•𝐯𝐢𝐚•

He checks his phone again, in hopes that you’ll see his texts and meet him at the door, but he knows how you get once you’re too deep into a project: unaware of the rest of the world, completely locked in, no matter how much your phone buzzes. He drops his head a little, letting out a sigh as he faces reality. It’s time to face his own personal shark tank, best known as the fashion department studio. 

It’s not always like that, really. Logan enjoys watching you work there most times, bringing coffee to the studio when you’re cutting garments, making you take a seat for the first time in hours to show him how every cut is done and how they’ll look, your sketches pretty and clean on your beloved journal. It can be a nice, peaceful place too. But right now, with the entire department working on their final assignments, Logan knows that the studio becomes a mined camp and every misstep of his will be reprimanded, because when deadlines are on the way, fashion people seem to get particularly insane over it — his girlfriend included, of course.

And still, he has to go in. 

It takes roughly five seconds for someone to notice him and call for you across the packed room, “Babe, your knight in jock armor is here!”

Logan watches you snap your head up, face lit up. He almost feels the desperate need to let everyone know that he’s not being obnoxious, storming into the studio for no reason in the middle of final’s week when everyone has a million deadlines and no time to spare. No, he’s here on a mission. 

Thankfully, you make sure of that, “You are an angel,” you say, heading in his direction as your eyes drop to his hands holding your journals, “You have no idea how fucked I’d be without these for my tech pack.”

“I think I have an idea,” he says through a chuckle. 

You look a little manic as you approach him, and Logan wonders if you had a good night of sleep even though the answer is probably no. He moves to offer you a quick hug before handing you the journals, but you outright snatch it from his hands, holding it closer to your chest, “Ah, my babies,” you coo, your eyes closed as you rock left and right.

Logan clears his throat, “You’re welcome.”

You giggle, arms moving around his neck, “Thank you so much, my love,” you press a quick peck to his lips, backing off as soon as you feel his hand on your cheek, “You gotta go, though.” 

He would’ve taken offence if he didn’t know it came from a place of genuine rush. His hands stay in the same spot in your face, thumb moving back and forth, “You look tired, baby.”

You are tired, you think. You haven’t slept at all, and you’re pretty sure (because you stopped counting them after the third one) you’re running on six caffeinated drinks, a stolen Liquid IV from Logan’s closet and a single breakfast muffin so far, having spent the night writing your paper on historical context behind your clothing choices, pages upon pages on French Revolution and how it led to Marie Antoinette becoming a fashion icon. Fun theme, but hours of research and typing needed, and among making sure you have all you need for your presentation — all the fabric you had used, every single pattern named right, the correct measurements and a proper paper, hell fucking yeah you’re tired. 

“And you don’t usually leave your tech pack behind,” Logan adds, his doe eyes running over your face. Fuck, that too, “I knew you were acting weird when you texted me to go get it. This thing’s like– It’s your bible.” 

You chuckle, “Yeah, I know. I didn’t get much sleep,” you watch as Logan’s mouth twinges up a little, not the reaction you are expecting, “What?”

“Sorry, it’s just– I literally just thought that.” 

“Eh, you know me well,” you shrug.

“I do,” he smiles, “And you got the Liquid IV from my things.”

You shake your head in embarrassment, “I did.”

Logan lets out a laugh, “It’s fine. You need food, though, and I’d love to take you for lunch. But I suspect the answer is gonna be a resounding no.”

You give him a forced smile, “Sorry…” you murmur, raising your journals in explanation, “I gotta get the digital sketches done now that I have all the info.”

Logan gently pinches your cheek, dropping his hand and letting you go, “It’s okay. I’ll let you get back to work.” He gives you a final kiss on the forehead, “But I’ll bring you something to eat, how do you feel about Tucker’s pasta salad?”

You feel your stomach rumbling before you can answer, “Yes, thank you. Hey–” He turns to you, and your hand latches to his upper arm, squeezing it, “Thank you so much. Really.”

Logan shrugs, “Just being a dutiful boyfriend,” he says.

“And how does my lovely, dutiful boyfriend feel about staying the night tomorrow?” You say, getting a bit closer as you offer, “We can order take-out and you can help me rehearse for my presentation.”

Logan pretends to dwell on it, laughing as you tug on his arm, “C’mon, even Madonna is mentioned in this one. She wears this gorgeous gown in her Vogue performance—”

“Oh, if we’re talking Madonna,” he says, a twinge of sarcasm in his voice, but you know him just as much as he knows you. Logan likes your presentations, likes the way your mind works, and he always makes sure you know this.

“You say that now, but you’re gonna like it,” you say.

“Of course I am,” he says, “I always do.” 

“And you like Vivienne Westwood,” you say through giggles, knowing exactly how he'll react.

You watch as he turns to you, eyes widened, “Baby, I fucking love Vivienne Westwood. Oh, this is gonna be good.” He says, suddenly invested, “No, forget take out— I’m making you dinner. I’m all in now.” 

You pull him in for a kiss, “Knew it. Now move, I have work to do.”

Logan takes your face between his hands, his face stoney and solemn, “You go and make our girl Viv proud, yeah?” 

notes: thank you for reading! if you're interested in what i had in mind for reader's project as i was writing this, please look up vivienne westwood's 1995 fall/winter collection. likes, reblogs and thoughts are much appreciated! <3

As Dean’s younger sister, it was safe to say that you were a bit spoiled. Maybe majorly spoiled. It wasn’t your fault your parents showered you in affection and gifts and having two older brothers also didn’t help with the princess treatment. You never had to worry about anyone messing with you because you had two personal bodyguards who would gladly throw a punch for their younger sister. Despite your upbringing, you were always grateful for everything in your life and because of the love you grew up with you now knew what to expect from others. 

Unfortunately that made the college dating scene extremely hard. It was filled with shitty guys who only wanted to get in your pants and couldn’t even bother to offer to pay for your drink. You were alright paying for your own things but come on at least offer! Dean also became way more protective of you when you came to Briar, partly because of how he navigated the romance scene and knew what dicks boys can be.

“Don’t even think about it,” Dean said to his friends when you left for the bathroom.

This was back when the first time you’d come by the hockey house after transferring to Briar University. Dean was introducing you to his friends and getting ready to throw a welcome party for you in the evening.

“Hey I’m locked in with Hannah,” Garrett said.

“Yeah trust me as much as I love you bro,” Tucker began, “Dating the female version of you sounds like a nightmare.”

“You know I can live with that statement,” Dean nodded.

“Whatcha talking about?” you asked, bouncing back into the room. 

You took the spot next to Logan who graciously pulled out the stool for you to sit on. He gave an awkward smile when you accidentally leaned in a bit too close brushing his shoulder.

“Classes,” Dean said quickly.

“I don’t believe you,” you countered, “Pleaseeee I wanna know the hockey drama!”

Dean rolled his eyes but decided to throw you a bone and explain about the latest scandal Fifth Line had posted about. It just so happened to be about a puck bunny getting mad about a fellow teammate not wanting to commit to them.

You gave your two cents about the situation, explaining how both sides were in the wrong and articulating your own opinion with such grace that the group couldn’t help but be enamored with you. Dean did say you were pre-law. 

“You have me convinced,” Tucker said, now slightly disappointed in his teammate for fucking over the girl.

“No offense I really don’t get the hype around you guys,” you said, waving your hand at the group.

“That’s because you like it when a guy is at your beck and call and acts as your personal servant,” Dean snorted, “We don’t have time for that.”

“Ugh I feel so bad for all the girls you terrorize," you sighed.

“Hey I haven’t received any complaints,” Dean said.

“Yeah yeah,” you said teasingly

“But I’m patient,” you continued, “One day I’ll find the right guy.”

“You’re probably gonna have to wait until after law school,” Dean joked, earning a laugh from the guys and a groan from you. 

Little did you know your perfect guy was the man who was sitting right next to you, looking at you with puppy eyes and a small grin. 

—

“Logannnnn,” you whined from your bed.

You were currently snuggled in the sheets while your boyfriend was at your dresser trying to fix one of the drawers.

“What is it baby?” he asked, tongue sticking out trying to screw in the loose panel.

“Are you almost done? I wanna show you the new clothes I wanna get,” you sighed, computer perched on your lap.

You had been enjoying the view of your boyfriend fixing up the dresser you had been complaining about for the past few days. His biceps flexed with every screw he turned and there was something so sexy about a man who was handy. But now you were bored and feeling a little bit lonely even though Logan was only a few feet away.

You and Logan had been secretly seeing each other for the past few weeks and it’s honestly been the best time of your life. He was your perfect match, a relationship blossoming out of mutual respect and friendship. You both decided to keep a secret as Dean would probably freak out knowing his best friend was seeing his little sister, and though neither you hadn’t said it out loud the secrecy was a major turn on. Now Logan spent his evenings camping out in your room as the guys thought he was spending it in the garage or the rink. 

“Give me one,” he let out a grunt popping the panel into place, “Second. There we go.”

He rose from his kneeling position giving the drawer a test. When it seemed to be working properly he looked over to give you a smile.

“Now your going out tops shouldn't fall out anymore,” he grinned, sauntering over to the bed where you lifted the covers for him to join.

“Yay! That means I can finally buy more,” you giggled, as Logan pressed a quick kiss to your temple before wrapping his arms around your shoulder to tuck you into his side.

“Thank you my sexy handyman,” you said, pressing a kiss to his chest.

“No problem baby.”

Logan had always been good with his hands. And well. You could barely unclog a toilet. So when Dean mentioned one of his friends happened to be well versed in pipes and cars you found yourself a new person to have at your beck and call. It was a bonus Logan didn’t seem to mind one bit. Even before the two of you started sneaking around.

“Sorry for bothering you with this,” you said, “But you are the only handyman I know.”

You had called earlier about a leak in your sink that was slowly starting to turn your bathroom into a lake. At this point, you had a small crush on Logan from his soft hair and cute smile. He would also always be the one to offer to get you a drink at the bar or drive you home which you thought was so gentlemanly of him. This was the third time he’d been over to fix something at your place. 

“Don’t worry about it princess,” he said, rolling up his sleeves to inspect the damage, “Can’t have you drowning.”

There was also that nickname he gave you after you dressed up at Princess Peach at Dean and Beau’s birthday party. While your parents and brothers called you a princess to make fun of you, coming from Logan made your heart flutter and cheeks warm. That was also the same party you and Logan spent dancing with one another even though nothing else happened.

“Do you need me to help with anything?” you asked from a safe distance.

Logan had situated himself underneath the cabinet with only his bottom half sticking out. His tools were scattered across the wet floor. You tried not to stare at the strip of skin that revealed itself as he went to work.

“Nah just keep yourself dry for me,” Logan hummed.

So you decided to saunter off and order some lunch. You figured you could extend your Logan time if you lured him with food and it would be a nice way to repay him. After placing the order, you walked back towards the bathroom to check on Logan. You could see the back of his shirt was damp from lying on the floor but he seemed to be finishing up as he was now upright turning off and on the sink. 

“You should be all set,” Logan said, catching your eye in the mirror.

“Thank you! You’re a life saver,” you beamed, pulling him into a quick hug and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Umm do you want a dry shirt? I think I have some of Dean’s clothes here,” you asked, realizing you might’ve crossed some touch boundary .

“Sure,” Logan said as you ran off to find him a clean piece of clothing. 

When you came back, Logan decided to strip right in front of you as if it didn’t make your heart go crazy. His chiseled chest on display made it nearly impossible to focus on anything else. 

“You’re staring,” Logan teased, shrugging on the clean shirt.

Your cheeks warmed and your eyes darted to the floor. Normally you weren’t this shy around guys. Normally you were witty and confident but something about Logan’s pretty eyes and wicked smile made you off your game.

“Can you blame a girl?” you mumbled to yourself, walking away, "Anyways I ordered food but you don’t have to sta–.”

Before you could probably escape to the kitchen, Logan’s arm reached out to grab your wrist. In a gentle tug he brought your bodies inches apart as his other hand went to brush a hair out of your face.

“Logan?” you asked, eyes darting back between his eyes and lips.

“Dean is gonna kill me,”  he breathed before pressing his soft lips against yours.

“Ok show me what you were looking at,” Logan said, placing your computer on his own lap so you could cuddle comfortably.

“I wanted to get this,” you said, it was a halter top that had a low plunge which Logan knew would make him go crazy as soon as you wore it.

“I just don’t know what color,” you huffed, clicking through the options, “Can you pass me my water bottle?”

Logan obeyed as he pretended to focus on the different colors.

“You look good in any color,” Logan hummed, playing with your hair.

“Ugh you’re not so not helpful,” you grumbled, making Logan laugh. 

You handed back the water bottle without a word which Logan knew to return back to the nightstand. You were so easy to rile up so Logan always had a fun time teasing you. 

“I think you look best in brown,” Logan ended up saying which had to immediately add the option to your cart.

“Ok and how about this one,” you said, showing him another crop top that he admitted, looked the same as all the other shirts stuffed in your drawer right now. 

“Don’t you already have that?”

“No this is obviously different,” you said, “See the material is silk.”

Logan gave a nod like he understood and pointed to the purple colored option as that was the one he decided you’d look best in. You smiled and also added it into your cart. You would probably call him over to do a fashion show for him once the packages arrived.

“Yay I’m satisfied now,” you grinned, “Oh I also remembered I got you something.”

“Really?”

If Logan’s love language was acts of service, yours was definitely gift giving. In the beginning Logan was a bit insecure about not being able to shower you with expensive gifts like you were used to. But that all melted away when you literally would squeal and kiss him when he did just about anything nice. Especially like fixing up things in your apartment or showing up unexpectedly with your favorite takeout. 

“I didn’t know your favorite flower so I got all of them,” Logan said sheepishly, handing you a very colorful bouquet on your second date.

“Logan, that is the sweetest thing ever!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his cheek, “No one’s ever done anything like this for me.”

“Glad you like it,” he grinned.

“I freaking love it,” you squealed, putting your nose to the bouquet to take in the floral scent, “Everyone always tells me flowers are impractical but I think they make the best decoration. Can you grab my purse, I’m gonna put this in my room.”

Now Logan made it a habit of dropping off flowers every week so you always had a full vase in your room. How could you not be obsessed with him and spoil him back?

You quickly reached over on your side of the bed to reveal a small gift bag.

“When I was out looking for a birthday present for Delia, this suit store was doing free cufflinks engravings,” you said, handing him a small box.

He opened it slowly to reveal a pair of silver square cufflinks with a small number 22 engraved in the corner. He held up the pieces of silver feeling a bit emotional as you looked at him with bright eyes. They were definitely expensive but you seemed to have no problem with that.

“You have that athlete formal coming up so I thought it might be practical,” you smiled.

Logan’s heart squeezed at your thoughtfulness. It was easy to categorize you as a spoiled brat if they didn’t know you but you were also so inclined to spoil the people you loved as well. Not just by paying the bill but actually giving meaningful items. Logan’s closet got a major upgrade after he started seeing you.

“Thank you princess. These are really nice,” he hummed, giving you a kiss. You smiled until he tried deepening the kiss which had you pulling away and him pouting.

“I also got you something a bit silly,” you said shyly, “But I couldn’t help myself, it was so cute.”

You reached into the bag to reveal a small plush puck toy with big bead eyes and little legs. It was pretty adorable.

“One store had a jellycat puck!” you said, handing it over proudly.

The gift was much more entertaining to you than to Logan but he accepted it gratefully, looking at the little guy in his palm. Your own room was adored with stuffed animals and plushies that you’ve collected throughout the years. 

