Slow Burn Part 36

"I came back alone," Dean says. "Aspen wasn't where I wanted to be."

Something is happening here. I'm suddenly hyper aware of the slow-falling rain; the clean male scent of Dean-the way my heart is suddenly pounding in my chest.

Oh, no...

He s.h.i.+fts restlessly in front of me, and for once, I can identify every emotion that crosses his features: frustration, confusion, torment...the intensity of them scares me. I have a very urgent desire to run away from him. To stumble away from the edge before I'm pushed.

Dean is abruptly, stubbornly determined. He towers over me, capturing my gaze with his. His body is a whisper away from mine, and the tiny s.p.a.ce between us crackles with-oh, my G.o.d-s.e.xual tension. I can't even pretend to not know why he looks like he's drowning in me.

I watch the rapid rise and fall of his chest because I have to look away from those eyes. I can't stop shaking-is it possible to feel freezing cold and burning hot at the same time? Maybe I'm deathly ill, and hallucinating this whole thing.

"Juliet." Dean's voice is quiet, but insistent. "Ask me where I want to be."

Oh my G.o.d! Please don't say in me, please don't say, in me...

I hug myself so tightly, my nails are probably leaving indentations in my upper arms. "I can't-I don't..." I stammer faintly.

I sense Dean lower his head close to mine. "Right here. Right now," he says his mouth close to my ear. His warm breath on my skin sends uncontrollable s.h.i.+vers into unexpected places of my anatomy.

I try to meld into the door of his truck at my back. If he touches me, I'll explode. I'll lose control, and-no, no, this can't be happening.

"Dean," I whisper, finally looking up at him. "Don't."

His face-that amazing face of his-is inches from mine. His long dark eyelashes are starred together from the rain, and little droplets of water cling to his skin. How does he make rain look s.e.xy?

"Don't what?" he asks tersely. "Don't finally go after what I want? I...can't pretend anymore. Don't ask me to."

This is not happening right now. This is not...

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to ignore the thunderous pulsing in my ears. I can't think! I have to-I slide away from him, ducking under the arm that had me caged between his body and the truck.

"We're friends," I insist shakily "That's all we can be. Or-or have you forgotten that your stepbrother is my ex-boyfriend?!"

Dean's face darkens, jaw clenching. "I know!" he growls. "You think I wanted this?!"

"Then why are you here?!" I snap, happy to let whatever is building inside of me turn to anger.

"Because." Dean closes the distance between us in a lightning fast move. He stares down at me, and I'm stunned by the raw emotion in his light-filled eyes. "You make me feel."

I am barely breathing. "Feel what?" I whisper.

He exhales a little cloud of steam. "Everything."

We stand there for endless moments-a beautiful boy and a scared, wet girl. I gasp for air. Somehow, without moving, our mouths are inches apart. Just one tilt of the head, one sign of accord from me-it's the only thing holding Dean back from closing that distance, I know.

I...can't give it to him. I forcefully tear my gaze away from his. "You're my friend," I say, choking on some unnamed emotion. "Please...I don't want things to change between us."

I start to walk away from him, needing to keep some s.p.a.ce between us. He stops me with his quiet voice.

"Just tell me one thing."

I look back at him. His expression is closed off now, blue/green, gray/green eyes shuttered, and his posture rigid. "What?" I say, almost fearfully.

Dean pauses. "Do you still love Johnny?"

I freeze, rooted to the spot. He asks me the one question I've been trying to figure out the answer to for longer than I care to admit. d.a.m.n it, I can't think when Dean's looking at me like that! Where the h.e.l.l is all this-this freaking emotion coming from, anyway? He's not suppose to have feelings like that! He's Dean!

"No-I don't know!" I blurt out. Running both hands through my wet hair, I sigh explosively. "I still feel...I don't know yet. You know, we have this crazy history-and we almost got back together so many times, but things keep happening, and I'm really confused, and-and why are you asking me, anyway?!"

A wry smile momentarily relaxes Dean's taut features. "I don't know," he says with a small shrug. "I guess I wanted to know if I even have a shot, here."

"Johnny and I aren't getting back together, but I feel-"

He gives a sudden shake of his head. "No, forget how you feel about Johnny. How do you feel about me?"

"No, don't ask me that," I accidentally mumble out loud. Groaning, I hide my face in my hands.

"Juliet."

"What?" My voice comes out m.u.f.fled, because I refuse to look up.

"Look at me. Please."

"No, thanks."

Dean's warm hands grasp my wrists, and gently pull them away from my face. He doesn't let go of me, tugging me closer so we're almost touching again. He says my name again, softer this time, and like a question.

