Home is Where You Are (8 page)

Dean smiles that cocky smile of his.
“So does this mean you’re going to help me then?”

The ice shackles on my feet break loose
, and I turn with my hands on my hips. “Excuse me?”

“
I figured since you’re standing there you might have changed your mind.” He waggles his eyebrows then smirks.

I
rush out of the bathroom. Cocky doesn’t even describe him. Oh no, he is on a whole other level.

Darn it! T
here are no towels in the bathroom. Why Mom insists on keeping them in the hall closet is beyond me. I could just leave him in there without one. Would serve him right.

But Mom has
the fluffiest, softest towels ever. When’s the last time he had that luxury? I grab a blue one out of the closet and head back to the bathroom.

The water isn’t running yet and the door is not completely shut so I ease it open. My breath catches in my throat
at the sight of Dean standing in front of the mirror with no shirt on. His abs are just as muscular as his arms. His skin would be flawless if he didn’t have so many scars. Some are small, the size of a dime, while others are longer, harsh jagged lines.

On his right shoulder
a tattoo of an angel hugging her knees and crying, each of her wings part of a broken heart. In each half of the broken heart a word, and as I move closer with the towel, I can make it out. Mom is written in perfect script along one wing and in the other, Dad. Above the angel a date.

A crying angel.

A date.

Mom and Dad written in pieces of a broken heart.

It all makes sense.

His parents are dead.

“Uh
… I brought you a towel. My mom keeps them in the hall and well I didn’t want you to get out and only have a hand towel to dry off with. Because you know it wouldn’t cover much.” Did I just glance at his crotch? Oh. My. God. I need to stop talking and get out of here. “I’m sorry for not knocking. I… I’m going to go now.” I stumble on my words. That stupid scatter rug Mom insisted on throwing in the middle of the floor slips out from under me, and I fall forward.

My arms flail as I try to keep from falling when hands
tighten around my waist and hold me in place. His hands are strong, but his touch is gentle. Dean presses his chest against me—it’s as hard as it looks— and his breath is hot on my ear.

“Whoa, you okay?”

I straighten and try to suppress the burn in my cheeks, but what’s the point? I’m sure they’re lit up like a red dwarf star. I catch my reflection in the mirror, and my gaze locks with Dean’s. I quickly avert my eyes.

“A
little embarrassed,” I admit. “But I’m okay. Thanks.”

H
e releases his grip on my waist, but doesn’t step away. I turn until I’m facing him. Inches apart again, but this time I don’t avert my gaze.

The look on his face is
intense, but his eyes lighten its severity.

“Aren’t you scared of me?” he asks.

I look past his cocky façade to the real him. “Should I be?”

He hesitates for a second.
“No.”

“Okay then.
” I smile. “Enjoy your shower. Take your time.” Finally, I look away and head to the door.

“Hey
.”

I stop and turn back.

“
Is your mom gonna be pissed when she finds a guy in her shower?”

“She won’t
be back until tomorrow night.” He raises his eyebrows, and I close the door before another arrogant comment flies from his mouth.

I pride myself on smart decisions, so why did I just make the worst one ever?
Not only did I let Dean into my house—and let him get totally naked—but I just told him my mom won’t be home until tomorrow night. I could’ve just said tomorrow but no. I had to add the night. What if he’s some psycho? I just gave him more time to hide the evidence and my body.

But i
f he was going to attack me he would have done so already. Obviously I watch way too many Lifetime movies.

Besides I believed Dean when he told me I shouldn’t be scared of him. As tough and hard as he may try to act, I can see right through it
.
There’s more to him than just that. Much more.

I
head down the stairs and into the kitchen. The least I can do is make him something to eat. He told me he does just fine getting food, and I’m sure what he gets is better than anything I can make, but I am a damn good microwaver.

Mom stocks the freezer with premade food. I blame her for my lack of culinary skills
.
I scan our options, frozen pizzas, frozen potato skins, frozen Buffalo wings, and frozen vegetables, and decide on a little of everything.

I slide the
filled baking sheet into the stove, and once I set the timer for fifteen minutes, I sit at the table with my library book. The words blend together as my mind drifts to Dean’s scars.

How did he get them? How did his parents die?

The sound of the shower stops. I debate going upstairs and checking on him. See if he needs anything, but decide against it. I closed my bedroom door before heading back downstairs so at least I know he won’t be snooping.

“Hey,” I hear his voice from the stairwell. I put my bookmark in to hold my page
.

“Hey.
” I can’t help but smile. His hair is wet and swept out of his face, making his eyes and a tiny scar above his left eyebrow more noticeable. He swapped his black t-shirt for navy blue. Knowing he has more than one makes me happy. His sweatshirt is draped over his shoulder along with his backpack.

Beeeeep
. Beeeeep.
I jump to turn the timer off and take out an oven mitt. “I didn’t know what you like,” I say, pulling the pan from the oven. “So I kinda made a little bit of everything.”

H
e moves off the last step and comes towards me. As he leans past me to see what’s on the baking sheet I smell a hint of lavender and mint.

“You went all out,
Preppy,” he says.

“I figured I owed you more than a shower.” I grab a serving plat
ter, so much for avoiding doing dishes, and place the buffalo wings and pizza bites on it. I cut the potato skins into halves and add them to the plate. “Can you go into the cabinet above the sink and get out a couple of dishes?”