“You can put it on your desk, or even your gear bag as a good luck charm,” you babbled, clearly very excited.

Logan chuckled and set aside the puck and the laptop to his side so he could playfully tackle you and properly thank you for the gifts.

“Thank you.” Kiss

“Best girlfriend ever.” Kiss

“I love you.” Kiss

“Love you too,” you grinned.

Logan decided to start tickling you as you were just so cute smiling up at him. You laughed and squirmed under his hold, your cheeks growing redder as Logan kept showering you with complaints. He was still the only guy to make you feel nervous and shy even after seeing each other for two almost three months.

There was a chime from your phone. Logan unwrapped himself from your body to grab it for you since you were so comfortable tucked by his side. You gave him a kiss on his jaw when he handed it to you, snuggling even closer.

“Oh it’s Beau and Dean,” you said, eyes scanning the text.

Beau

Hear me out. What if we all went on a triple blind date?????

Bigger Bro

Not happening.

Beau

This a sibling thing or an avoidant attachment thing

Bigger Bro

Sibling thing. I’d be down for a double blind date

You

I am not interested. And probably never will be.

Beau

Come on it’ll be so fun!! I already have a guy for you! And you can be so kind as to set me up with your ginger friend. And Dean isn’t picky

Bigger Bro

Hey! No slut shaming

“What is it?” Logan hummed.

“Just Beau being stupid,” you said, turning your phone for Logan to read the text.

“A triple date?” Logan hummed in a tone that you couldn’t quite read.

“Literally my worst nightmare,” you grumbled, “Although maybe I will set up Beau with Carly. They seem to match each other's vibe.”

“Who is he trying to set you up with?”

“Don’t know, don't care,” you said, “I also don’t think my super handsome boyfriend would want me going on dates.”

“Damn right he doesn’t,” Logan murmured into your hair.

Logan didn’t say anything else except squeeze you a bit tighter as you fired off more excuses of why you couldn’t partake in the dating. He wondered if maybe it was time to make the relationship known as he couldn’t bear the thought of the world not knowing you were his. It wasn’t that he was insecure, it was just small things like being able to hold your hand in the library or actually kissing you at a party when you were dressed up that made him more confident in standing up to Dean. He so badly wanted to see you at a game in his jersey and to be able to point to you anytime he scored.

“Do you have practice tomorrow?” you asked, snapping him out his thoughts.

“No, I'm supposed to go to the garage in the afternoon. You can come if you want.”

Though you tried to act like you rather be anywhere else than a car garage Logan knew you loved watching work on cars. Sometimes he would teach you some of the basics to car mechanics even though you had top notch car insurance and would probably never ever have to change your own tire. Still he would spend every waking minute with you even if that meant he was doing an oil change while you painted for nails, took over the garage aux, or studied out loud for your classes. 

“Maybe,” you hummed, before asking, “Does that mean you can sleepover tonight?” 

Since your relationship was a secret, overnights together were rare as Logan always needed to be back at the house to get ready for hockey. But tonight seemed to be a lucky one.

“Of course,” he hummed, “We can make a day out of it.”

“Yes!” you said, snuggling closer, “Do you want to watch a movie tonight then?”

“I wouldn’t want anything more,” Logan sighed.

You pointed to your laptop which Logan put back on his lap while you leaned over and typed in your Netflix password. Logan let you pick because you were much more opinionated about movies than he ever would be and it was a worthy sacrifice to sit through a rom-com if it meant he could watch you smile and point out how all the couples were just like the two of you. 

As the opening credits rolled in Logan focused on the feeling of your body pressed against his and your freshly manicured nails tracing patterns into his chest. He would rather have a secret relationship with you than not having you at all. 

—

A few nights later the group all decided to go out to Malone’s. It was a rare moment that everyone seemed to have no midterms, projects, or big games coming up. You were sitting in between Beau and Dean while Tucker, Allie, and Logan were across from you. Hannah and Garrett pulled up one chair to share which was disgustingly cute and made you a bit jealous you couldn’t do the same with Logan. Occasionally Logan’s knee would bump yours that made you smile to yourself.

Right now Logan was up at the bar getting himself a drink and you one as well as you asked so kindly. 

“You need to stop letting her boss you around,” Dean chided as Logan handed you a beer.

“God forbid a guy is nice to me,” you said, sticking out your tongue at your brother. If only he knew how much Logan was actually whipped for you he’d freak out.

Logan gave you a sly smirk, taking a swing of his own beer and his knee bumping yours again from under the table.

“So you’re not interested in Justin,” Beau said, resuming the conversation from before.

Logan took another long sip of his beer and Dean rolled his eyes.

“Absolutely not,” you said, scrunching your nose a bit, “Musicians are so not it.”

“I feel like you shut down every guy I try to set you up with,” Beau said.

Your eyes drift to Logan as he pretends to be interested in the posters on the wall.

“No one is asking you to set me up.”

“Beau, I already told you that she would eat Justin alive. She’s too high maintenance”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked.

“That you order guys around like they're your servant. Like poor Logan has been up three times getting you something.”

“Hey I don’t mind,” Logan shrugged.

“I’m sorry,” you still mumbled, feeling a bit bad now.  

What if Dean was right? Maybe Logan was only putting up with you now until he got sick of you ordering him around. That’s how it always seemed to be with guys. Guys who showered you with affection until they got too comfortable or too fed up.

“First time I ever heard her willing to apologize to a man,” Beau laughed, making your cheeks grow red.

Despite Logan’s hand giving your knee a small tap underneath the table, you couldn’t look up to meet his gaze. 

—

Later that night, Logan offered to drive you home which started a whole other round of comments from Beau. Dean seemed a bit more appreciative that his little sister was getting home safe. You didn’t retaliate with your usual bite, clearly a bit tired from the night.

“Am I high maintenance?” you huffed, changing into pajamas once you were in the room.

Logan was watching you from the bed seeing the slight hurt in your face that never really went away since Dean’s comment.

“Yes,” he said, which made you look over startled, “But I wouldn’t want it any other way.

It was true. He loved spoiling you in any way he could.

You carefully walked over to the bed, with a little pout on your lips. Logan immediately pulled you in his lap, as you looked down at your hands.

“You know you can say no to me,” you mumbled, “I know I can be bossy.”

“Aww baby,” he cooed, pressing a kiss to your temple, “Yeah I know but maybe I just like when you boss me around. I like doing things for you.”

“You’re not just saying that,” you said, finally looking at him. You had a cute pout on your face that always made Logan melt. Dean’s comment must’ve really hit a nerve cause he’s never seen you like this. You were normally so confident.

“Of course not. You know I’m crazy about you,” he hummed, pressing kisses all over your jaw, “You’re my favorite girl to spoil.”

You giggled, shifting slightly so you could be more comfortable.

“Dean is such an ass,” you huffed, “He’s also just as spoiled! If not worse.”

“You’re pretty hard to beat princess,” Logan laughed, squeezing your waist which made you playfully flick his forehead

“Growing up he would throw a fit if his sandwiches were cut diagonally. Hah if only he knew I found a guy that does like spoiling me,” you continued, playing with Logan’s hair.

“Are you implying we tell Dean about our little situation?,” Logan said while you gave an innocent shrug, “Don’t tempt me, you know I wouldn’t mind showing you off.

“I wouldn’t mind that either,” you agreed, “And honestly I think we should tell everyone. Everyone is going to be so jealous because of what a hot couple we are. I’m also so sick of Beau teasing me for being single,” you said.

“Yeah I fucking hate when he tries setting you up,” Logan grumbled, turning the two of you so you could both lay in bed.

“Ooo I’m sensing some jealousy,” you giggled.

“Just don’t like my girl is being asked if she’s seeing other guys. I’m the only one who made it through the battle.”

“My knight in shiny armor,” you dramatically sighed, “But it is true. You’re the only one for me.”

You hugged him tighter, putting your face into his neck to breathe him in. Logan loved it when you were clingy, he was such a lucky guy to have a girl like you so the fact you were equally as obsessed made his heart soar.

“Same here princess,” Logan sighed, squeezing you back.

“I can’t wait to see the look on Dean’s face when he sees I actually found a guy to put up with me.”

“Why do I feel like a pawn in your sibling feud? Wait, I forgot that there’s a very high chance Dean might kill me.”

“Don’t be silly” you hummed, “He knows that’ll make me really upset and then I’ll snitch on him to our parents about what an awful older brother he is.”

“Wow, that really calms my nerves, babe.”

“You could totally take Dean in a fight,” you assured, squeezing his biceps, “You’re way more built!”

Logan flexed his arms which made you blush and giggle.

“You know I’m ok with Dean fighting me if it means you can finally sleep over at my place.”

“Ewww but the house is so dirty! My place is so much nicer.”

“So fucking spoiled,” Logan grumbled even though it had no bite. You just playfully rolled your eyes, stuffing your face further into his side enjoying his warmth.

“Can you turn off the light Logan?” you said, voice muffled, “I’m kinda sleepy.”

“Sure thing princess.”

He pressed one more kiss to your forehead before murmuring a goodnight.

Tomorrow you’ll tell Dean. And then he can properly show you off to the world.

—

It was around dinner time when you and Logan got back to the hockey house. Tucker was making something that smelled great and everyone else was lounging around.

Dean looked behind his shoulder and greeted Logan before doing a double take seeing you were right behind him.

“What were you two doing?” he asked as Garrett, Tucker, and Hannah all looked in your direction.

“Well there’s no easy way to say this,” you sighed, stepping in between the two guys knowing Dean was less likely to swing at you than Logan. But the two of you had gotten into a fair share of scuffles when you were younger.

“We’re dating,” Logan said, ripping off the band-aid, “Go ahead and yell at me but your sister got me whipped.”

Instead of anger Dean’s face morphed into a smile.

“Told ya,” Dean called back to where Beau and Tucker were sitting, “You owe me fifty bucks Beau.”

“I’m sorry what?” you scoffed.

“Dude you’re literally carrying her purse right now,” Dean laughed as Logan quickly hid your handbag behind his back, “You guys are the most obvious people ever.”

“How long have you known?” Logan asked.

“What I’m assuming you got together sometime after you fixed her sink? You came home with lipstick stains on your neck, idiot. And I found her sweater in your glove compartment. Not to mention you've been dressing way better these past few weeks”

“Umm so why didn’t you say anything?” you pressed, “Sneaking around for no good reason while I could’ve been flaunting my hot boyfriend around campus.”

“Beau and I had a bet to see how long you would last before telling me. Decided we should spare the public of your PDA,” Dean shrugged, “I am a little hurt it took three months but glad that Logan has stuck around long enough.”

Logan wrapped an arm around your waist to prove that point.

“And why are you always trying to set me up then?” you accused Beau.

“Decided if you were gonna keep a secret we might as well mess with you back,” he said, “I thought you guys would crack at month two but hey congrats.”

“Ugh you guys are so annoying!” you exclaimed, grabbing Logan’s hand, “Is dinner ready then?”

Your friends decided to stay out of it, saying stuff about how it was, “bound to happen”

Which was absolute bullshit in your opinion.

Ignoring Rio wasn't easy. Having the same friend group meant seeing each other was inevitable.

Especially on a Saturday night like today. You and your friends were planning on going to the movies to watch some trashy romcom

However, you didn't know those plans included Rio until it was too late.

Now here you are, standing awkwardly with your arms crossed while waiting for your friends to grab their tickets and snacks.

There is still no sign of Rio (not like you're waiting for her.)

God you’re the one ignoring her! why are you so nervous to see her?

“Okay eyes closed” You and your friends have this tradition of picking movie tickets randomly, which means you will have no idea who you will be seated next.

When it was your turn to pick you chuckled at the stupidity of this tradition

(H-10) your ticket read

Right after you grabbed your ticket, Rio strolled in. Wearing her usual hoodie and grey sweats combo.

Your eyes instantly met. Though instead of the usual spark hers held, it was a dull indifference. You expected some sort of remark your way. But nothing. She just walked past you to grab the last ticket left.

You tried to act unaffected.

You’re the one who wanted this after all, right?... right?

“I’ll use the restroom.” you mutter to no one in particular.

Reaching the bathroom, you finally feel like you could breathe. Splashing water on your face, you catch your reflection in the mirror.

“God what am I doing.” You sigh, running your fingers through your hair. After a couple more deep breaths, you leave the restroom to catch the movie.

The movie has already started so you hastily scan the area for your seat. Praying that your best friend is the one sitting beside you.

Finally, you reach your seat. And pause.

Fuck this stupid tradition.

Fuck your life.

Fuck this whole movie theater.

Of course, you got the seat right beside Rio. It's the last on the row so no one would be on your left, which also means no one would be willing to switch...

She doesn't notice you at first

“Move your legs.” You whisper softly.

That gets her attention. She looks up at you with the same indifferent look as before.

It breaks something inside you, but you ignore it and take your seat.

An hour into the film and still nothing, not a glance your way, not a comment about sharing popcorn with each other, just pure agonizing silence.

You couldn't focus on the movie. Not when the main character started crying because her and the male lead had a fight. Or when they got back together at the end like every romcom.

And before you know it, the movie ended and the credits started rolling.

You were still in a haze that you hadn't noticed everyone leaving the theater, leaving you and Rio alone.

“Aren't you going to say anything?” She was the first to break the silence.

You glanced her way, catching her eyes. This time you saw the unmistakable pain in them, which probably reflected yours.

“I’m tired Rio. I’m so so so tired.” You breathed, still caught in her eyes.

“I’m tired of this back and forth between us” you lower your gaze. Knowing you don't have the right to be upset, not when you were just as responsible as her for the downfall you two had.

You two started as friends, best friends even.

But it was different. Not like your usual girl friendships.

It was deeper, more intimate.

It didn't take you long to realize that you had the biggest crush on Rio. But you were too cowardly to admit it to anyone. Falling for your best friend? That had to be some kind of broken rule.

So, what did you do?

You shut her out. You stopped hanging out every day, stopped telling her all your secrets, stopped laughing at her stupid jokes.

And day by day it broke you more. Seeing her getting closer to other people. Calling other girls her best friend when it should have been you.

It should have been you experiencing all her major life changes. Should have been you putting those cheesy smiles on her face, should have been you, she teased.

No one else.

You.

And you hate yourself for thinking this way. For being this selfish.

"I just want to- No" Rio shook her head

“I need to know why. Why did you shut me out? I was your best friend, and you just left me.” The broken expression on her face made you want to admit everything.

And deep down you knew that you should. She deserves the truth more than anyone.

So, the words started slipping out, all the pent-up emotions going along with them.

“I liked you, Rio. Not like a friend but... More.” You couldn't meet her eyes, too embarrassed by your confession and the tears welling up.

Her breath hitched, surprised by your claim.

“I’m sorry for what I did, I just...” You pause to inhale a deep breath. “I couldn't keep acting like I only saw you as my friend when you were in my every thought, all day.”

“Not when I looked for you in every person I met.” You add

You finally met her eyes again, expecting a disgusted look on her face.

But you were taken aback by the tears her eyes held. Matching yours.

“Why- Why didn't you tell me?” She asked.

“Goddammit I could've shared those feelings with you.”

“What?” Your tear-stained face was frozen into a look of surprise. You didn't hear her correctly, right? You definitely misheard. Because if what you heard was correct then that means... she also had feelings for you?

“I liked you too. Ever since we became friends –God it was so obvious– How did you never notice?”

She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated.

You felt tears running down your cheeks. Frustrated with yourself too. How could you be this stupid?

What about all the wasted time?

a/n: this stupid small font hurts my eye, too bad it looks pretty.

Feel free to make requests!

Bye.