"Yes?" I reluctantly look up at him.

"Just tell me." He exhales nervously. "Is there even the slightest chance that you could feel something for me-other than friends.h.i.+p?"

I'm already shaking my head, a tiny movement I can't seem to control. "I'm sorry, Dean. I can't," I say softly, feeling like the worst person in the world.

Time is measured by the breaths I gasp for. Inhale. Exhale. The pitter-patter sound of the rain hitting the pavement is the only thing that helps keep my connected this reality-when all I want to do is be sucked into another plane of existence. One where I'm not hurting someone I really care about.

Dean gives me another long searching look. I don't know what he sees in my face, but he gives a short nod, releasing my wrists and stepping away from me.

"Wait!" I say frantically when I realize he's leaving. "Don't stop being my friend, okay? I couldn't stand it. Can we-can we just...pretend like this never happened? Could you do that for me? Please?"

Dean stops, his hand on the handle of the truck. He looks at me steadily. "I would do anything for you," he says, his voice quietly intense.

He opens the truck door, and gets in. I watch him drive away, so many emotions, waving their arms at me, trying to get my attention. The biggest one, most insistent one...feels like regret.

"Okay, so I have this, like, superficial attraction for him-but that's because he's really, really handsome. Like-I could show you a picture."

I grab my phone off the counter, and quickly scroll through the picture gallery, looking for Dean. When I find him, I triumphantly hand it over.

Cerise reluctantly takes it, eyes glazed over with lack of sleep. She squints at the screen, suddenly looking more awake. "This guy goes to your school?" she says incredulously.

"Right?" I take my phone back, and stare glumly down at Dean's image.

Cerise rests her elbows on the counter in front of her. "So, Dean and Johnny are brothers...?"

"Step-brothers," I correct.

"Okay. And Johnny is your ex. He cheated on you, then you broke up. Then you hooked up with Dean?" She raises her eyebrows, waiting for confirmation.

"No, I hooked up with Nick, Johnny's best friend." I wave my hand in the air. "It was a drunken mistake-which you're not going to tell my dad about, right?"

Cerise nods her head, looking only slightly dazed. I'm fairly positive she regrets stumbling out into the living room to ask me why I'm crying. "Sure. So...what's the problem? You and Johnny broke up-he's gone out with all these girls since then; this incredible guy tells you he likes you, you tell him you want to be just friends-and he's cool with that. Right?"

"It's more complicated than that," I say, toying anxiously with my phone. I spin it in circles on the counter-and just manage to catch it as it goes flying off.

"It's really not," Cerise disagrees, sliding off the stool, and doing a full-bodied stretch. She glances at me. "The only way it'd be complicated is if you liked him back."

I open my mouth-snap it shut again, and avert my eyes. For being a Cerise, she's got a point.

"I'm going back to bed." She yawns, and does another perky stretch. "Your father's probably wondering where I am. Oh, hey, Merry Christmas!"

I quickly try to erase the look of horror from my face at the mention of my father and bed in the same sentence. "Merry Christmas, Cerise," I mutter.

She giggles at me, and leans over to poke my nose. "Night-night."

Oh, dear. I drop my face into my arms resting on the counter. Night-night, indeed.

I'm lying on my bed right now, staring at Dean's Christmas present to me. It's an actual carousel-sized replica of my little Willow, right down to the amethyst eyes and the tiny heart on her b.u.t.t. She's beautiful, exquisite, suspended in mid-gallop by a carousel pole through her middle.

It almost hurts to look at her. If Dean hadn't come to me on Christmas morning to tell me how he felt, I would have known when I saw her. How could he have given me something like this? How could he have remembered?

I stare at her, but instead of seeing her gleaming white body, the purple flowing mane, and the wreath of colorful flowers around her neck...I see Dean. The first real smile I teased out of him at the beach; Dean, the way he took care of his Uncle Jimmy; that night at Misha's party (ooh)...the way he looked at me, and the things he said Christmas morning...

I roll over onto my stomach and scream into my pillow. "Get out of my head," I mumble, and smack my head a couple of times for good measure.

As if things weren't confusing enough, Johnny's present of a beautiful diamond pendant was completely over the top-and a completely inappropriate gift for an ex. I can only hope that, like me, he bought my gift months earlier, and decided he might as well give it to me. Where did he get the money for it, anyway? It doesn't look like it cost a fortune, but I'm sure it wasn't cheap, either. I'm giving it back, of course. The thing is, I didn't even take it out of the glossy pink box it was in. Yeah, it was pretty and flashy...but it's just not for me. Not anymore.

