Angel of Redemption (29 page)

“
Nothing too embarrassing, don
’
t worry. I just thought I
’
d call and give you shit. How are you
feeling?
”

“
No way, Dean. What the hell did I say?
”
she demands.

I
laugh.
“
You asked me to come over.
”

“
No I didn
’
t. Did I?
”

“
Yeah, but I didn
’
t take you seriously.
”

“
Why not?
”
She sounds a little put out. Or maybe I
’
m imagining it.

“
Because you were slurring so bad I
wasn
’
t
sure where one word ended and the next began.
”
She
’
s quiet for a second, and I wonder if she
’
s fallen back to sleep.
“
Kayla?
”

“
I
’
m here,
”
she yelps.
“
I
’
m so sorry, Dean. Andy and I were playing drinking games,
and I guess we got slightly trashed.
”

“
Don
’
t worry about it. I figured as much.
It was funny.
”

“
Me making an asshole out of myself is
not funny,
”
she grumbles.

“
You didn
’
t make an asshole out of yourself. You
were just very
…
friendly.
”

“
What aren
’
t you telling me?
”

“
Nothin
’
, sweetheart. Like I said, don
’
t worry about it. You okay, though?
”
I
’
m so fucking tempted to tell her about her drunken admissions,
but I get the impression that she
’
ll
be mortified. And I
’
m not sure we
’
re
friendly
enough at this point for me to tease her
about her vibrator.

I
can ask her out for coffee, though
—
a
friendly coffee. She and Emily went out for coffee, so I should be able to take
her out for one, too. Right?

“
You want to grab some coffee tomorrow?
I can come pick you up.
”
My heart is thumping in my chest as
the words pour out. I
’
m nervous. I haven
’
t felt like this since I was a teenager. That thought
should worry me, and it probably would if I weren
’
t
busy ignoring the little voice in my head telling me that normal people don
’
t feel like this when asking their
friends
to go to
coffee.

“Sure,” she says sounding happy. I let out a
relieved sigh. This is no big deal. It’s just coffee.

Kayla

On Sunday morning, I hear the doorbell just as I
’
m pulling my hair up into a ponytail.

“
Shit!
”
I mutter, quickly slapping on my makeup before standing
back and looking at myself in the mirror. After my shower this morning, I stood
in front of my dresser for a good half hour trying to figure out what to wear.
Eventually, I settled on a pair of skinny jeans, a long-sleeved waffle shirt,
and a hooded vest. It
’
s only coffee, not a date. A date is what Andy went on last
night. He got all dressed up in a suit and tie, shaved, and walked out of here
smelling like a Gucci ad
—
then texted me around midnight that he
wasn
’
t
coming home. I
’
m
not sure whether to be happy or jealous
, but not of him…
of
her
. Andy is the kind of guy
who wants to fall in love, get married, and have babies, and he deserves all
those things. I should be happy for him. But he spent the last ten years taking
care of me, and I can
’
t help thinking about how much a
serious relationship will take him away from me.

The
doorbell rings again, and I run out of the bathroom toward the front door. I
stop to compose myself before I pull it open, but the man standing in front of
me still renders me speechless. He looks that good.

He
’
s wearing his regular baggy jeans, a
white T-shirt covered by a flannel shirt and a black coat, and his Docs. On his
head, of course, is his knit hat. His jaw is covered with light scruff,
highlighting his full lips, which curve upward as I gaze at them. I flick my
eyes up a little and meet his dark-green ones.

“
Hi.
”

I feel my cheeks flush. I’m sure he knows exactly
what I’ve been thinking; it must be written all over my face. “Uh, hi. Come on
in. I just need to put my coat and boots on.”

He
steps into the foyer and shuts the door behind him. I grab my boots from the
closet and pull them on. Lifting one foot up onto the storage bench, I lean
over to tie the laces, and then do the same with the other. When I turn around,
Dean
’
s
expression looks like a boy expecting a scolding.

“
Were you looking at my butt?
”
I tease. He shakes his head, but his lips are pressed
together as if he
’
s
trying not to smile.

“
No.
”

“
You sure?
”

“
Yep.
”
He nods.

“
Damn. I put on these jeans
specifically so you would. Maybe I should go change.
”
I take a step toward my bedroom, but Dean grabs my arm.

“
Come on, smartass.
”
He smirks.
“
You look good. Let
’
s get out of here.
”

I
laugh and let him lead me out.

When
he turns on the car, I
’
m surprised to hear classical music come out of the
speakers. This man will never cease to surprise me. He turns it down, glancing and
smiling coyly at me before pulling away from the curb.

“
So, I thought we could go to a coffee
shop in Bloomington. Great little place. I know the owner.
”

“
Sure. I
’
m easy,
”
I answer without thinking. Dean snorts.
“
I mean
…
shut up. You know what I mean,
”
I groan, hitting his arm.

I
’
m a little anxious about wha
t’
s happening here. My heart wants to
believe this is a date, but my head is telling me to get real. Despite our
flirtatious banter, Dean has pushed me away again and again. No guy suggests
being friends unless he
’
s
really
not interested in
anything else. I can do friends, though. I just need to get over the physical
attraction. And the emotional attraction. And the ache in my entire body every
time he touches me. Shit, this is going to be hard.

We
pull up in front of a corner coffee shop called The Jumping Bean. I can
’
t even get my seat belt off before
Dean opens my door.