As Dean’s younger sister, it was safe to say that you were a bit spoiled. Maybe majorly spoiled. It wasn’t your fault your parents showered you in affection and gifts and having two older brothers also didn’t help with the princess treatment. You never had to worry about anyone messing with you because you had two personal bodyguards who would gladly throw a punch for their younger sister. Despite your upbringing, you were always grateful for everything in your life and because of the love you grew up with you now knew what to expect from others. 

Unfortunately that made the college dating scene extremely hard. It was filled with shitty guys who only wanted to get in your pants and couldn’t even bother to offer to pay for your drink. You were alright paying for your own things but come on at least offer! Dean also became way more protective of you when you came to Briar, partly because of how he navigated the romance scene and knew what dicks boys can be.

“Don’t even think about it,” Dean said to his friends when you left for the bathroom.

This was back when the first time you’d come by the hockey house after transferring to Briar University. Dean was introducing you to his friends and getting ready to throw a welcome party for you in the evening.

“Hey I’m locked in with Hannah,” Garrett said.

“Yeah trust me as much as I love you bro,” Tucker began, “Dating the female version of you sounds like a nightmare.”

“You know I can live with that statement,” Dean nodded.

“Whatcha talking about?” you asked, bouncing back into the room. 

You took the spot next to Logan who graciously pulled out the stool for you to sit on. He gave an awkward smile when you accidentally leaned in a bit too close brushing his shoulder.

“Classes,” Dean said quickly.

“I don’t believe you,” you countered, “Pleaseeee I wanna know the hockey drama!”

Dean rolled his eyes but decided to throw you a bone and explain about the latest scandal Fifth Line had posted about. It just so happened to be about a puck bunny getting mad about a fellow teammate not wanting to commit to them.

You gave your two cents about the situation, explaining how both sides were in the wrong and articulating your own opinion with such grace that the group couldn’t help but be enamored with you. Dean did say you were pre-law. 

“You have me convinced,” Tucker said, now slightly disappointed in his teammate for fucking over the girl.

“No offense I really don’t get the hype around you guys,” you said, waving your hand at the group.

“That’s because you like it when a guy is at your beck and call and acts as your personal servant,” Dean snorted, “We don’t have time for that.”

“Ugh I feel so bad for all the girls you terrorize," you sighed.

“Hey I haven’t received any complaints,” Dean said.

“Yeah yeah,” you said teasingly

“But I’m patient,” you continued, “One day I’ll find the right guy.”

“You’re probably gonna have to wait until after law school,” Dean joked, earning a laugh from the guys and a groan from you. 

Little did you know your perfect guy was the man who was sitting right next to you, looking at you with puppy eyes and a small grin. 

—

“Logannnnn,” you whined from your bed.

You were currently snuggled in the sheets while your boyfriend was at your dresser trying to fix one of the drawers.

“What is it baby?” he asked, tongue sticking out trying to screw in the loose panel.

“Are you almost done? I wanna show you the new clothes I wanna get,” you sighed, computer perched on your lap.

You had been enjoying the view of your boyfriend fixing up the dresser you had been complaining about for the past few days. His biceps flexed with every screw he turned and there was something so sexy about a man who was handy. But now you were bored and feeling a little bit lonely even though Logan was only a few feet away.

You and Logan had been secretly seeing each other for the past few weeks and it’s honestly been the best time of your life. He was your perfect match, a relationship blossoming out of mutual respect and friendship. You both decided to keep a secret as Dean would probably freak out knowing his best friend was seeing his little sister, and though neither you hadn’t said it out loud the secrecy was a major turn on. Now Logan spent his evenings camping out in your room as the guys thought he was spending it in the garage or the rink. 

“Give me one,” he let out a grunt popping the panel into place, “Second. There we go.”

He rose from his kneeling position giving the drawer a test. When it seemed to be working properly he looked over to give you a smile.

“Now your going out tops shouldn't fall out anymore,” he grinned, sauntering over to the bed where you lifted the covers for him to join.

“Yay! That means I can finally buy more,” you giggled, as Logan pressed a quick kiss to your temple before wrapping his arms around your shoulder to tuck you into his side.

“Thank you my sexy handyman,” you said, pressing a kiss to his chest.

“No problem baby.”

Logan had always been good with his hands. And well. You could barely unclog a toilet. So when Dean mentioned one of his friends happened to be well versed in pipes and cars you found yourself a new person to have at your beck and call. It was a bonus Logan didn’t seem to mind one bit. Even before the two of you started sneaking around.

“Sorry for bothering you with this,” you said, “But you are the only handyman I know.”

You had called earlier about a leak in your sink that was slowly starting to turn your bathroom into a lake. At this point, you had a small crush on Logan from his soft hair and cute smile. He would also always be the one to offer to get you a drink at the bar or drive you home which you thought was so gentlemanly of him. This was the third time he’d been over to fix something at your place. 

“Don’t worry about it princess,” he said, rolling up his sleeves to inspect the damage, “Can’t have you drowning.”

There was also that nickname he gave you after you dressed up at Princess Peach at Dean and Beau’s birthday party. While your parents and brothers called you a princess to make fun of you, coming from Logan made your heart flutter and cheeks warm. That was also the same party you and Logan spent dancing with one another even though nothing else happened.

“Do you need me to help with anything?” you asked from a safe distance.

Logan had situated himself underneath the cabinet with only his bottom half sticking out. His tools were scattered across the wet floor. You tried not to stare at the strip of skin that revealed itself as he went to work.

“Nah just keep yourself dry for me,” Logan hummed.

So you decided to saunter off and order some lunch. You figured you could extend your Logan time if you lured him with food and it would be a nice way to repay him. After placing the order, you walked back towards the bathroom to check on Logan. You could see the back of his shirt was damp from lying on the floor but he seemed to be finishing up as he was now upright turning off and on the sink. 

“You should be all set,” Logan said, catching your eye in the mirror.

“Thank you! You’re a life saver,” you beamed, pulling him into a quick hug and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Umm do you want a dry shirt? I think I have some of Dean’s clothes here,” you asked, realizing you might’ve crossed some touch boundary .

“Sure,” Logan said as you ran off to find him a clean piece of clothing. 

When you came back, Logan decided to strip right in front of you as if it didn’t make your heart go crazy. His chiseled chest on display made it nearly impossible to focus on anything else. 

“You’re staring,” Logan teased, shrugging on the clean shirt.

Your cheeks warmed and your eyes darted to the floor. Normally you weren’t this shy around guys. Normally you were witty and confident but something about Logan’s pretty eyes and wicked smile made you off your game.

“Can you blame a girl?” you mumbled to yourself, walking away, "Anyways I ordered food but you don’t have to sta–.”

Before you could probably escape to the kitchen, Logan’s arm reached out to grab your wrist. In a gentle tug he brought your bodies inches apart as his other hand went to brush a hair out of your face.

“Logan?” you asked, eyes darting back between his eyes and lips.

“Dean is gonna kill me,”  he breathed before pressing his soft lips against yours.

“Ok show me what you were looking at,” Logan said, placing your computer on his own lap so you could cuddle comfortably.

“I wanted to get this,” you said, it was a halter top that had a low plunge which Logan knew would make him go crazy as soon as you wore it.

“I just don’t know what color,” you huffed, clicking through the options, “Can you pass me my water bottle?”

Logan obeyed as he pretended to focus on the different colors.

“You look good in any color,” Logan hummed, playing with your hair.

“Ugh you’re not so not helpful,” you grumbled, making Logan laugh. 

You handed back the water bottle without a word which Logan knew to return back to the nightstand. You were so easy to rile up so Logan always had a fun time teasing you. 

“I think you look best in brown,” Logan ended up saying which had to immediately add the option to your cart.

“Ok and how about this one,” you said, showing him another crop top that he admitted, looked the same as all the other shirts stuffed in your drawer right now. 

“Don’t you already have that?”

“No this is obviously different,” you said, “See the material is silk.”

Logan gave a nod like he understood and pointed to the purple colored option as that was the one he decided you’d look best in. You smiled and also added it into your cart. You would probably call him over to do a fashion show for him once the packages arrived.

“Yay I’m satisfied now,” you grinned, “Oh I also remembered I got you something.”

“Really?”

If Logan’s love language was acts of service, yours was definitely gift giving. In the beginning Logan was a bit insecure about not being able to shower you with expensive gifts like you were used to. But that all melted away when you literally would squeal and kiss him when he did just about anything nice. Especially like fixing up things in your apartment or showing up unexpectedly with your favorite takeout. 

“I didn’t know your favorite flower so I got all of them,” Logan said sheepishly, handing you a very colorful bouquet on your second date.

“Logan, that is the sweetest thing ever!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his cheek, “No one’s ever done anything like this for me.”

“Glad you like it,” he grinned.

“I freaking love it,” you squealed, putting your nose to the bouquet to take in the floral scent, “Everyone always tells me flowers are impractical but I think they make the best decoration. Can you grab my purse, I’m gonna put this in my room.”

Now Logan made it a habit of dropping off flowers every week so you always had a full vase in your room. How could you not be obsessed with him and spoil him back?

You quickly reached over on your side of the bed to reveal a small gift bag.

“When I was out looking for a birthday present for Delia, this suit store was doing free cufflinks engravings,” you said, handing him a small box.

He opened it slowly to reveal a pair of silver square cufflinks with a small number 22 engraved in the corner. He held up the pieces of silver feeling a bit emotional as you looked at him with bright eyes. They were definitely expensive but you seemed to have no problem with that.

“You have that athlete formal coming up so I thought it might be practical,” you smiled.

Logan’s heart squeezed at your thoughtfulness. It was easy to categorize you as a spoiled brat if they didn’t know you but you were also so inclined to spoil the people you loved as well. Not just by paying the bill but actually giving meaningful items. Logan’s closet got a major upgrade after he started seeing you.

“Thank you princess. These are really nice,” he hummed, giving you a kiss. You smiled until he tried deepening the kiss which had you pulling away and him pouting.

“I also got you something a bit silly,” you said shyly, “But I couldn’t help myself, it was so cute.”

You reached into the bag to reveal a small plush puck toy with big bead eyes and little legs. It was pretty adorable.

“One store had a jellycat puck!” you said, handing it over proudly.

The gift was much more entertaining to you than to Logan but he accepted it gratefully, looking at the little guy in his palm. Your own room was adored with stuffed animals and plushies that you’ve collected throughout the years. 

“You can put it on your desk, or even your gear bag as a good luck charm,” you babbled, clearly very excited.

Logan chuckled and set aside the puck and the laptop to his side so he could playfully tackle you and properly thank you for the gifts.

“Thank you.” Kiss

“Best girlfriend ever.” Kiss

“I love you.” Kiss

“Love you too,” you grinned.

Logan decided to start tickling you as you were just so cute smiling up at him. You laughed and squirmed under his hold, your cheeks growing redder as Logan kept showering you with complaints. He was still the only guy to make you feel nervous and shy even after seeing each other for two almost three months.

There was a chime from your phone. Logan unwrapped himself from your body to grab it for you since you were so comfortable tucked by his side. You gave him a kiss on his jaw when he handed it to you, snuggling even closer.

“Oh it’s Beau and Dean,” you said, eyes scanning the text.

Beau

Hear me out. What if we all went on a triple blind date?????

Bigger Bro

Not happening.

Beau

This a sibling thing or an avoidant attachment thing

Bigger Bro

Sibling thing. I’d be down for a double blind date

You

I am not interested. And probably never will be.

Beau

Come on it’ll be so fun!! I already have a guy for you! And you can be so kind as to set me up with your ginger friend. And Dean isn’t picky

Bigger Bro

Hey! No slut shaming

“What is it?” Logan hummed.

“Just Beau being stupid,” you said, turning your phone for Logan to read the text.

“A triple date?” Logan hummed in a tone that you couldn’t quite read.

“Literally my worst nightmare,” you grumbled, “Although maybe I will set up Beau with Carly. They seem to match each other's vibe.”

“Who is he trying to set you up with?”

“Don’t know, don't care,” you said, “I also don’t think my super handsome boyfriend would want me going on dates.”

“Damn right he doesn’t,” Logan murmured into your hair.

Logan didn’t say anything else except squeeze you a bit tighter as you fired off more excuses of why you couldn’t partake in the dating. He wondered if maybe it was time to make the relationship known as he couldn’t bear the thought of the world not knowing you were his. It wasn’t that he was insecure, it was just small things like being able to hold your hand in the library or actually kissing you at a party when you were dressed up that made him more confident in standing up to Dean. He so badly wanted to see you at a game in his jersey and to be able to point to you anytime he scored.

“Do you have practice tomorrow?” you asked, snapping him out his thoughts.

“No, I'm supposed to go to the garage in the afternoon. You can come if you want.”

Though you tried to act like you rather be anywhere else than a car garage Logan knew you loved watching work on cars. Sometimes he would teach you some of the basics to car mechanics even though you had top notch car insurance and would probably never ever have to change your own tire. Still he would spend every waking minute with you even if that meant he was doing an oil change while you painted for nails, took over the garage aux, or studied out loud for your classes. 

“Maybe,” you hummed, before asking, “Does that mean you can sleepover tonight?” 

Since your relationship was a secret, overnights together were rare as Logan always needed to be back at the house to get ready for hockey. But tonight seemed to be a lucky one.

“Of course,” he hummed, “We can make a day out of it.”

“Yes!” you said, snuggling closer, “Do you want to watch a movie tonight then?”

“I wouldn’t want anything more,” Logan sighed.

You pointed to your laptop which Logan put back on his lap while you leaned over and typed in your Netflix password. Logan let you pick because you were much more opinionated about movies than he ever would be and it was a worthy sacrifice to sit through a rom-com if it meant he could watch you smile and point out how all the couples were just like the two of you. 

As the opening credits rolled in Logan focused on the feeling of your body pressed against his and your freshly manicured nails tracing patterns into his chest. He would rather have a secret relationship with you than not having you at all. 

—

A few nights later the group all decided to go out to Malone’s. It was a rare moment that everyone seemed to have no midterms, projects, or big games coming up. You were sitting in between Beau and Dean while Tucker, Allie, and Logan were across from you. Hannah and Garrett pulled up one chair to share which was disgustingly cute and made you a bit jealous you couldn’t do the same with Logan. Occasionally Logan’s knee would bump yours that made you smile to yourself.

Right now Logan was up at the bar getting himself a drink and you one as well as you asked so kindly. 

“You need to stop letting her boss you around,” Dean chided as Logan handed you a beer.

“God forbid a guy is nice to me,” you said, sticking out your tongue at your brother. If only he knew how much Logan was actually whipped for you he’d freak out.

Logan gave you a sly smirk, taking a swing of his own beer and his knee bumping yours again from under the table.

“So you’re not interested in Justin,” Beau said, resuming the conversation from before.

Logan took another long sip of his beer and Dean rolled his eyes.

“Absolutely not,” you said, scrunching your nose a bit, “Musicians are so not it.”

“I feel like you shut down every guy I try to set you up with,” Beau said.

Your eyes drift to Logan as he pretends to be interested in the posters on the wall.

“No one is asking you to set me up.”

“Beau, I already told you that she would eat Justin alive. She’s too high maintenance”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked.

“That you order guys around like they're your servant. Like poor Logan has been up three times getting you something.”

“Hey I don’t mind,” Logan shrugged.

“I’m sorry,” you still mumbled, feeling a bit bad now.  

What if Dean was right? Maybe Logan was only putting up with you now until he got sick of you ordering him around. That’s how it always seemed to be with guys. Guys who showered you with affection until they got too comfortable or too fed up.