Mom and I spend New Year's Eve together, watching old movies and eating ice cream. It's nice, and a good distraction from my thoughts. Those pesky thoughts I can't seem to stop thinking. But the more I think, the more confused I am-until the only thing I'm positive of is that I absolutely do not know what I want.

Did I ever?

Chapter 38.

The first week back at school is awful. I am a terrible person. I know I told Dean that I wanted things to go back to the way they were-but I can't quite get there. I barely meet his eyes when we b.u.mp into each other, and cla.s.s is-ugh! Dean is his usual quiet self, but I am a b.u.mbling red-faced idiot any time we have to speak.

I obsess over what happened Christmas morning until the event obtains mythical status in my mind, and I start to wonder if it really happened. Maybe I imagined it all. Maybe the stress from the past weeks have finally caught up with me. Because I'm wracking my brain, trying to recall each and every conversation I've had with Dean, the times we hung out-for anything extraordinary on my part, that would justify how he feels about me. I can't come up with anything! In fact, it should be the opposite. I should totally be crus.h.i.+ng on him. How many times has he come to my rescue? How many times has he said exactly the right thing, what I needed to hear? And been there for me. What have I done for him-besides pester him all the time, then turn him down cold on Christmas?

I wish I could talk to Heather about all of this, but she still hates me, so...no luck there. But I can just imagine what she'd have to say about Johnny doing another one-eighty.

About Johnny. Of course, he gets p.i.s.sed when I try to give him back the necklace. He explains that he got it for me months before, and that I deserve to have it for all the s.h.i.+t he put me through. He wants to start over, try to be friends again, and then see where that takes us. He says it with such hope in his eyes, that I feel bad for even hesitating. I want to be friends, of course I do. But we've hurt each other so many times, I just...I think maybe it would be best if we just stayed away from each other for a while. Less complicated. Lord knows I could do with less complicated right now.

"So, what's up with you and Youngblood? You guys finally play some naked Twister?"

"What?!"

I give Ben my most incredulous look, complete with buggy eyes and open mouth. We've just left cla.s.s, and I have to look around to make sure the people streaming past us didn't overhear.

"Why would you say that?!" I hiss at him.

Ben just gives me a pitying look. He backs away towards the door that leads to a small courtyard, and beckons me to follow him. Reluctantly, I do. He holds the door open for me, and we slip outside for some privacy.

He flops down on an intricately carved wooden bench, and pats the s.p.a.ce next to him before making the familiar motions of patting his pockets for a smoke.

"Better not," I warn him, before he takes one out. "The cameras, remember? And you're in enough trouble for the mooning thing."

"s.h.i.+t," Ben mutters, dejectedly sticking a cigarette behind his ear. Then he shakes his head. "They'll never prove it was my a.s.s. But don't try to change the subject. What's going on with you and Dean? I thought maybe you two had finally hooked up-but he's not acting like he's just been laid by the girl of his dreams."

"I'm not the-what makes you say that?" I blurt out, my face warming uncomfortably.

"What? About you being the girl of his dreams? Come on, now. It's obvious to anyone who's paying attention that he's got it bad for you." When I stare at him in disbelief, he snorts. "Because Dean allows just anyone in his Pontiac, starts texting when he's publically announced how much he hates it-and eats lunch in the cafeteria for the first time in the two years since I've known him. And he even smiles occasionally-I wasn't even sure dude had teeth until you showed up."

Ben looks back at me, eyebrows raised. I have no idea how to respond, so I stare down at my twisting hands like they're the most fascinating thing in the world.

"Now what is the common factor responsible for all these atypical displays of behavior from my boy, Dean?" he continues rhetorically. "Or should I say, who?"

"It's obvious, you say?" I mumble weakly, looking back up at him.

"As obvious as why he's never made a move."

"Johnny." I sigh.

He forms his hand in the shape of a gun and points it at me with a clicking sound. "Which makes you one third of the second most epic love triangle in Leclare's history-right after the Rigby/mother/daughter scandal of about two years ago."

"Whoa-the what?" My entire body comes to attention. "Calvin Rigby-the loopy school psychologist?"

Ben smirks at that. "So you did meet him. Yup. He doesn't seem capable of getting it on with one woman, let alone two, right? But rumor has it he was having himself an incestuous little three-way action right there in his office, when the ladies got into a huge screaming match, demanding that Rigby choose between them right then and there."

"Ew," I say profoundly-then repeat for good measure.

"Yeah. Disgusting," Ben says dreamily, staring off into s.p.a.ce.

Ugh, boys and their dirty little minds! What kind of perv-o would fantasize about a menage a trois with relatives-?