“Sure.” H
e reaches up and the lower part of his stomach peeks out from his t-shirt. I remember how his chest looked and how it felt up against my body. I look away when I hear him laugh.

“Where do you want them?” H
e’s grinning the jackass. Maybe I was checking him out, but still.

“Uh, on the table.”
I set the platter in the middle of the table and fill two cups with iced tea. “Dig in.”

Dean fills his plate with one of everything
, and not one to shy away from food, I do the same. For the first few bites we are quiet, and I curse myself for not thinking to put music on. There’s nothing worse than awkward silence.

“So why do you volunteer at the soup kitchen?
” he asks. “I’m assuming it’s not because you’re doing community service for violating probation or anything like that.”

“Harvard, Princeton, and Yale
won’t accept me on my grades alone. Being the smartest in my class isn’t enough. Every high school in the country has a valedictorian and they’re all vying for the same thing. I need to stand out amongst the crowd.”

“That explains why you were at the library on Saturday.”

“Actually, that was for a pleasure trip.”

“B
ecause you knew I’d be there?” He smirks, and I swat his arm. “I’m kidding. That was just an added bonus.”

Words get lost somewhere between my throat and my lips when I look into his eyes. Any witty comment I was about to deliver disappears
, and I stare at him like a dog in heat.
“Do you do any other community service?” he asks, and I break our gaze looking down at the pizza bite on my plate.

“
You weren’t my first library card,” I say with a smile.

He rests his chin on
his hand. “What else? I have a feeling you’re full of surprises.”

Normally I
’d change the subject. I hate talking about myself to people I don’t really know, but the way he looks at me, expecting, mostly intrigued, encourages me, and the words fall out.

“I also built houses for Habitat for Humanity.

His eyes widen, and he pops a pizza bite in his mouth. “Now that’s awesome. Where?”

“A couple in this area.
One in Detroit. I also spent a summer in Guatemala.” 

“Guatemala
? Land of the Mayans. Did you get to see the Tikal ruins? I would kill to see them in person.”

“You know about Tikal?”

“The largest of the Maya cities, of course I do. Did you know the architecture dates back to the fourth century BC?”

I smile and for once in my life
, I’m happy for my vast knowledge of ancient civilizations. “I did actually.”

Most people my age don’t even know who the secretary of state is and here he is spewing history of another country as if it’
s as natural as talking about the weather.

“Impressive,
” I say.

“I know.” He winks
, and I roll my eyes.

“Seriously though, how’d you know all that?”

He shrugs. “I spend a lot of time in the library. It’s warm, they don’t bother me, and I like to read.”

“I didn’t pin you as a reader.”

“I didn’t pin you as a house-building, world traveler, Preppy.”

“
Good point.” The corner of my lips tug and I feel the heat burning up my neck into my cheeks.

“Just so we’re clear
. I don’t read those girly books with the half-naked guy on the covers,” he jokes.

“Really?”
I say in my most surprised voice. “Because those totally seem like your thing.”

He laughs.
“Oh! I see how it is.”

“Okay then, what do you like to read?”

“Non-fiction. Ancient history mainly. There’s something cool about how they had such little to work with and managed to make structures that are still around today. There are buildings built within the last ten years that won’t make it another hundred.

“Looking at pictures of the pyramids
of the Mayan ruins kind of gives me hope. I mean they had nothing to work with and look what they created.” He scratches his forehead then shrugs. “Pretty stupid actually.”

“No
, it’s not.” It’s not stupid. It’s insightful and true. He said I’m full of surprises, but he is too. “Not at all.”

“Anyway
, back to you and Guatemala. What’d you do there?”

“
I helped build residential homes and renovate an orphanage. I lived on a cot for a month, showered at five minute clips with cold water, the food wasn’t great…” I stop, realizing how ungrateful I sound. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asks
, and I hate that he looks confused because now I have to say it.

I bite my lip and fidget with my hands.
“I sound like a total bitch. There were people there that had nothing. People here that…well you know.”

“You want to know what I think?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say, and my body retreats into itself, ready for the awful thoughts he must have.

He leans across the table and tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear, his hand lingering for the longest of seconds. “You’
re not a bitch. Like you said, it’s not your fault you have things, and I don’t. Same goes for the rest of the world. What’s important is that you appreciate what you have. Which is why sleeping on a cot sucked and five minute showers were awful.”

The way he looks at me, eyes
serious but gentle, lip quirking ever so slightly in the corner, it makes me think I’m not so terrible. Makes me happy he didn’t get up and walk out the door. Because I like talking to him.

“Thanks,” I say and dip my head because I can feel the heat spreading up my chest to my cheeks.

“Tell me more about
Guatemala,” he says and I find the courage to look back up. As soon as my eyes meet his, the embarrassment from before is gone. I toss a jalapeno popper in my mouth and talk around it.

When I can’
t possibly eat another popper or potato skin, I take my plate to the sink. I turn the water on and once the sponge is in my hand, I’m instantly aware of Dean’s presence behind me.

He
leans over me, sliding his hand down mine, shooting chills up my arms and into my ears. My breathing turns ragged, and I take a deep breath to try and settle my nerves.

“You cooked
, I’ll clean,” he says in this low, sexy voice.

“It’s okay. I got it,” I say as if his hand touching mine
, as if his chest pressed against me, doesn’t affect me in the slightest. Meanwhile, my heart pounds so hard and fast, I’m sure he can hear it, and if not, I’m sure he can feel it.