“First time I ever heard her willing to apologize to a man,” Beau laughed, making your cheeks grow red.

Despite Logan’s hand giving your knee a small tap underneath the table, you couldn’t look up to meet his gaze. 

—

Later that night, Logan offered to drive you home which started a whole other round of comments from Beau. Dean seemed a bit more appreciative that his little sister was getting home safe. You didn’t retaliate with your usual bite, clearly a bit tired from the night.

“Am I high maintenance?” you huffed, changing into pajamas once you were in the room.

Logan was watching you from the bed seeing the slight hurt in your face that never really went away since Dean’s comment.

“Yes,” he said, which made you look over startled, “But I wouldn’t want it any other way.

It was true. He loved spoiling you in any way he could.

You carefully walked over to the bed, with a little pout on your lips. Logan immediately pulled you in his lap, as you looked down at your hands.

“You know you can say no to me,” you mumbled, “I know I can be bossy.”

“Aww baby,” he cooed, pressing a kiss to your temple, “Yeah I know but maybe I just like when you boss me around. I like doing things for you.”

“You’re not just saying that,” you said, finally looking at him. You had a cute pout on your face that always made Logan melt. Dean’s comment must’ve really hit a nerve cause he’s never seen you like this. You were normally so confident.

“Of course not. You know I’m crazy about you,” he hummed, pressing kisses all over your jaw, “You’re my favorite girl to spoil.”

You giggled, shifting slightly so you could be more comfortable.

“Dean is such an ass,” you huffed, “He’s also just as spoiled! If not worse.”

“You’re pretty hard to beat princess,” Logan laughed, squeezing your waist which made you playfully flick his forehead

“Growing up he would throw a fit if his sandwiches were cut diagonally. Hah if only he knew I found a guy that does like spoiling me,” you continued, playing with Logan’s hair.

“Are you implying we tell Dean about our little situation?,” Logan said while you gave an innocent shrug, “Don’t tempt me, you know I wouldn’t mind showing you off.

“I wouldn’t mind that either,” you agreed, “And honestly I think we should tell everyone. Everyone is going to be so jealous because of what a hot couple we are. I’m also so sick of Beau teasing me for being single,” you said.

“Yeah I fucking hate when he tries setting you up,” Logan grumbled, turning the two of you so you could both lay in bed.

“Ooo I’m sensing some jealousy,” you giggled.

“Just don’t like my girl is being asked if she’s seeing other guys. I’m the only one who made it through the battle.”

“My knight in shiny armor,” you dramatically sighed, “But it is true. You’re the only one for me.”

You hugged him tighter, putting your face into his neck to breathe him in. Logan loved it when you were clingy, he was such a lucky guy to have a girl like you so the fact you were equally as obsessed made his heart soar.

“Same here princess,” Logan sighed, squeezing you back.

“I can’t wait to see the look on Dean’s face when he sees I actually found a guy to put up with me.”

“Why do I feel like a pawn in your sibling feud? Wait, I forgot that there’s a very high chance Dean might kill me.”

“Don’t be silly” you hummed, “He knows that’ll make me really upset and then I’ll snitch on him to our parents about what an awful older brother he is.”

“Wow, that really calms my nerves, babe.”

“You could totally take Dean in a fight,” you assured, squeezing his biceps, “You’re way more built!”

Logan flexed his arms which made you blush and giggle.

“You know I’m ok with Dean fighting me if it means you can finally sleep over at my place.”

“Ewww but the house is so dirty! My place is so much nicer.”

“So fucking spoiled,” Logan grumbled even though it had no bite. You just playfully rolled your eyes, stuffing your face further into his side enjoying his warmth.

“Can you turn off the light Logan?” you said, voice muffled, “I’m kinda sleepy.”

“Sure thing princess.”

He pressed one more kiss to your forehead before murmuring a goodnight.

Tomorrow you’ll tell Dean. And then he can properly show you off to the world.

—

It was around dinner time when you and Logan got back to the hockey house. Tucker was making something that smelled great and everyone else was lounging around.

Dean looked behind his shoulder and greeted Logan before doing a double take seeing you were right behind him.

“What were you two doing?” he asked as Garrett, Tucker, and Hannah all looked in your direction.

“Well there’s no easy way to say this,” you sighed, stepping in between the two guys knowing Dean was less likely to swing at you than Logan. But the two of you had gotten into a fair share of scuffles when you were younger.

“We’re dating,” Logan said, ripping off the band-aid, “Go ahead and yell at me but your sister got me whipped.”

Instead of anger Dean’s face morphed into a smile.

“Told ya,” Dean called back to where Beau and Tucker were sitting, “You owe me fifty bucks Beau.”

“I’m sorry what?” you scoffed.

“Dude you’re literally carrying her purse right now,” Dean laughed as Logan quickly hid your handbag behind his back, “You guys are the most obvious people ever.”

“How long have you known?” Logan asked.

“What I’m assuming you got together sometime after you fixed her sink? You came home with lipstick stains on your neck, idiot. And I found her sweater in your glove compartment. Not to mention you've been dressing way better these past few weeks”

“Umm so why didn’t you say anything?” you pressed, “Sneaking around for no good reason while I could’ve been flaunting my hot boyfriend around campus.”

“Beau and I had a bet to see how long you would last before telling me. Decided we should spare the public of your PDA,” Dean shrugged, “I am a little hurt it took three months but glad that Logan has stuck around long enough.”

Logan wrapped an arm around your waist to prove that point.

“And why are you always trying to set me up then?” you accused Beau.

“Decided if you were gonna keep a secret we might as well mess with you back,” he said, “I thought you guys would crack at month two but hey congrats.”

“Ugh you guys are so annoying!” you exclaimed, grabbing Logan’s hand, “Is dinner ready then?”

Giggling, you look back down at your phone where his contact is open. To be honest, you never thought his own first name would make him outright scandalized. But looking at him now, he’s never looked more offended.

“Oh, come on,” you scoff, shoving his shoulder playfully. “Get over it.”

“You? Never,” Beau says, shaking his head. “But this? This, I cannot accept.” He points an accusatory finger at the screen.

In your phone, Beau appears simply as… Beau.

“Now, for real, what is your problem?” You turn to face him where he’s sitting next to you on the couch. Both of you had crashed at your place near campus after a grueling day of lectures and practice.

You’ve been seeing him for a couple of months now, ever since you ran into him at Malone’s. You were out with the girls, and Beau was with Dean and a few other hockey and football players. They were playing billiards, and he was losing. Big time. Seeing his struggle, you couldn’t help but tease him about his lack of ball coordination—which was hilarious, considering Beau is the most talented quarterback for Briar’s football team.

Beau had looked up from the table, locked eyes with you, and smirked. “This one's for you, then.” He proceeded to miss the ball completely.

The guys had thrown their heads back, erupting into laughter alongside you and your friends.

“Maybe if you buy me a drink, you can make up for whatever that was,” you’d said, pointing a finger at the table and winking.

“Come closer then,” he’d replied, his voice dropping. “I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”

Back on the couch, Beau nudges you with his elbow. “I call you pet names all the time.”

“And?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Don’t you think I deserve one in return?”

You laugh straight in his face. “You’re seriously pressed because I didn’t save you under a pet name?”

“I am! I'm privileged,” he insists, jutting his chin out before reaching over to flick your nose.

“Privileged, my ass,” you laugh, rolling your eyes. “The only privilege you have is me.”

“Yeah. Like I said, I’m privileged,” he winks. You hate how easily a blush creeps up your neck at his words.

“Okay, so what do you have in mind?” You clear your throat, trying to ground yourself because his unrelenting gaze is making your heart skip a beat and your brain malfunction.

“Gimme.” He snatches the phone out of your hand and starts typing furiously. When he’s done, he flashes a victorious smile. “There.”

You peer down at the screen and instantly snort. “Magic Stick? How is that a cute nickname?”

“Maybe I went a little overboard, but tell me it isn’t fitting.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a stick, but…” you murmur, letting the joke hang in the air. “Anyway. How about…” You tap your chin with your index finger, pretending to think hard. “Oh! How about Sexy Back?”

“Now you’re just flattering me.” Beau presses a dramatic hand against his heart.

“Yeah, you’re cocky enough,” you grimace. Then, as a better idea strikes you, you bite your lip and quickly type it into the name bar.

“Stud?” he reads aloud.

“Yeah. It fits you perfectly.” You flash a wide, bright smile at him, your eyes twinkling like you’ve just solved a world crisis. But, to be fair, it was a crisis for Beau.

Beau’s gaze instantly darkens, the playful banter evaporating. “God, you’re so fucking pretty like this,” he whispers. His thumb slides over your bottom lip, brushing against the skin with agonizing tenderness, goosebumps spreading all over your body.

“You’re such a flirt,” you breathe, your eyes locking onto his plush lips as the space between you suddenly feels entirely too small.

“C’mere,” he murmurs against your lips.

Before you can even answer, his hand slides up your thigh, guiding you effortlessly onto his lap. You instinctively lock your hands behind his neck, burying your fingers in his hair as his right hand travels up the expanse of your back, finally settling firmly at your nape to draw you down into a kiss. All the while, his other hand grips your thigh, anchoring you right where you belong.

Your moan gets lost in his groan as you taste each other, driven by a mutual, ravenous craving. Keeping you anchored by the nape of your neck, his tongue licks along your bottom lip, wordlessly begging you to let him in. You part your lips happily—he’s addictive, sweeter than any candy.

His tongue swipes over yours, sending a delicious shiver straight down your spine. The sensation makes you arch deeper into him, pressing your chest flush against his.

The kiss deepens, the slow friction of your swollen lips echoing softly in the quiet room. Almost unconsciously, driven by pure instinct, your hips begin to rock against his.

He grunts against your mouth, his palm sliding down to grip your ass, giving it a sharp, light smack to break your rhythm.

“Stop it, you tease,” he rasps, though he doesn't actually pull away, instead continuing to pepper your lips with breathless, bruising pecks.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. You honestly hadn't even realized what you were doing - your body had simply taken over, leaving your mind completely numb.

“I don’t want to come in my pants the first time I’m with you,” he admits through hazy eyes.

“Aw, but I’d be honored,” you pout.

“My misery would be honourable?”

“I could brag about it.”

“Absolutely not,” he shakes his head aggressively, while Beau pinches your thigh. “You can only brag about the earth shattering orgasm I’ll give you and the aftercare.”

You gape at him. “I’ll get aftercare?”

“Baby, you’ll get everything,” he kisses your cheek, “You own me,” and kisses your jaw.

————————————————————————

"Holy shit," someone mutters as you pass, and you smile to yourself. This is exactly the reaction you wanted. You came here tonight to have fun, to feel wanted, to remind yourself that you're not sitting at home pining over your ex-boyfriend.

Even if that ex-boyfriend is somewhere in this house.

It was his best friend’s frat throwing the party, so you were sure you’d end up seeing him. You didn’t let that deter you, though.

You push the thought of Dean Di Laurentis out of your mind as you make your way toward the makeshift bar in the kitchen. You're not here for him. You're here for you.

The kitchen is marginally less crowded, and you're reaching for a cup when a guy in a vampire costume slides up next to you. He's cute in a generic way—dark hair, easy smile, the kind of confidence that comes from never being told no.

"Let me guess," he says, looking you up and down with obvious appreciation. "Sexy vampire?"

You laugh, shaking your head as you pour yourself a drink. "Santanico Pandemonium. From Dusk Till Dawn?"

"Never seen it, but I'm suddenly very motivated to watch it." His grin widens. "I'm Tyler."

"Dangerous movie for a guy dressed as a vampire," you tease, taking a sip of your drink. The vodka burns pleasantly down your throat.

Tyler leans against the counter, angling his body toward yours. "I like danger. Can I get you another drink? That one looks a little weak."

You're about to respond when you feel it—that prickling awareness at the back of your neck, the sensation of being watched. You glance toward the kitchen doorway and your breath catches.

Dean.

He's leaning against the doorframe, red solo cup dangling from his fingers, dressed as the devil in a way that makes the costume look like it was made for him. Fitted black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black pants that hug his frame perfectly, and a pair of small red horns perched on his blonde hair. Red accents trace along his collar and cuffs—details that somehow make him look more dangerous, not less. Even from across the room, you can see the tension in his jaw, the predatory way he's watching you. Dean Di Laurentis has always had a presence that draws attention without trying, but right now, with that dark intensity in his eyes, he looks absolutely lethal.

Right now, that attention is focused entirely on you.

His dark eyes rake over your costume, lingering on the curves of your body, the expanse of skin on display, and something hot and possessive flashes across his face. You watch his grip tighten on his cup, watch the muscle in his jaw tick.

Good, you think with a surge of vindictive satisfaction. Let him look. Let him see what he fumbled.

You deliberately turn back to Tyler, offering him your brightest smile. "Another drink sounds perfect."

An hour later, you're on the dance floor, and you've completely lost yourself in the attention.

Tyler lasted through three songs, his hands respectful on your waist as you swayed together, before he leaned in close to your ear. "You're fucking gorgeous, you know that?" You'd smiled and danced close enough that your bodies brushed with every beat. When his friend called him over, you'd watched him go with a little wave, already scanning the crowd for your next distraction.

You didn't have to wait long.

Marcus appeared almost immediately—a football player with broad shoulders and a pirate costume that showed off his arms. "Dance with me," he'd said, not really asking, and you'd let him pull you back into the throng of bodies. His hands were bolder than Tyler's, settling low on your hips. You'd turned in his arms, pressing your back against his chest, and rolled your hips to the beat.

"Damn," he'd breathed against your neck, and you'd felt the heat of Dean's stare intensify from across the room.

You didn't look. You didn't need to. You could feel him watching, could practically feel the jealousy radiating off him in waves, and it made you move with more confidence, more deliberate sensuality.

When Marcus's hands started wandering toward your ass, you'd spun away with a laugh, letting the music carry you deeper into the crowd. A guy in a Ghostface mask caught you, steadied you with hands on your bare shoulders.

"Careful, beautiful," he'd said, and you'd grinned up at him.

"I'm always careful."

"Somehow I doubt that." His hands slid down your arms, and you let him pull you close, let your body move against his. The mask was creepy up close, but his body was solid and warm, and when his hands found your waist, you didn't stop him. You raised your arms above your head, swaying, letting the gold embellishments on your costume catch the light, knowing exactly how you looked.

Knowing Dean was still watching.

You caught a glimpse of him through the crowd—still in that same spot by the wall, his entire body rigid with tension. Even from here, you could see the darkness in his expression, the way his jaw was clenched so tight it had to hurt.

Good.

Let him hurt the way you'd hurt.

Ghostface leaned down, his mask brushing your temple. "You're the hottest girl here, you know that?"

"Oh yeah? Tell me more," you purred, and he laughed, his hands tightening on your waist.

You danced with him through two more songs, let him get comfortable, let his hands wander. When he tried to kiss you—or at least press the mask against your neck in some approximation of a kiss—you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed.

"I need another drink," you told him, and slipped away before he could follow.

But you didn't make it to the bar.

A hand caught yours, spinning you around, and you found yourself face-to-face with a guy in a leather jacket and slicked-back hair—some kind of 50s greaser costume. He was handsome in a clean-cut way, with a charming smile that probably worked on most girls.

"Where are you going?" he asked, pulling you back toward him. "I've been watching you all night."

"Have you?" You let him reel you in, your hands landing on his chest. The leather was smooth under your palms.

"Hard not to. Your energy is fucking magnetic." His hands found your hips, and he started moving with you, matching your rhythm perfectly. "I'm Jake."

"Nice to meet you, Jake."

"You gonna tell me your name, or are you going to stay mysterious?"

