catch Dean sending Nick dark looks every once in a while. Fortunately, Nick doesn't notice.

Back at school, all anyone can talk about is Johnny's accident, and how tragic it is. When Johnny comes back, rocking crutches, girls fall all over themselves to help him. I wish people would stop bringing up how he's ruined his football career, and how he could've made it to the NFL. No one dares bring up to his face, but he's not stupid-he knows what the whispers and shaking heads are about. Fortunately, he has lots of close friends who are looking out for him. We take turns keeping him too busy to feel sorry for himself.

During school, Dean and I are acquaintances who don't have much to do with each other. We arrive in separate cars, and we don't leave together-but he's with me almost every night. He picks me up from work, and takes me home-and doesn't leave until early the next morning. No, he's not sleeping in my bed with me. He won't. He throws a blanket and pillow on the floor, and we just talk all night. Maybe not all night-I fall asleep pretty quickly-so Dean goes running, or brings stuff over to keep him entertained while I'm hopefully not snoring away in bed. We have yet to be caught by my mother, even though we're not that careful.

He takes me back to his Uncle Jimmy's-whom I've decided I love. Dean lets me drive his Pontiac! The power I feel behind the wheel-it's intoxicating. I can see why he likes driving so much-and he does like to drive fast, as I soon discover. But that's okay because I like going fast, too. Speeding along in that s.e.xy car with Dean behind the wheel-the way how he confidently handles himself...I feel like we're living out a scene from a hot action movie.

I get him to hang out at the rec a couple of times. Kids like him the way cats like people who are allergic to them. Some of the boys recognize him as Dean Youngblood, football star, and act like star struck little girls around him. The Jubilee kids love him because he talks to them like they're adults. You can see the moment Dean lets his guard down, and starts having fun with them. Watching him laugh like the boy he used to be makes something in my chest ache. Sierra tells me, "Hey, that boy is cute!" I have to say, I agree wholeheartedly.

Dean is lying on the ground next to my bed, hands laced behind his head in a supremely comfortable position. It's his turn to pick the music, and so we're listening to that nightmare-inducing speed metal c.r.a.p that he likes. When it's my turn, I'm going to eighties monster ballads him to death.

I've never seen him look this relaxed when we're around other people. Part of me is sad for him, but the bigger part enjoys the privilege of being the only one to see this side of him. I roll over onto my stomach and stare holes into him.

"Quit pouting, Juliet," he says without looking at me.

"I'm not," I lie. I reach over to turn down the volume on his phone so he can hear me. "If you don't want to lie on this soft comfortable bed with me, then I'm not going to force you to. I was actually wondering-do you like camping?"

"I do," he says, turning his head to look at me. "But my idea of camping may not be the same as yours. I like driving to the middle of nowhere with just my truck and a gun."

"You own a gun?" I ask, peering down at him.

"Several. My dad has a whole a.r.s.enal."

"I can shoot a gun," I tell him, resting my chin on my stacked hands. "When my uncle still lived here, he used to take me and my cousins shooting about every other weekend."

Dean studies me thoughtfully. "I can't even picture you holding a gun," he says with a chuckle. "You're too cute and delicate."

"I'm a pretty good shot," I huff at him. "Anyway...your version of camping is not camping-it's a line from a country song. Where do you sleep if you don't bring at least a tent?"

He looks amused at my indignation. "In the truck. It's warm, and comfortable. Once, I drove out to the Tonto National Forest in Arizona. Fell asleep in the truck-and when I woke up there were three mountain lions on the hood, staring through the winds.h.i.+eld at me."

"Like you were dinner?"