Slow Burn Part 32

"Deja vu," I say, rubbing the shoulder that rammed into his painfully solid chest.

Dean looks down at me, amused. "What are you doing?"

"I'm looking for a bathroom," I say. I know my voice is grumpy, but I can't help it. I look him up and down. He's dressed head to toe in black: long-sleeved black shirt and black jeans that hug his trim hips and long legs. "Do you live in this hall?"

"My room's right there." He gestures to the double doors behind him.

"Oh?" I start edging past him, curiosity replacing my grouchiness. "Can I see inside?"

Dean chuckles at my eager tone. He takes a step backward, and twists the handle. He shoves the doors open for me, and I go right in.

Wow. His room is large, and...inst.i.tutional-looking. Actually, I think I've seen nicer prison cells. Not that I've actually seen a prison cell, but I'd think that if anyone had to be incarcerated in Dean's room, with its glaringly blank white walls, and drab spa.r.s.e furniture-they'd jump out the window.

There is nothing in his bedroom. Okay, the bed looks like a king size, with a plain oak headboard, and olive green sheets, made to military perfection. There's a huge chest of drawers the same color as his headboard, and a small utilitarian desk with a laptop on it. The sliding gla.s.s doors lead out to a balcony, and a fancy little alcove for a fireplace are the only indications that this room is part of an elegant mansion.

I turn to Dean, horrified. "Are you being punished for something?"

He looks around his room, confused by reaction. "No."

"Okay, this is not a normal boy room," I say, wandering further in to inspect his desk. "I've been in a few of them in my time, and-where's the mess? The game systems? Sports memorabilia?" I'm describing Johnny's room, but his is so typical of the teenage male-maybe more of a disaster than most (and they have housekeepers!).

"I don't like clutter."

"Obviously. Dude, you don't even have a bookshelf. Don't you read?"

"Yeah, I read." Dean smirks at me. "I use my laptop, or my phone."

"But..." The lack of...stuff is bizarre, as disturbing in its own way as-as my room. "Your room is suppose to reflect your personality. This-" I gesture widely around me. "-is a cry for help."

Dean leans against a wall, arms crossed in a typical hot guy pose. "I don't spend much time in here," he says with a shrug.

"So? It wouldn't kill you to add a few personal touches. Where are your trophies, and c.r.a.p? I know you have them. Why don't you display them? Dean, this is so sad."

He shakes his head at me, smiling slightly. "It bothers you that badly?"

"It does," I say firmly, planting my hands on my hips. "I have this urge to decorate it. This room has such potential!"

"Go ahead," Dean invites, his expression completely serious. But this is Dean-he could be joking.

I narrow my eyes at him. "I might."

"Okay."

We eye each other like gunslingers at high noon-then I am painfully reminded that I need a bathroom. "Can I use your bathroom?" I ask, already heading toward the door I a.s.sume is what I'm looking for.

"Sure. But that's the-"

"Closet." I shut the door, and reverse direction to see what's behind door number two.

Dean's bathroom is an almost exact replica of Johnny's, layout-wise. They both have the big gla.s.s-encased showers, the big jetted tub, and the really cool frosted gla.s.s tiles. And the double sinks. I'd never need 'em, but they're cool to have.

I quickly freshen up, noticing the room smells like Dean-clean masculine scents combined with the fragrance of the woods. I feel vaguely dirty picturing him in the shower. Honestly, though, the image just absently popped into my head, kinda like when I see a picture of a really hot celebrity and wonder what it would be like to make out with him. I'm not the only one who does that, right?

I'm really fast in the bathroom because I don't want Dean to wonder what I'm doing in there. When I zip back out, he's doing something on his phone.

"Can I hang out in here?" I blurt out when he looks up at me. "I just-I don't want to go back out there. Uh, you don't even have to stay with me. I promise I won't touch anything, or snoop around."

I give him my most pitiful look, big eyes and all. Seconds tick by as Dean considers this. Finally, he gives an almost imperceptible sigh, and looks back down at his phone. "I'm not leaving you in here by yourself," he mutters. "I'll stay."

"Yay." I give a little clap. "What should we do? Oh, I know! Truth or Challenge!"

His brow furrows slightly. "Truth or what?"

I start to go for his bed, then hastily flop down onto the plush carpet instead. Some people are weird about having other people on their bed, and Dean strikes me as one of them. Also, I don't want to wrinkle his sheets.

"Truth or Challenge is like a sober Truth or Dare. Heather learned it from Bible study camp..."

Dean eases down on the desk chair, facing me. "Heather went to Bible study camp?" he asks, clearly surprised.

"I know. Anyway, it's basically a tame way of getting to know someone. Instead of daring someone to do something stupid, like crush a beer can on his forehead, you give them a challenge."

I give him examples of when Heather and I last played. I challenged her to stare at herself in the mirror for five minutes every morning for a week (a week being the maximum duration for a challenge), and tell herself she's beautiful. She challenged me to bond with my mother over an eighties movies marathon.

"Oh, and no direct orders, like you can't challenge someone to stop drinking, or smoking, or whatever," I say. I push my long hair back and peek up at Dean to see if he looks annoyed yet. "You know what? We don't have to play-so cliche, right? It's really more fun when there's a bunch of people," I add lamely.

"Somers." Dean nods his chin at me. "Truth or challenge?"

Chapter 33.

I beam at him. "Truth."

"Have you ever done anything illegal?"

"Um...sort of. I swallowed a Minnie Mouse earring at a store when I was seven, and I didn't pay for it. Truth or challenge, Youngblood?"

"Truth." Why is he smirking?

"What's the significance of the lighter?" I ask promptly, nodding to his ever-present Zippo. "You don't even smoke, right?"