You just smiled, turning in his arms so your back was pressed against his chest. His hands slid around your waist, holding you close, and you let your head fall back against his shoulder as you moved together. The position was intimate, almost obscene, your ass grinding against him as his hands splayed across your stomach.

"Fuck," he muttered, his lips brushing your ear. "You're killing me."

You were killing Dean, too. You could feel it, that burning attention that hadn't wavered all night. You turned your head slightly, just enough to catch sight of him through the crowd, and your breath caught.

He wasn't leaning against the wall anymore. He was standing now, his body coiled tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Even from across the room, you could see the fury in his expression, the barely-contained violence.

Your current dance partner—a tall guy in a Clark Kent costume who'd smoothly cut in after Jake got pulled away by his friends—has his hands on your hips, and you're moving against him to the heavy beat, putting on a show you know Dean is watching. Superman is handsome enough, enthusiastic, his hands confident as they grip you.

"You're incredible," he murmurs in your ear, and you smile, arching your back slightly, pressing closer.

You feel it again. That gaze, burning into you from across the room, hotter and more intense than ever.

You don't have to look to know it's Dean.

He's been watching you all night; you've felt it. Every time a new guy approaches, every time someone's hands wander a little too low, you've felt the weight of his stare. Part of you wants to confront him, to tell him he has no right to look at you like that anymore. But another part of you—the petty, vindictive part—enjoys it.

Enjoys knowing he's watching you have fun without him.

Enjoys knowing it's driving him absolutely insane.

Superman's hands slide lower, and you're about to step away when suddenly he's gone. One second he's behind you, the next he's being physically moved aside, and Dean is there instead.

"Hey, man, what the fuck-" Superman starts, but one look at Dean's face shuts him up. Dean doesn't say a word, just stares at him with an expression that promises violence, and Superman backs off with his hands raised.

You whirl around, fury igniting in your chest. "What the hell, Dean?"

"We need to talk." His voice is low, rough, and his hand wraps around your wrist.

"I'm busy," you snap, trying to pull away, but his grip is firm.

"Now."

The possessiveness in his tone makes your blood boil. You let him pull you off the dance floor, but only because you're about to rip him a new one and you'd rather not do it in front of everyone. He leads you down a hallway, away from the pulsing music and crowds, until you're in a relatively quiet corner near the stairs.

You yank your wrist free the moment you're alone, and the force of it makes you stumble back a step. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"My problem?" Dean's laugh is harsh, humorless, and he takes a step toward you, closing the distance you just created. "My problem is watching every asshole in this house put their hands on you all fucking night."

"They're not assholes, they're just guys having fun at a party. And last I checked, you don't get a say in who touches me anymore." You cross your arms over your chest, which only serves to push your breasts up higher in the low-cut bikini top. Dean's eyes drop for a fraction of a second before snapping back to your face, his jaw tightening.

"Don't do that," he says, his voice dropping lower.

"Do what? Exist? Have fun? Move on with my life?" Each word is sharp, pointed.

"Having fun," he repeats, his voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. "Is that what you call letting their hand roam over your skin? Letting them whisper in your ear while your grind your ass against them?"

Heat floods your cheeks—part anger, part something else you don't want to name. "I was dancing. People dance at parties, Dean. It's kind of the whole point."

"You were putting on a show." He takes another step closer, and you can see the muscle jumping in his jaw, the way his hands are clenched into fists at his sides. "Don't pretend you weren't. You were practically fucking them with your clothes on. No, more like you were fucking them with that string on. You-"

"I'm single, Dean. I can do whatever the fuck I want." You glare at him, your heart pounding in your chest.

"You wore that on purpose."

"I wore this because I look hot in it and I wanted to feel good about myself. Not everything is about you, you- you fucking asshole!"

"Bullshit. You knew I'd be here. You knew exactly what you were doing."

"You are so fucking arrogant!" Your breath is coming faster now, your chest rising and falling rapidly. "You're being ridiculous—"

"Am I?" He's close enough now that you can smell his cologne, that familiar scent that used to mean safety and home. "Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were trying to make me lose my fucking mind. And congratulations, babydoll, it worked."

"Don't call me that," you snap, but your voice wavers. "And don't act like you have any right to be upset. You broke up with me, remember? You're the one who said we wanted different things, that the timing wasn't right, that you needed space-"

"I know exactly what I said, and I've regretted it every single day since. But that doesn't mean I can just stand there and watch other men touch you like they own you."

"They don't own me. Nobody owns me." You're breathing hard now, your hands trembling with anger and adrenaline. "And you know what? Maybe I did want you to see. Maybe I wanted you to know what it feels like to watch someone you care about slip away. To feel helpless and jealous and-"

"You wanted me to be jealous?" Something flashes in his eyes—triumph mixed with fury. "You admit it."

"So what if I did?" You're goading him now, you know you are, but you can't stop. Weeks of hurt and anger are bubbling up, demanding release. "You deserve to feel like shit, Dean. You deserve to watch me have fun without you. You deserve to see other guys want me and know that you gave up your chance-"

"I didn't give up anything." His hand shoots out, wrapping around your upper arm, and he pulls you closer. Not rough enough to hurt, but firm enough that you gasp. "I made a mistake. A stupid, fucking mistake because I was scared of how much I needed you, and I've been trying to fix it ever since."

"By doing what? Staring at me from across rooms? Showing up at places you know I'll be?" You try to pull your arm free, but his grip tightens. "That's not fixing anything, that's just being a creep."

"I was trying to give you space. Trying to find the right moment to talk to you, to apologize, to-" He breaks off, his other hand coming up to grip your other arm. "But then you walked in tonight looking like every guy's wet dream, and I couldn't- I can't-"

"Can't what?" Your voice is breathless now, and you hate it. Hate how your body is responding to his proximity, to the heat of his hands on your bare arms, to the desperation in his voice.

"Can't watch you leave here with someone else." His voice cracks slightly. "Can't stand the thought of another man's hands on you, another man making you laugh, another man taking you home and-" He stops, his jaw clenching so hard you can see the muscle jump. "Fuck."

"That's not your decision to make anymore." But even as you say it, you're not pulling away. You're standing here, trapped between his body and the wall behind you, your breathing ragged, your skin burning where he's touching you. "And it's not my problem."

"I know." His grip on your arms loosens slightly, his thumbs stroking over your skin in a gesture that's achingly familiar. "I know I don't have any right to feel this way. I know I'm the one who fucked everything up. But watching you tonight—watching Tyler lean in close to you at the bar, watching Marcus's hands slide down your hips, watching that asshole in the Ghostface mask press against you, watching Jake's hands on your stomach while you moved against him-" His voice is getting rougher, more raw. "It was fucking torture."

"Good," you whisper, but there's no heat in it anymore. "You deserve it."

"I know." One of his hands slides up from your arm to your shoulder, his fingers brushing against your collarbone. "I know I did. But that doesn't change the fact that I wanted to rip every single one of them away from you. That I wanted to be the one touching you, the one making you smile, the one you were grinding against on that dance floor."

Your breath hitches. "Dean-"

"Do you have any idea what you look like in this?" His eyes drop, taking in the dark red top, the way it barely contains your breasts. "Like a fucking fantasy. Like something I don't deserve to even look at, let alone touch. But I can't stop looking. I haven't been able to stop looking at you all night."

"Then maybe you should have thought about that before you dumped me." Your voice is weaker now, and you can feel your resolve crumbling. "Before you told me you needed to focus on hockey, that a relationship was too distracting, that-"

"I was an idiot." He steps even closer, and now you're fully backed against the wall, his body crowding yours. "I was scared because I'd never felt that way about anyone before. Because you made me want things I didn't think I could have—a future, a life beyond hockey, something real. And instead of dealing with that like an adult, I panicked and pushed you away."

"You broke my heart." The words come out barely above a whisper, and you hate how vulnerable you sound. "You made me feel like I wasn't enough, like I was just some distraction you needed to get rid of."

"No." His hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. "No, baby, you were never- fuck, you were everything. You are everything. That's why I got scared. Because losing you would destroy me, and I thought if I ended it first, if I was the one to walk away, it would hurt less." His laugh is bitter. "Turns out I was wrong about that too."

You can feel tears pricking at your eyes, and you blink them back furiously. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to show up here and say all the right things and expect me to just-"

"I don't expect anything." His other hand comes up to frame your face, and now he's holding you like you're something precious, something he's terrified of losing. "I just need you to know that I'm sorry. That I've been miserable without you. That seeing you tonight, seeing other guys touch you and look at you and want you-" His voice drops to almost a growl. "It made me realize I can't do this anymore. I can't pretend I'm okay without you. I can't watch you move on."

"That's not fair." Your hands come up to grip his wrist, but you're not pushing him away. "You can't just decide you want me back because you got jealous at a party."

"It's not just tonight." His forehead drops to rest against yours, and you can feel his breath on your lips. "I've wanted you back since the moment I walked away."

Your heart is hammering so hard you're sure he can feel it. "Dean-"

"Tell me you don't feel it too." His voice is desperate now, pleading. "Tell me you don't still think about us, about what we had. Tell me you didn't wear this costume partly because you knew it would drive me crazy. Tell me you didn't dance with all those guys hoping I was watching."

You open your mouth to deny it, but the words won't come. Because he's right. You did know he'd be here. You did choose this costume partly because you knew how he'd react. You did dance with those guys knowing his eyes were on you the whole time.

"I hate you," you whisper, but it sounds more like a confession than an accusation.

"No, you don't." His thumb brushes over your lower lip, smudging your dark lipstick. "You hate that you still want me. That's not the same thing."

"You're such a fucking dick-"

"And you're so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at you." His voice is rough, raw with emotion. "I need you. Breaking up with you was the biggest mistake of my life, and I've been trying to find the right way to tell you, the right moment, but seeing you tonight-" His body presses closer, pinning you fully against the wall now. "I can't wait anymore. I can't watch you walk away. I can't let another man touch you when all I want is to-"

"To what?" Your voice is barely a whisper.

His eyes are dark, intense, burning into yours. "To make you mine again. To remind you how good we were together. To erase every other man's touch from your skin until the only hands you remember are mine."

Your breath catches. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, can see the genuine anguish in his eyes beneath the jealousy and possessiveness. This close, you can see everything—the dark circles under his eyes that suggest he hasn't been sleeping well, the tension in his shoulders, the way he's looking at you like you're water and he's been dying of thirst.

"You can't just say that. You can't just-"

"I know I can't." His forehead drops to yours, and you can feel his breath on your lips. "I know I have no right. But I'm saying it anyway because I can't keep it in anymore. I want you back. I need you back."

You should push him away. You should tell him it's too late, that he hurt you too badly, that you've moved on. But your body is betraying you, swaying toward him, and when his lips brush against yours—barely a kiss, just a whisper of contact—you don't pull back.

"I seriously hate you," you breathe against his mouth, but it doesn't sound any more real than when you said it earlier.

"I know." His hand slides into your hair, tilting your head back. "Hate me all you want. Just don't leave with someone else tonight… Please."

And then he's kissing you for real, and it's nothing like the gentle kisses you used to share. This is desperate, claiming, his tongue sliding against yours as he presses you back against the wall. You should stop this. You should-

But your hands are fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer, and you're kissing him back just as desperately. All the anger, all the hurt, all the weeks of missing him are pouring into this kiss, and when he groans into your mouth, the sound goes straight between your legs.

"Upstairs," he mutters against your lips. "Now."

You should say no. You should walk away, go back to the party, find Superman or Tyler or literally anyone else. But Dean's hand is sliding down your side, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, and your body is screaming for more.

"This doesn't mean I forgive you," you manage to say.

"I don't care." He grabs your hand, pulling you toward the stairs. "Hate me while I make you come."

He guides you through the crowd of people and up the stairs to Beau’s bedroom door.

“This is ridic-” You start to come to your senses for a brief moment. You can't fuck your ex in his best friend's bedroom.

That’s a new low

But he shushes you, pushing the door open and pulling you in behind him without allowing you to finish your thought. The bedroom door barely closes before Dean is on you again, his mouth crashing against yours with bruising intensity. He walks you backward until your legs hit the bed, his hands everywhere at once—sliding up your thighs, gripping your ass, pulling you flush against him so you can feel exactly how hard he is through his pants.

"Do you have any idea what you've been doing to me all night?" he growls against your neck, teeth scraping over your pulse point hard enough to make you gasp. "Watching every asshole downstairs eye-fuck you while you danced like that? I was going mad."

"Good," you manage to say, even as your head falls back to give him better access. "You deserved it."

He makes a rough, possessive sound deep in his chest, and then his hand is between your legs, cupping you through the thin fabric of your bikini bottoms. His fingers press against your clothed cunt, and you can't stop the whimper that escapes.

"Fuck," he breathes, his eyes going dark. "You're already soaked. I can feel it through the fabric."

Heat floods your cheeks, but before you can respond, he's pushing you back onto the bed. You fall onto the mattress with a soft bounce, and he follows you down, settling between your parted legs. His weight presses you into the bed, solid and familiar and intoxicating.

His mouth finds yours again, kissing you deeply while his hands roam your body. He traces the curve of your waist, the dip of your hips, then slides higher to cup your breasts through the sequined bikini top. His thumbs brush over your nipples through the fabric, and you arch into his touch with a moan.

"I've missed this," he murmurs against your lips. "Missed touching you. Missed the sounds you make."

His mouth moves down your neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses. He pauses at your collarbone, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, and the possessiveness of the gesture sends a fresh wave of arousal through you.

"Dean-" you start, but he cuts you off by sliding his hand under the waistband of your bikini bottoms.

His fingers find you wet and ready, and he groans. "Fuck, baby. Were you this wet when those other guys were touching you?"

"Maybe," you lie, just to see what he'll do.

His eyes flash dangerously, and then he's hooking his fingers into the dark red fabric and dragging it down your legs. He tosses the bottoms aside carelessly, leaving you exposed from the waist down except for your heels.

"Liar," he says, his voice low and rough. He settles back between your thighs, his broad shoulders forcing your legs wider. "You weren't wet for them. You were wet for me. Because you knew I was watching."

Before you can respond, his mouth is on you.

The first touch of his tongue makes your back arch off the bed with a sharp cry. He licks a long, slow stripe up your slit, groaning at the taste of you, and the vibration goes straight to your clit.

"Fuck, I've missed this the most," he mutters against your flesh. "Missed how you taste. Missed making you fall apart with my mouth."

He's always been good at this, better than anyone else you've ever been with, and he's using every bit of that knowledge now. His tongue circles your clit with maddening precision, then dips lower to slide into you. The sensation is overwhelming, and your hands fly to his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands.

"Dean- oh god-" You can barely form words as he works you over, alternating between broad strokes of his tongue and focused attention on your clit.

He pulls back just enough to speak, his breath hot against your wet flesh. "That's it. Say my name. Want everyone in this fucking house to know who's making you feel this good."

Then his mouth is back on you, and he's relentless. He sucks your clit between his lips, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves until you're trembling. One hand grips your thigh, holding you open for him, while the other slides up to tease your entrance.

"Please," you gasp, your hips rolling against his face. "Dean, please-"

He slides one finger inside you, and the stretch makes you moan. He works it in and out slowly, curling it to hit that spot inside you that makes your vision blur, all while his tongue continues its assault on your clit.

"So fucking tight," he groans against you. "Did you let anyone else touch you like this? Did you let anyone see how pretty you look when you're desperate?"

"No," you manage to say, your voice breaking. "No, just you-"

"That's right." He adds a second finger, stretching you further, and the satisfaction in his voice is palpable. "Just me. Only me."