“
Thank you.
”
I smile as he takes my hand and helps me out.

“
My pleasure,
”
he says with a wink. And there it is
—
the ache. I jerk my hand away suddenly. He narrows his
eyes, probably trying to figure out what the fuck my problem is. I try to
recover by reaching for a nonexistent itch on my back.

“
Sorry,
”
I laugh awkwardly.
“
Had
to scratch.
”

He
nods slowly. I
’
m not sure he buys it, but it was the
best I could come up with.

As
I walk into the shop, the smell of coffee and fresh baked pastries overwhelms
my senses. I inhale deeply.

“
That
’
s so good,
”
I moan.

Dean
chokes and then coughs a few times. I look at him, but his eyes are closed.

“
Are you okay?
”

“
Yeah,
”
he answers, clearing his throat.
“
I just need something to drink. Come on.
”
I feel his hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward
the register.

I
order a large black coffee and a chocolate croissant while Dean orders a triple
espresso and a blueberry muffin. I hand the woman behind the counter a ten, but
she shakes her head. Her eyes flicker behind me.

I turn to face him. “No way, Dean. You bought
lunch the other day. It’s only fair that I buy you a coffee and a muffin.”
Because that’s what friends do. They share the responsibility of paying for
things like lunch and coffee.

“
Don
’
t look at me!
”
he laughs, holding his hands out in defense. I turn back
around and look at the barista.

“
His money
’
s no good here.
”
She smiles.
“
He knows that.
”

“
Why?
”
I ask, narrowing my eyes and facing him again.

“
I told you. I know the owner.
”

At
that moment, a stunning woman suddenly appears from the back room.
“
I thought I heard your voice,
”
she squeals, running around the counter and jumping into Dean
’
s arms. Is it irrational that I want
to cut the bitch? She
’
s got dark hair with bright red streaks throughout, and I
can see several tattoos peeking out from under the sleeve of her shirt. She
definitely looks like someone Dean would be attracted to. A thought suddenly
hits me in the gut like I
’
ve been sucker punched. Is this his ex-wife?

“
Where the hell have you been? I
’
ve missed the shit out of you.
”

Dean
laughs.
“
I
’
ve been busy. The phone works two
ways, you know.
”

The
woman pulls away slightly, but still holds on to him.
“
You look good, honey. Like
…
real good.
”
Her eyes flicker to me, and a mischievous grin spreads
across her face.

“Mita,” she introduces herself.

“Kayla,” I respond. She looks back at Dean, her
eyes widening. He shakes his head in some silent communication. My jealousy
skyrockets—they clearly know each other well.

“
Okay, well. I have to do the books, but come get me before
you leave.
”

Dean
nods. The barista hands me both of our coffees. She walks away and then returns
with our pastries.

I
walk toward the sitting area. Dean follows. We pull off our coats and toss them
in an empty chair. I
’
m still agitated as I sit down in the middle of a couch.
Dean sits next to me, not across. We
’
re close, but not touching.

“
Ex-girlfriend?
”
I ask, the snark in my voice betraying me.

Dean
laughs.
“
No.
Mita
’
s
my cousin on my mother
’
s side. And she
’
s a lesbian.
”

“
Oh,
”
I say stupidly. I take a sip of my coffee in an attempt to
hide my embarrassment.
“
You couldn
’
t have told me that in the car?
”
I glare, but end up smiling at his guilty expression. He
looks too damn cute. And sexy. Dean pulls off his knit hat, and I laugh.

“
What?
”
He scowls.

Leaning
forward, I reach out. He jumps a little, but relaxes quickly when he realizes
what I
’
m
doing. I notice he does that a lot
—
startles
and tenses when people make unexpected moves. From what he
’
s told me about his time in prison, I
guess it only makes sense, but I don
’
t like it.

I
run my hand through his hair in a vain attempt to tame his wild locks. They
’
re sticking up all over the place. His
hair is soft and silky. Most people wear hats when they haven
’
t had a chance to wash their hair.
That
’
s
not the case with Dean. In fact, his hair is still slightly damp. He probably
put on the hat after he got out of the shower. I have to redirect my mind when
it drifts to thoughts of Dean in the shower.

I
continue to comb my fingers through his hair until I feel his hand around my
wrist. It
’
s
not a grip or a grasp. In fact, he
’
s barely touching me, but it
’
s enough to make me realize what I
’
m doing. I look down and get lost in
his gorgeous green eyes. I
’
m pretty sure my heart stops and time stands still as we
stare at each other. But then he lets go of my wrist and I sit back.

“
Is it better now?
”
he asks. His eyes are dark and intense, his head slightly
bowed.

I
shrug and smile.
“
It
’
s as good as it
’
s gonna get.
”

My
phone, which is sitting between us, chimes, and a text pops up on the screen.
Dean and I both look down.

“
Buttercup?
”

“
It
’
s Andy,
”
I chuckle.

“
He calls you buttercup?
”

“
Mmhmm,
”
I hum, quickly typing out my response.

“
Why?
”

“
That has the potential to be a very long story.
”

“
Go for it. I
’
ve got plenty of time.
”
His voice is soft, but demanding. I
’
m not sure I have the ability to say
no to him when he uses a voice like that.

I
shake my head.
“
It
’
s stupid, really.
”

“
I don
’
t care,
”
he says quietly.
“
I
want to know.
”