Dean looks down at his hand as if he's surprised to find something in it. Then he glances up at me with a self-deprecating half-grin. "No significance. You never know when you'll need a light."

"Hm. Cryptic. Truth or challenge."

"It's my turn," he protests.

"Yes, but the rules state that if a question isn't answered to your satisfaction, then you get another turn," I lie. "I'll just ask you another question. So, football. Is that really what you want to do with your life?"

Dean looks down thoughtfully. "I like it well enough," he says finally.

"Well enough? That's a very lukewarm answer for one of the top recruits in the country." I frown at him. "We both know there's a good chance you'll be drafted into the NFL. So since it's likely going to be your career, shouldn't you like it more than 'well enough?'"

Dean studies me, his turquoise and gray/green eyes vivid in the light. "You're a direct little thing, aren't you?"

I make a face at him, like "well?"

He laughs softly. "I like it enough that should it become my career, I'd be okay with it. Football keeps me in shape, and I get to hurt people occasionally. But, no, it's not really what I want to do with my life."

"You like hurting people?"

"Sometimes," he admits.

"Hm." I don't know what to do with that. I hug my knees to my chest and rest my chin on them. "So what do you want to do? What do you like to do?"

"Drive," Dean says with a slow smile. "I like to drive. Fast."

"Like racing?"

"That's a lot of questions," he hedges. I think it's my turn. So, what do you want to do with your life?"

I squirm uncomfortably at the sudden turnaround. "I don't know," I blurt out. "I'm not really good at anything. I'm kinda freaking out because I have absolutely no idea what I want to do, or who I want to be. I mean, I don't even know where I want to go to college!"

I make my confession all in a rush. Worries about the future are always at the back of my mind, and just thinking about it makes my stomach hurt. I didn't mean to unload all that on Dean, though. He looks slightly taken aback by my vehemence.

"What about what you're doing now?" he asks cautiously.

"What, you mean at the rec?" I laugh. "That's just a part-time job. I'm not going to work there forever. At least I hope not!"

"I mean the work you do with the the Jubilee kids," he says patiently. "When you talk about them, everything about you lights up."

"Oh, I just help out once in a while. I'm not even..." I trail off self-consciously. For some reason, I'm embarra.s.sed. I study the hot pink nail polish on my toes.

"There's a lot of jobs out there where you can work with kids with special needs. You'd be good at it."

I flush. "Hm. Maybe. What's your favorite place in the world?"

"On a boat in the ocean. Yours?"

I almost say "my shower," but hastily change my mind. "The zoo. More specifically, on a bench in front of the gibbon exhibit. I could watch those suckers all day." I point my finger at him. "What are you afraid of?"

"The dark." Dean shrugs at my gaping surprise. "Only when I'm trying to fall asleep."

He doesn't offer anything else, even when I stare at him expectantly. He just looks back at me, unashamed. Hm. Dean Youngblood is scared of the dark, Big Mack Aina cries when he's mad, and Nick Adler gets lost in his own neighborhood...what I could do with this information if I were evil!

Mentally shrugging those thoughts away, I look around the room. "So, do you sleep with the light on, or night lights?"

"No. When I was a kid, my dad said the only way to get over a fear is to confront it head on. Every night before I went to sleep, he'd take the lights out of my room, and lock the door. I used to lie awake for hours." Dean flips open his lighter and stares into the small flame. "I guess that's why I don't sleep much now."

"Yeah, 'cause your dad traumatized you!" I can't keep the disgust out of my voice. "That's horrible, Dean."

"I'm not traumatized." He's amused at my outraged expression. "I'll be okay, Juliet."

I'm quiet while trying to picture a little Dean, lying in bed, his odd-colored eyes wide with terror. Poor little Dean...my heart melts a tiny bit for him. His dad is a jerk!

"Okay, challenge time!" I announce after a thoughtful pause. "After a certain amount of questions, you have to choose a challenge."

"You asked all the questions," he points out.

"Exactly, so you're due for a challenge. Let me think." I tap a finger to my lips. "Okay, I got it. For one week, you have to let yourself make mistakes. Stupid little things, you know? Like deliberately get a question on a test wrong-or, uh, wear your pants inside out. Trip. Let yourself fall."

I look him in the eye, challenging him with a raise of my eyebrows. He stares back at me, slightly incredulous.

"You want me to be a clumsy idiot for a week?" Dean sums up. "No-h.e.l.l, no. Why would I do that?"

"So you'll realize that it's okay to be human." I make my voice super caring and compa.s.sionate, tilting my head to the side. "You need to learn how to laugh at yourself, Dean. It won't hurt as much you think, I promise."

"Can't I just laugh at you?"

I pretend to scowl at him. "Hey, if you don't want to accept the challenge, that's cool. Be warned, though, that there are penalties for your refusal."

"Oh, yeah, like what?"

"As soon as I think some up, I'll tell you."

He chuckles at that, shaking his head. Then he shifts in his chair, leaning forward. "I'll do it," he relents. "If you accept my challenge."

I brighten, changing positions so I'm resting on my knees, bringing me closer to him. "I accept. What do I have to do?"

I'm caught by the sudden serious intensity in his stunning face. He looks at me searchingly before he finally speaks.

"Forget the past, and give someone a second chance," he says quietly.

What? I almost fall over from shock. Sitting back on my heels, I try to absorb his words before saying anything. He wants me to forgive Johnny? I thought he wanted us to break up.

"Dean, I can't," I say finally, staring down at the carpet. "Johnny and I are over. At this point, the best I can hope for is to remain friends."

"I didn't-"

He's interrupted by someone calling his name from outside. A second later, the doors are thrown open, and Kara comes stumbling into the room.

"Dean, there you are!" she exclaims. Then she realizes I'm there as well, kneeling on the carpet in front of Dean's chair-and she freezes.