He picks up the pace, his fingers pumping into you while his mouth works your clit with devastating precision. The pressure builds fast and hard, coiling tight in your belly, and you can feel yourself getting close.

"Dean, I'm- I'm gonna-"

And then he stops.

Your eyes fly open, and you look down at him in desperate fury. He's watching you with a smirk, his lips glistening with your arousal, his fingers still buried inside you but completely still.

"What the fuck-"

"Beg me," he says, his voice rough with desire and something darker. "I want to hear you beg."

"Fuck you."

"That's the plan." He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, his stubble scraping against the sensitive skin. "But first, I want to hear you beg. Want to hear you say 'Please, Dean. Please make me come.' Want to hear you admit that no one else can make you feel like this."

You try to hold out, try to maintain at least some shred of dignity. But you're so close, and you need this. Need him. Your body is screaming for release, and you can't think straight with his fingers still inside you, his breath hot against your cunt.

He presses a few more kisses to your inner thigh, trailing them up toward your core. Each one is soft, teasing, maddening. "Come on," he says softly, glancing up at you with that infuriating smirk. "Beg me, sweet girl."

He presses a soft kiss directly to your clit, and the gentle touch after all that intensity nearly breaks you.

"Please." The word tumbles out before you can even think to stop it, any restraint you had left completely gone. "Please, Dean. Please make me come. I need- fuck- I need you."

"That's my girl." The possessiveness in his voice should annoy you, but instead it sends a fresh wave of heat through your body. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear."

His mouth returns to your clit, and this time he doesn't stop. He works you relentlessly, his fingers pumping into you hard and fast, curling to hit that perfect spot with every thrust. His tongue flicks over your clit in rapid strokes, and the combination is overwhelming.

"Come for me," he commands against your flesh. "Come on my tongue. Show me how much you missed this."

The orgasm hits you like a freight train. Your back arches off the bed, your thighs clamping around his head as pleasure crashes through you in waves. You cry out his name, your hands fisting in his hair, your entire body shaking with the intensity of it.

He works you through it, his fingers and tongue gentling but not stopping until you're pushing at his head, oversensitive and trembling. When he finally pulls back, his chin is glistening with your arousal, and the sight of it makes your stomach clench with renewed desire.

"Fuck," you breathe, your chest heaving. "Dean-"

"I'm not done with you yet." He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes dark and hungry as he stands. "Not even close."

You watch through heavy-lidded eyes as he strips, pulling his shirt over his head to reveal the body you've missed more than you want to admit. His chest is broad and defined, his abs cut, and when he works his belt open and shoves his pants down, your mouth goes dry.

He's hard, his cock thick and flushed, and you remember exactly how it feels inside you. The stretch, the fullness, the way he hits every spot that makes you see stars.

"Turn over," he commands, and something in his tone, rough and authoritative, makes you obey without thinking.

You flip onto your stomach, and his hands are immediately on you. He reaches around you to untie your cape, tossing it to the floor, then unhooks your bikini top. The velvet fabric falls away, leaving you completely naked except for your heels and the smudged remains of your makeup.

"Fuck," he breathes, his hands running up the backs of your thighs, over the curve of your ass, up your spine. "You're so fucking perfect. Missed this body. Missed every inch of you."

His hands grip your hips, pulling them up so you're on your knees, face pressed into the mattress. The position leaves you completely exposed, vulnerable, and you feel a fresh rush of arousal at the thought of how you must look to him.

"This is how I've been picturing you," he says, his voice rough. "Every night since we broke up. On your knees for me, desperate and wet and mine."

You feel the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and then he's pushing inside in one hard, deep thrust.

The sensation punches the air from your lungs. He's big—bigger than you remembered—and the stretch burns in the best way. It's been weeks since you've had him, and your body needs a moment to adjust to the intrusion.

"Fuck," he groans, his fingers digging into your hips. "So tight. Forgot how fucking tight you are."

He doesn't give you time to adjust. He pulls out almost completely, then slams back in, setting a brutal pace that has you crying out into the mattress. Each thrust is deep and hard, the angle allowing him to hit spots that make your vision blur.

"This what you wanted?" he grits out, his hips snapping against your ass with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, obscene and intoxicating. "Wanted to drive me crazy until I couldn't take it anymore? Wanted me to see you dancing with all those assholes and lose my fucking mind?"

"Yes," you gasp, pushing back against him, meeting his thrusts. "Wanted you to- fuck- wanted you to see what you gave up."

He leans over you, one hand sliding up your spine to wrap around your throat. He pulls you back against his chest, changing the angle so he's hitting even deeper. His other hand splays across your stomach, holding you in place as he fucks into you.

"I know what I gave up," he growls in your ear, his breath hot against your neck. "And I'm never making that mistake again. You're mine. You've always been mine."

His hand slides down from your stomach to your clit, rubbing in tight, fast circles. The dual stimulation is overwhelming—his cock driving into you, his fingers on your clit, his hand around your throat, his voice in your ear.

"Did you think about me?" he asks, his voice rough. "When you were dancing with those guys, did you think about me watching? Did you get wet knowing I was losing my mind?"

"Yes," you admit, because there's no point in lying anymore. "Yes, I thought about you-"

"Good." His fingers move faster on your clit. "Because I was thinking about this. About getting you alone and reminding you exactly who you belong to."

You can feel another orgasm building, faster than you expected. Your walls are already fluttering around him, and he groans at the sensation.

"That's it," he encourages. "Feel how perfectly you take my cock? Like you were made for me. Like this pussy was made for me."

"Dean-" Your voice is high and desperate. "I'm close-"

"I know baby. I can feel it." He releases your throat, pushing you back down onto the mattress. Both his hands grip your hips now, and his pace becomes punishing. "But you're not coming yet. Not until I say so."

"Please—" You're begging again, but you don't care. "Please, Dean, I need—"

"You need what?" His hand comes down on your ass in a sharp slap, and the sting makes you cry out. "Tell me what you need."

"Need to come," you gasp. "Need you to make me come-"

"Say you're mine." His voice is commanding, desperate. "Tell me you're mine and I'll let you come."

You try to hold out, try to maintain some control, but you're so close and he feels so good and you can't think about anything except the need for release.

"Yours," you finally gasp out. "I'm yours, Dean, fuck- I'm yours."

"That's right." His hand slides around to your clit again, rubbing hard. "Mine. Always fucking mine."

The orgasm slams into you with devastating force. Your entire body convulses, your walls clenching around him so hard he curses. You scream into the mattress, your hands fisting in the sheets as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through you.

He fucks you through it, his rhythm faltering slightly. "Fuck, baby, you feel so good."

You're still trembling when he pulls out, and you whimper at the loss. But before you can protest, he's flipping you onto your back, hooking your legs over his shoulders, and driving back inside you in one smooth thrust.

The new angle has him hitting even deeper, and you cry out at the intensity. You're oversensitive from two orgasms, but the pleasure is still there, building again impossibly fast.

"Want to see your face," he says, his eyes locked on yours. "Want to watch you come apart for me again."

He leans down, folding you nearly in half, and the position has him grinding against your clit with every thrust. His face is inches from yours, his expression raw and desperate and possessive.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he says, his voice breaking. "Missed you so much."

Your hands come up to frame his face, and you pull him down into a kiss. It's messy and desperate, all tongue and teeth, and you can taste yourself on his lips.

"Dean-" You break the kiss to gasp for air. "I'm gonna-"

"Do it." His hips snap harder, faster. "Come on my cock. Show me how good I make you feel."

The third orgasm is almost painful in its intensity. Your body is so sensitive, so overwhelmed, that when it hits, you see stars. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your back arching off the bed, and you're pretty sure you scream his name loud enough for the entire party to hear.

The feeling of you coming around him is his undoing. His rhythm stutters, and then he's coming too with a guttural groan, his hips jerking as he spills inside you. You feel the warmth of it, the pulse of his cock, and it prolongs your own orgasm until you're both shaking and gasping.

He collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you with his full weight, and you wrap your arms around him. For a long moment, neither of you moves, both trying to catch your breath. Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat, and your entire body feels like jelly.

"Fuck," he finally breathes against your neck. "That was..."

"Yeah," you agree, because you don't have the words either.

He carefully pulls out, and you both wince at the sensitivity. He rolls onto his side, immediately pulling you against his chest, and you're too exhausted and satisfied to resist.

His arms wrap around you, one hand splaying across your lower back, the other coming up to cradle the back of your head. Your cheek presses against his chest, and you can hear his heart still racing, feel the rise and fall of his breathing gradually slowing. Your own body is trembling with aftershocks, muscles quivering, skin hypersensitive everywhere he touches you.

The room is quiet except for your combined breathing and the muffled thump of bass from the party downstairs. Sweat cools on your skin, making you shiver slightly, and Dean pulls you closer, his warmth enveloping you. Your legs are tangled with his, one of your thighs draped over his hip, and you can feel the stickiness between your legs—evidence of what you just did.

What you just let him do.

The thought brings a complicated rush of emotions. Satisfaction, yes. Your body is sated in a way it hasn't been since the breakup. But there's also confusion, vulnerability, and underneath it all, that persistent ache of hurt that great sex can't quite erase.

Dean's hand moves to your hair, fingers gently working through the tangled strands. You'd lost the feathered headpiece accessory somewhere during the night, probably on the dance floor, and your carefully styled waves are now a mess. He doesn't seem to care. His fingers are gentle, almost reverent, as he smooths your hair back from your face.

"You okay?" he asks softly, and there's genuine concern in his voice.

You nod against his chest, not quite ready to speak yet. Your throat feels raw—from screaming his name, probably—and your emotions are too jumbled to put into words.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, then another to your temple. His lips linger there, and you feel him breathe you in. "I've missed this," he murmurs. "Just... holding you. Being close to you."

Something in your chest tightens at the tenderness in his voice. This is the Dean you fell for—not the cocky hockey player or the jealous ex, but the one who could be soft when it was just the two of you. The one who made you feel safe and cherished.

The one who broke your heart.

"Dean," you start, but your voice cracks.

"I know." His hand moves from your hair to your face, tilting your chin up so he can look at you. His thumb brushes over your cheekbone, wiping away a smudge of makeup. "We need to talk about this. About us."

You meet his eyes, and the vulnerability you see there makes your breath catch. He looks almost scared, like he's terrified you're going to pull away now that the heat of the moment has passed.

Maybe you should. Maybe the smart thing would be to get dressed, walk out, and pretend this never happened.

But you don't move.

"Why did you do it?" The question comes out quieter than you intended. "Why did you break up with me if you... if you felt like this?"

Dean's jaw tightens, and for a moment you think he's going to deflect. But then he sighs, his hand moving to cup the back of your neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin there.

"I was scared," he admits, and the honesty in his voice surprises you. "You made me feel things I'd never felt before. Things I didn't know how to handle."

"So you ran away." There's no accusation in your tone, just statement of a fact.

"Yeah." He looks away, shame flickering across his features. "I told myself it was about hockey, about needing to focus on the season. And that was part of it—Coach had been on my ass about my performance, and I was stressed about scouts and the draft and all that shit. But the real reason..." He pauses, his throat working as he swallows. "The real reason was that I was falling in love with you, and it fucking terrified me."

Your heart stutters in your chest. He's never said those words before—not even when you were together. You'd felt it, sensed it in the way he looked at you, touched you, but he'd never actually said it. He'd said he loved things about you, but never that he was in love with you.

"I'd never been in love before," he continues, his eyes finding yours again. "Never wanted a future with someone, never thought about what comes after college, after hockey. But with you, I started thinking about all of it. And instead of talking to you about it, instead of being a fucking adult, I panicked and pushed you away."

You're quiet for a long moment, processing his words. Part of you wants to be angry—and you are, still, that anger simmering beneath the surface.

But another part of you understands.

"You really hurt me," you finally say, and your voice breaks on the last word. "I thought what we had meant nothing to you. That dating me was a mistake."

"No." His grip on you tightens, almost desperate. "Fuck, no. You were everything. You are everything. That's why I got so scared."

A tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it, and Dean catches it with his thumb. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek where the tear had been, then another to your jaw, your temple, your forehead. Each kiss is gentle, apologetic, full of unspoken emotion.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers against your skin. "I'm so fucking sorry for hurting you. For making you feel like you weren't enough when the truth is I didn't think I was enough for you."

You pull back slightly to look at him, surprised. "What?"

"You're incredible," he says simply. "You're smart and funny and beautiful and you have your shit together in a way I don't. You know what you want, where you're going. And I'm just... I'm a hockey player who's good at hitting pucks with sticks. I didn't know how to be what you needed."

"I never asked you to be anything other than yourself," you say softly. "I just wanted you to be honest with me. To let me in instead of shutting me out."

"I know." He closes his eyes briefly, and when he opens them again, they're bright with unshed tears. "I know, and I fucked it up. But I'm asking you—begging you—to give me another chance. Let me prove that I can do better. That I can be better."

You want to say yes immediately. Your body is still humming with satisfaction, your heart aching with how much you've missed him. But you force yourself to think, to really consider what you're doing.

"What's different now?" you ask. "What's changed since you broke up with me?"

"I have." He shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look down at you properly. His other hand continues to trace patterns on your skin—your shoulder, your arm, your hip. "I've been miserable without you. I tried to tell myself I made the right choice, that I needed to focus on hockey, but it didn't work. I couldn't focus. Couldn't sleep. Couldn't stop thinking about you."

His hand moves to your face again, cupping your cheek. "I talked to my dad about it. About you. About how I felt. And he told me I was being an idiot, that if I found someone who made me happy, I should hold onto them. Not push them away because I was scared."

"Your dad said that?" You're surprised. Dean rarely talks about his father, and you'd only met him once.

"Yeah. He also told me that being in love doesn't make you weak—it makes you stronger. Gives you something to fight for." Dean's thumb strokes over your cheekbone. "And he was right. These past few weeks, trying to work up the courage to talk to you, to apologize... I've never been more terrified in my life. But I knew I had to try. Because losing you for good would be worse than any rejection."

You feel more tears threatening, and you blink them back. "You really hurt me, Dean. It's not just going to go away because we had sex."

"I know." He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. "I know it's going to take time. I know I have to earn your trust back. But I'm willing to do whatever it takes."

"Whatever it takes?" You repeat with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah," He says softly, a small smile growing on his lips. "I love you so fucking much and the way I handled things... that's not who I want to be."

You study his face, looking for any sign of insincerity, but all you see is earnest vulnerability. This is a side of Dean you've rarely seen—open, honest, willing to admit his flaws.

"I'm scared," you admit quietly. "I'm scared of letting you back in and having you hurt me again."

"I'm scared too," he says. "Scared of fucking this up again. But I'd rather be scared with you than safe without you."

Your hand comes up to rest on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palm. It's still elevated, matching your own. "If we do this... if I give you another chance then things have to be different. You have to actually talk to me when you're scared or stressed or feeling overwhelmed. You can't just shut me out."

"I won't," he promises. "I'll talk to you. Even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard."

"And the jealousy thing..." You raise an eyebrow. "Tonight was hot, but you can't go around threatening every guy who looks at me."

"I know. I'll work on it. But in my defense, you were basically putting on a show for me."

"Maybe I was," you admit, and his eyes darken slightly. "But that doesn't give you the right to act like a caveman."

"I know." He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "I'll try to control it. But I'm not going to apologize for wanting you all to myself."

"Possessive," you murmur against his mouth.

"Only when it comes to you." He kisses you again, deeper this time, and you feel heat starting to build again despite your exhaustion.

When you break apart, you're both breathing harder. Dean's hand has drifted down to your hip, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist.

"So what does this mean?" he asks quietly. "Are we... are we trying again?"

You take a deep breath, considering. Every logical part of your brain is screaming at you to be careful, to protect yourself. But your heart—your stupid, hopeful heart—wants to give him this chance.

"We're trying," you finally say. "But Dean, I mean it when I say you have to actually put in the work. This isn't just going to magically fix itself because you confessed your love for me after we had amazing sex."

"I know." He pulls you closer, his relief palpable. "I'll put in the work. Whatever you need."

"I need honesty," you say firmly. "Complete honesty. If you're feeling scared or overwhelmed or like you need space, you tell me. You don't just disappear."

"I promise."

"And I need consistency. I need to know that you're in this, that you're not going to wake up one day and decide it's too much again."

"I'm in this." His hand moves to tangle in your hair. "I'm all in. I love you."

The words hang in the air between you, and your breath catches. He said it earlier, implied it, but hearing him say it directly makes it real.

"I love you," he repeats, his eyes locked on yours. "I should have said it before. Should have said it every day we were together. But I'm saying it now, and I'll keep saying it until you believe me."

Tears are streaming down your face now, and you don't bother to wipe them away. "I love you too," you whisper. "I never stopped. Even when I hated you, I still loved you."

He kisses you then, deep and slow and full of promise. It's different from the desperate, hungry kisses earlier—this one is tender, reverent, like he's trying to pour all his feelings into it.

You lie there for a while longer, just holding each other, trading soft kisses and gentle touches. Dean's hands roam your body, but it's not sexual—it's exploratory, like he's relearning the map of your skin. You do the same, tracing the lines of his muscles, the scars from various hockey injuries.

"I really did miss this," he murmurs, his lips brushing your shoulder. "Just being close to you. Touching you."

"I missed it too," you admit. "More than I wanted to."

His hand slides down your side, over the curve of your hip, and you feel heat starting to build again. Despite everything you've just been through, your body responds to his touch, craving more.

"Dean," you breathe as his hand moves between your legs, fingers teasing.

"Hmm?" He's kissing your neck now, teeth grazing your pulse point.

"We should probably get back to the party. People are going to notice we're gone."

"Let them notice." His fingers slide through your wetness—a mixture of your arousal and his cum—and you gasp. "I'm not done with you yet."

"We just-" Your protest dies as he circles your clit, and your hips buck involuntarily.

"I know." He rolls you onto your back, settling between your legs. "But I want you again. Want to take my time with you this time. Make love to you properly."

The phrase "make love" should sound cheesy, but coming from Dean, it makes your heart flutter. This is what you'd wanted all along—not just the passion and heat, but the tenderness and intimacy.

"Okay," you whisper, pulling him down for a kiss.

This time is different. Slower, gentler, more intimate. He takes his time exploring your body, kissing every inch of skin he can reach, murmuring words of love and apology against your flesh. When he finally slides inside you, it's slow and deep, and you both gasp at the sensation.

He makes love to you with a tenderness that brings tears to your eyes, his movements slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours. Every thrust is accompanied by whispered words—"I love you," "I'm sorry," "You're so beautiful," "I'll never let you go again."

When you come this time, it's softer, deeper, more emotional. You cling to him, tears streaming down your face, and he holds you through it, kissing away your tears and telling you he loves you over and over.

He follows soon after, his release almost gentle compared to the intensity earlier. He buries his face in your neck, breathing your name like a prayer, and you hold him close, your fingers tangling in his hair.

Afterward, you lie tangled together, exhausted and sated and emotionally wrung out. Dean pulls the blanket over both of you, tucking you against his side, and you rest your head on his chest.

You're both still catching your breath when you hear it—footsteps in the hallway outside the bedroom door. Heavy, purposeful footsteps that make your entire body go rigid.

"Oh my god," you whisper, your eyes going wide.

Dean's head snaps up, and you watch as reality crashes over his face. "Fuck. This is Beau's room."

The footsteps pass by, heading toward the bathroom, and you both exhale shakily. But the moment of panic has shattered the peaceful afterglow completely.

"We need to leave," Dean says urgently, already moving. "Like, right now. If Beau comes up to his room-"

"Yeah, okay, yes." You're already scrambling out of bed, your heart hammering in your chest. The tender intimacy of moments ago has been replaced by adrenaline-fueled urgency.

Dean grabs his clothes, pulling on his pants with quick, efficient movements. You snatch the pieces of your costume from the floor, but frown as you hold it up. You were in no state to sneak out of a part in a bikini after what you and Dean had just done.

"Here," Dean says, he tosses you his gray hoodie from the back of the chair. "Just put this on over it. It's mine."

You slip on your costume and pull the hoodie on to cover yourself—it falls almost to your knees and smells like him.

Dean finishes buttoning up his shirt and doesn't bother with the horns or other accessories. There's no time.

"What about... his bed?" You bite your lip, glancing back at the messy sheets.

"Uh..." Dean hurriedly starts to straighten out the sheets in an attempt to make the bed look somewhat put together. "Mm good enough."

"You sure?" You ask, stuffing your cape into the pocket of Dean's hoodie as you survey the room, looking for any more evidence that the two of you were here.

He nods and takes your hand, squeezing it gently before moving to the door. He cracks it open slowly, listening. The hallway is quiet now, but you can still hear the muffled sounds of the party downstairs—music, laughter, voices.

"Okay," he whispers. "We go slow. Quiet. If anyone sees us, we just act like we were looking for the bathroom or something."

You take a deep breath and nod. Dean opens the door wider and peers out. The hallway is empty, but you can hear voices coming from one of the other rooms. Your pulse is racing as he pulls you out into the corridor.

The walk to the stairs feels like it takes forever. Every creak of the floorboard makes you both freeze. Halfway down the hallway, you hear a door open behind you, and Dean immediately pulls you against the wall, pressing you into the shadows. His arm comes around your waist, holding you close, and you bury your face in his chest, barely breathing.

Someone emerges from the bathroom—a guy in a zombie costume—and walks in the opposite direction without even glancing your way. You wait until he's disappeared into another room before Dean carefully pulls you forward again.

The stairs loom ahead, and you're almost there when Dean suddenly stops. He turns to you, his eyes scanning your face and neck. His expression shifts to concern.

"You have some uh... marks," he says quietly, reaching up to touch a dark hickey on your collarbone.

You reach up to feel your neck, and your stomach drops. "Oh god. How bad?"

"Bad enough that people will notice." He's already thinking, his eyes darting around. "Here," Dean says, and he reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. He opens the camera app and hands it to you. "Check yourself. See what we're working with."

You look at your reflection and wince. Your makeup is smudged, your hair is a mess, and there are dark marks scattered across your neck and shoulders. You look exactly like someone who just had intense sex. You huff and tug the hood over your head, pulling the strings a bit to tighten it and cover your neck.

"Alright," He pulls you toward the stairs. "Keep your head down. Don't make eye contact with anyone. We move fast, but not so fast that we draw attention."

You descend the stairs together, your hand gripping his tightly. The party is in full swing below—people dancing, drinking, laughing. No one seems to notice you slipping down the staircase.

The living room is crowded, bodies pressed together on the dance floor. You and Dean navigate through the throng carefully, keeping to the edges of the room. Someone bumps into you, and you tense, but they don't even look at you.

The kitchen is your next obstacle. There are a few people in there—a couple making out against the counter, someone raiding the fridge—but they're too absorbed in their own activities to pay attention to you.

Dean leads you toward the back door, moving with purpose but not urgency. You're almost there when you hear a familiar voice call out.

"Dean? Dude, where have you been?"

Your heart stops. You both freeze.

Dean turns slowly, his arm still around your waist, pulling you slightly behind him. It's one of the hockey players holding a beer and looking curious.

"Just needed some air, man," Dean says smoothly, his voice casual despite the tension radiating from his body. "Party's getting crazy."

"Tell me about it," Dean's teammate laughs, completely oblivious. "Hey, you seen Beau? I've been looking for him."

"Nah, not recently," Dean says, and you can hear the strain in his voice now. "But I'm sure he's around somewhere."

"Yeah, probably." He takes a sip of his beer. "Anyway, catch you later."

He turns away, and Dean immediately pulls you toward the back door. You're through it in seconds, stepping out into the cool night air.

You don't stop moving until you're around the side of the house, out of sight of the windows. Only then does Dean pull you to a stop, and you both lean against the exterior wall, breathing hard.

"Oh my god," you whisper. "That was close."

"Too close," Dean agrees, his chest heaving. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you say, and then you start to laugh—the kind of laugh that comes from adrenaline and relief and the sheer absurdity of the situation. "We just snuck out of a frat house like we're criminals. We're ridiculous."

"Completely ridiculous," he agrees. He pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder. "But worth it."

You lean back against him, looking up at the night sky. The party continues inside, oblivious to the fact that you and Dean just pulled off the most intense, emotional, and logistically complicated reunion of your lives.

"Come on," Dean says softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Let's get out of here before Beau realizes we used his room for make-up sex."

He takes your hand and leads you toward his car, and as you walk together through the darkness, you can't help but smile. Whatever happens next, whatever complications lie ahead, at least you know one thing for certain:

Making up with Dean Di Laurentis is definitely worth the risk.

You leaned your shoulder against the doorframe and looked him over. The set of his jaw. The way one hand was shoved into his pocket while the other dragged over the back of his neck. The forced ease in his voice, laid on too smoothly to be real.

“Rough night?”

Something flickered across his face.

For half a second, he looked like he might deny it. You could practically see him reaching for a joke, something charming and careless enough to make you roll your eyes and let him in without asking anything else. Then his shoulders dropped, barely, like even pretending was too much work.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Something like that.”

You stepped back.

Logan came in without another word, brushing past you with the familiar clean scent of soap, cold air, and whatever detergent clung to his sweatshirt. He didn’t flop dramatically onto your bed like usual. He didn’t steal a sip from the water bottle on your desk or make a comment about how you always had the good snacks hidden somewhere. He just stood in the middle of your room for a second, looking too big and too restless for the space.

You closed the door behind him.

“Shoes off,” you said gently.

His mouth twitched. “Bossy.”

“Always.”

This time, the almost-smile reached him a little more. He kicked off his sneakers and left them near the door, then looked at your bed like he wanted to crawl into it and disappear.

You didn’t make him ask.

You climbed in first, pulling the blanket back, then held the corner up for him. Logan stared at you for a second, and there was something painfully soft in his expression before he moved. He slid into bed beside you, careful at first, like he didn’t want to take up too much room, which was ridiculous because John Logan had never known how to be small a day in his life.

You fixed that for him.

You reached for his wrist and tugged until he came closer, until his body settled beside yours and the mattress dipped under his weight. He let out a breath when you tucked yourself into him, your leg sliding between his, your knee pressing against his thigh. His arm came around your waist almost immediately, heavy and warm, pulling you in until there was no polite space left between you.

His chest pressed to yours. Your hand found the back of his neck, fingers slipping into the damp hair there. His forehead hovered near your temple before he finally let it rest against you.

For a while, neither of you said anything.

You just let him breathe.

His body was tense at first, muscles drawn tight like he was still bracing for a hit that had already happened. One of his hands spread across your lower back, then shifted, then stilled, like he couldn’t decide whether he needed to hold on or let go. You traced slow lines along the back of his neck with your fingertips, not trying to fix him, not trying to pry anything open. Just reminding him that he was there. That you were there. That the room was quiet and nothing was being asked of him.

After a few minutes, his grip changed.

It softened.

His thumb slipped beneath the hem of your shirt and brushed once over your skin, absent and careful. His face turned slightly into your hair, and the next breath he took sounded less like something he was forcing.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” you murmured. “But you can. Only if you want to.”

Logan was quiet long enough that you thought maybe he wouldn’t.

Then he said, “Practice was brutal.”

You kept your hand in his hair. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His voice was low, rough around the edges. “Couldn’t get my feet under me. Couldn’t finish anything. Coach was on me the whole time, which, whatever, that’s his job, but…” He stopped, exhaling hard through his nose. “I don’t know. Everything felt off. Like the second I messed up once, I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and then I kept messing up because I was thinking about it.”

You nodded against him. “That happens.”

“I hate when it happens.”

“I know.”

His fingers flexed on your back.

“I’m supposed to be better than that,” he said. “I know it was just practice, but it didn’t feel like just practice. It felt like everyone could see it. Like every bad pass, every missed shot, every stupid mistake was lit up in neon.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him.

Logan didn’t meet your eyes at first. He looked past you, toward the wall, jaw working as if he regretted saying so much. In the low light of your room, he looked younger somehow. Not less handsome, because that would be impossible, but less untouchable. Less like the boy who smiled at everyone and got smiled at in return.

More like someone who was tired of being watched and still feeling unseen.

You slid your hand from his hair to his cheek, guiding his gaze back to yours.

“John.”

His eyes found you.

“You work hard,” you said. “Every day. Even when you’re tired. Even when you’re frustrated. Even when nobody’s clapping for it or making a big deal out of it, you’re still showing up and trying to be better.”

His throat moved.

You stroked your thumb over his cheek. “One rough practice doesn’t erase that.”

He stared at you like he didn’t know what to do with tenderness when it was handed to him so plainly.

“And for the record,” you added, softer now, “your effort doesn’t go unnoticed. Not by me.”

The room went very still.

Logan’s eyes dropped to your mouth, then came back up again like he was trying to be good, like he was trying not to use kissing you as an escape route. But this time, it didn’t feel like running. It felt like he had been standing outside in the cold all night and you had just opened the door.

“Say that again,” he whispered.

Your heart squeezed.

“Your effort doesn’t go unnoticed,” you repeated.

His hand slid up your back, slow and firm, gathering the fabric of your shirt beneath his fingers.

“Not that part.”

You knew what he meant.

You smiled faintly. “Not by me.”

Something in him gave.

Logan kissed you carefully at first, which somehow made it worse. Made it sweeter. His mouth brushed yours once, then again, warm and searching, like he was asking whether he was allowed to need this. You answered by pulling him closer, your fingers curling at the back of his neck, and the quiet little sound he made against your lips went straight through you.

The kiss deepened slowly.

His arm tightened around your waist as your mouths opened together, the tip of his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your stomach dip. It wasn’t rushed, not yet. It was warm and aching and almost too intimate, the kind of kiss that made it impossible to pretend this was casual. His hand moved from your back to your hip, then down to your thigh, pulling your leg higher over him until your bodies tangled more completely beneath the blanket.

You felt him everywhere.

The hard line of his chest against yours. His knee between your legs. His fingers pressing into your thigh like he needed proof that you were real and still there. Your own hands moved over his shoulders, then down his chest, feeling the strength beneath his sweatshirt, the tension that still hadn’t fully left him.

You kissed him until his breathing changed.

Until his lips grew hungrier against yours.

Until the softness became heat.

Logan rolled carefully, taking you with him, shifting until you were half beneath him and half wrapped around him, your back sinking into the mattress while one of his hands braced near your head. He broke the kiss only long enough to look at you, his eyes dark and open in a way that made your chest ache.

“You make it quiet,” he said.

Your fingers paused on his jaw. “What?”

He swallowed, then leaned down until his forehead touched yours.

“In my head,” he murmured. “You make it quiet.”

You didn’t have anything clever to say to that. You didn’t want to. So you kissed him again, slower this time, pouring every answer you had into the press of your mouth against his.

Logan made a low sound and gave in.

His body settled more heavily over yours, not crushing, just present, warm and solid and needy in a way he didn’t bother hiding anymore. His mouth moved from yours to your cheek, then to your jaw, then lower, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses along the side of your neck. Your head tipped back before you could stop it, giving him room, and you felt the curve of his smile against your skin.

“There you are,” he murmured, but it wasn’t teasing.

It was reverent.

Your hands slipped beneath his sweatshirt, palms flattening over the warm skin of his back. He shivered at the touch, then kissed your neck again, slower, like he was learning where you were most sensitive and committing it to memory. His hand moved over your waist, your ribs, your hip, not careless, not greedy, but full of want. Like he was touching you because he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to.

You tugged lightly at his sweatshirt.

Logan lifted enough to let you pull it up, but before it could go anywhere, he stopped. His eyes searched yours.

“Is this okay?”

The question came out quiet. Serious.

It melted you.

You nodded, brushing your nose against his. “Yes.”

His gaze dropped to your mouth again. “Tell me if it’s not.”

“I will.”

Only then did he let you pull the sweatshirt over his head.

It landed somewhere near the foot of the bed, forgotten the second his mouth found yours again. Skin met skin beneath your hands, his body warm from the shower and the blankets and the way he kept pressing closer like he couldn’t get enough. The kiss turned messy, full of tongue and breath and fingers gripping tighter than before. He caught your lower lip between his, then soothed it with another kiss, and you felt him smile when your nails dragged lightly down his back.

“Careful,” he murmured.

“You don’t like it?”

His answer was another kiss, deeper than the last.

You laughed softly against his mouth, but the sound faded when his hand slipped under your shirt, his palm spreading over your waist. His touch was slow, giving you every chance to pull away, but you only arched closer, letting your body answer for you. Logan’s breath hitched. His forehead dropped to your shoulder for half a second, like he needed to collect himself.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said.

You turned your face toward his, lips brushing his ear. “Then show me.”

Logan didn’t need to be told twice. He let out a shaky breath, his lips leaving your ear to find yours again in a kiss that was deeper and hungrier, yet still laced with a desperate tenderness. His tongue swept against yours, tasting of longing and a sharp need to be as close to you as physically possible. Your hands slid up from his shoulders, fingers tangling deep into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down and anchoring him to you.

He groaned into your mouth, a low vibration that you felt in your own chest. His hand, which had been resting on your waist, slid further up under your shirt, his palm hot against your skin. He didn't rush. He traced the curve of your ribs, his thumb brushing the underside of your breast through your bra, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core.

You shifted beneath him, your legs tangling with his, your thighs brushing against the soft fabric of his gray sweatpants. You could feel the hard length of his cock pressing against your hip. You arched your back, pressing your chest against his bare skin, needing to feel the beat of his heart against yours.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your lips, his voice thick and strained. He pulled back just an inch, his eyes searching yours. Finding no hesitation, he leaned down to kiss the sensitive dip of your collarbone, his breath hot and ragged.

“I’ve got you, Logan,” you murmured, your voice a soft reassurance. You ran your hands down his back, feeling the ripple of muscle as the tension finally started to bleed out of him. “I want you. All of you.”

That was the breaking point. Logan let out a choked sound, his movements becoming more urgent but remaining gentle. He pulled back just enough to lift your shirt over your head, tossing it aside. He lingered for a moment, just staring at you with a look of pure reverence.

His hands moved to the clasp of your bra, clicking it open with focused precision. As the fabric fell away, he leaned down, his mouth finding your nipple and sucking it softly. You gasped, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him closer.

“Please,” he breathed against your skin, his voice a needy plea.

You reached down, your fingers hooking into the waistband of his gray sweatpants. You slid them down his legs, kicking them away until he was completely bare, his cock springing free, hard and pulsing. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him flush against you, the friction of skin on skin making you both shiver.

Logan braced himself on his elbow, looking down at you, his expression open and vulnerable. He guided himself to your entrance, pausing for a heartbeat, his eyes locked onto yours.

“Is this okay?” he whispered.

“Yes,” you breathed, tilting your pelvis up to meet him. “Please, Logan.”

He pushed inside slowly, a long, steady slide that filled you completely. Logan closed his eyes, his forehead dropping against yours, a long, shuddering exhale escaping him. He stayed still for a moment, just breathing with you and letting the feeling of the union sink in.

He began to move, slow and rhythmic. He kissed you deeply, his tongue dancing with yours, while his hands cupped your face, holding you gently. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down so there was no space left between you.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice breathless as you pulled him closer. “Right there. Don't stop.”

Logan let out a low, needy moan, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He picked up the pace, his movements becoming more fluid and more desperate as the tension built. You met every thrust, your nails digging lightly into his back, urging him on. The heat between you climbed, a slow burn that finally ignited into a blinding flash of pleasure.

Logan stiffened, his muscles locking as he came inside you, a deep, guttural groan echoing in the quiet room. You followed him seconds later, your body pulsing around him in waves of release that left you both breathless and shaking.

As the world slowly came back into focus, Logan didn’t pull away. He collapsed softly on top of you, careful not to crush you, his heart hammering against your ribs. He stayed there for a long time, his face hidden in your neck, his breathing slowly evening out.

Eventually, he shifted, rolling to the side but keeping you tucked firmly against his chest. You both slid under the blankets, the cool air of the room contrasting with the radiating warmth of your bodies. You stayed tangled together, limbs entwined, the silence of the room now peaceful.

Logan let out a quiet breath, the kind that sounded like he had finally stopped holding himself together. His arm stayed wrapped around you beneath the blankets, his thumb moving slowly against your side while his lips brushed your temple once, then lingered there.

“I love you,” he murmured.

It came out so softly you almost thought you had imagined it. Not planned. Not dressed up with confidence or charm. Just honest, slipping out of him in the quiet because there was nowhere else for it to go.

You lifted your head from his chest, and Logan looked down at you like he was waiting for the words to scare you away.

They didn’t.

Your hand came up to his jaw, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “I love you too, Logan.”

His eyes softened all at once. The last bit of tension left his face, and he pulled you in closer, tucking you back against him like he could finally rest now that you knew.

He'd been halfway through a game of NHL in the living room, Tucker yelling at him for taking dumb penalties while Garrett sat upside down on the opposite couch pretending he wasn't waiting for Hannah to text him back.

Logan had disappeared over an hour ago.

Dean hadn't asked where he'd gone.

He didn't need to.

He already knew.

Because, in watching you for so long, Dean came to learn how absolutely blind his teammate and roommate was, in fact.

Logan wasn't subtle when it came to Hannah Wells.

Because while everyone else noticed that Garrett and Hannah were a power couple. 

You noticed the way Logan’s eyes lingered on the girl for much longer than was probably appropriate if he got caught.

He always found his way back to her somehow.

Dean hated it.

Not because Logan liked someone unavailable.

But because Dean could see just how your eyes spoke for your heart. When you forced smule on your lips, forcing all of it down. 

Dean could still see just how much you were hiding. 

Tucker groaned from next to Dean “are you even listening?" The boy asked, snapping his fingers in front of the older boy.

Dean blinked as he licked his lips “what?" He cocked his head as he frowned.

The blonde stared at the tv “the game's over." He'd been staring at the pause screen for almost three minutes.

Dean felt his cheeks grow warm “Right." His phone buzzed.

He checked it, silently praying that it was you.

It wasn’t.

Because he hadn't heard from you in almost four days.

Not because anything had happened.

Just because he'd decided he needed space.

He'd realised, somewhere between studying together in the library and walking you home after movie nights, that he'd started looking for you in every room.

Waiting for your laugh.

Making excuses to sit beside you.

Saving you the last slice of pizza without thinking.

That wasn't friendship anymore.

It was something that didn’t deserve a name, not when the heart Dean wanted was in the hands of someone else.

So he'd backed away.

He figured distance would fix it.

It hadn't.

You felt sick.

Not heartbroken.

Not exactly.

Just embarrassed.

Like if the ground could swallow you up, you were willing to let it happen.

The cold October air bit at your cheeks as you hurried across campus, arms wrapped around yourself.

You replayed the last twenty minutes over and over.

Logan had shown up outside your dorm.

Asked if you wanted to walk.

You'd thought it was strange.

But nice.

He'd been quieter than usual.

You'd talked about classes.

About hockey.

About nothing.

Until he'd stopped underneath one of the campus lights.

He looked at you for a long second.

Then kissed you.

It wasn't dramatic.

It wasn't passionate.

Just confusing.

You'd kissed him back for exactly two seconds before pulling away, “what was that?" You let your fingers linger over your lips. 

Logan had rubbed the back of his neck "I thought maybe,” he looked defeated as he spoke. 

He'd sighed.

"I don't know."

You waited "I thought if I kissed someone else, maybe I'd stop thinking about Hannah." He looked frustrated as he spoke.

Everything inside you had gone still.

He realised what he'd said almost immediately, "No that's not,” he shook his head as he reached out for you. 

But you stepped back as you shook your head “you used me?" Hurt clouded your eyes, making it clear just how personally you took it.

"No."

You glared at him as your lips snarled, "Logan." You raised your hand to stop him from moving.

"I wasn't trying to.”

Part of you wanted to laugh as he acted like his words washed away the crimes of his actions, “you literally just told me you wanted to see if kissing me would help you get over someone else.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, hoping that you were dreaming. 

But no, you were wide awake.

And this was real life.

Silence.

Because there wasn't really another way to phrase it.

You swallowed.

"Did it work?"

He closed his eyes “no." That somehow hurt even worse.

You laughed.

Not because anything was funny.

Your nails dug so hard into your palms that you were worried you might end up causing your skin to break. 

But you stuck through it.

Because crying in front of him would've been unbearable, “good to know." You'd walked away before he could apologise. 

You made it halfway across campus before the tears finally came.

You hated crying.

Especially over boys.

Especially over one who hadn't even wanted you.

Your vision blurred enough that you didn't notice the familiar face up ahead of you.

Until you heard it, “wait up!” You looked up.

Beau ran up the pathway towards you “what happened?” He asked as he placed his hands on his hips. 

He stopped right in front of you as you tried smiling.

It failed instantly "I'm fine." You brought your hands up to wipe your face. 

Beau frowned “you've been crying." Beau muttered softly.

His hand squeezed your shoulder “what happened?" He pulled you into his arms.

Because something about the concern in his face made the wall you'd been holding together completely collapse.

"It was Logan."

Once Beau got you to stop crying, he offered to hear you out at a diner, as his treat.

Dean's stomach dropped when he got the text from Beau. 

Beau: your little lover girl got her heart broken

Beau: taking her for a drink 

Beau: will catch you up on all of it when I’ve dropped her off again

He took you further away from campus than you would have assumed.

Somewhere quiet.

Somewhere, nobody from Briar would bother you.

You barely touched your fries.

Beau waited at first.

But he knew that he needed to ask those questions, mainly because Dean would have killed him if he didn’t, “what did he do?" You stared down at your milkshake.

Your fingers touched your lips “he kissed me." Beau blinked as he cocked his head.

His heart hurt for his best friend, who he knew cared for you so deeply “so,” Beau trailed off.

He knew he needed to act happy for you if it was what you wanted "that's good?" He tapped his fingers against the table in front of him.  

You laughed.

It sounded broken “no." Beau really looked at you in that moment. 

Your eyes were swollen.

Mascara smudged beneath them.

You looked humiliated “why isn't it good?" You took a shaky breath.

Your fingers fiddled with a napkin in front of you “because he didn't kiss me because he likes me." Tears flood your eyes as you chewed at the inside of your cheek.

Beau felt his jaw tense “he kissed me because he wanted to stop thinking about Hannah." Beau slowly lowered the fry he'd been holding.

Silence.

Complete silence “he what?" His jaw dropped as he tried to quickly mask his surprise. 

You softly laughed as you looked up at the ceiling “he thought maybe kissing someone else would get Hannah out of his head." You shrugged as you just about wanted to bang your head against the counter. 

You smiled bitterly, “it didn't." You let out a huff as you frowned.

The boy did everything in his power not to gasp “he told you that?" Beau would have hoped that Logan had a touch more decorum than that. 

You shook your head “I asked if that's why." You explained to him with a shrug

"And?"

"He said yes."

You looked at him with watery eyes.

"I just..."

Your voice cracked.

"I feel so stupid."

"You aren't."

"I kissed him back."

"So?"

"I should've known."

"You liked him?"

A soft laugh escaped your lips “unfortunately, clearly.” You cursed yourself for being in this position 

Your fingers ran along the cold glass of your drink ”and I just thought." You looked away as you cleared your throat.

You licked your lips as you sniffled “I thought maybe he did." And that was what really broke Beau’s heart.

The drive back to campus was silent.

You sat staring out the passenger window as you tapped your thumbs on your thighs "thanks for that." You smiled as you stopped at the front of your dorm building.

Beau shook his head as he put the car into park "you really don’t have to thank me." You managed a tiny smile.

The boy had always had a soft spot for you "I know." You hugged him before you slipped out of his car.

Fifteen minutes after Beau left yours, he arrived at the hockey house. 

Dean had been pacing on the sidewalk when Beau arrived.

The blonde climbed into the passenger seat and listened to everything that Beau had learnt. 

Dean looked beyond pissed through most of it, but still he found a moment to breathe before he finally spoke "I'm gonna hit him." He announced, certain that he would make good on that promise.

Beau let out a soft low snort "no, you're not." He rolled his eyes as he swallowed a laugh. 

Dean shook his head "I'm serious." The look Dean gave Beau made him see that the blonde was being serious.

"I know."

The hockey player looked at his phone, checking if you had texted him again "I've never wanted to punch Logan before." Sure Dean had shoved him during drills, but he had never wanted to bear fist punch the boy.

"You'd regret it."

Dean sucked at his teeth "I don't think I would." He weighed up the potential consequences that he’d face on the team if he did it. 

And they really didn’t seem as damming as getting the chance to put Logan in his place "you would." Dean exhaled sharply as he pressed his head into the back of his chair.

"how did she look?" The question was probably weird but Dean just wanted to know how your words deceived your eyes. 

Because your true tell was the way your eyes spoke "embarrassed." That was exactly what he didn’t want to hear.

Dean frowned as he felt his heart break "I hate that." He wished that he was able to be with you when Beau found you. 

Because then, he could have gotten the chance to hug you "I know." Another minute passed while complete silence consumed the car.

Then Beau sighed "you gonna tell her?" He wriggled his eyebrows as he shook his shoulders.

Dean laughed without humor "tell her what?" He rubbed his hand along his jaw.

Beau rolled his eyes "that you're completely gone for her." Dean looked out the windshield.

"No."

The football player leaned forward "Dean." It was something he should have just accepted.

"No."

Beau let his lips pool into a frown "you've liked her for over a while now." The feelings that Dean held towards you were something he couldn’t quite comprehend. 

Because it was a new type of love that he got to feel. 

"I know."

Dean had to remind himself to breathe so that he didn’t explode "she got used by one of my best friends today." His hands formed fists “she was his damn experiment."

His mind also lingered on the fact that you told Beau you probably needed to be off of men for the next few months "the last thing she needs is another hockey player telling her he likes her." Dean shook his head. 

Beau sighed "you wouldn't be using her." He knew that Dean would treat you better than any guy could even try to.

The hockey player sucked at his teeth "but what if she thought I was." Dean knew that he also had a reputation that wasn’t exactly putting him in the running for being boyfriend material. 

Beau stayed quiet, seeing that the boy next to him had been thinking about this for a while now "if I tell her now," Dean continued.

Because yes he liked you, but he didn’t want to be a rebound or the guy that pitied you "I'm just the next guy waiting in line." It stung to point out as Dean practically winced.

Because he hated how true it sounded "I won't do that to her." He shook his head as he wanted so much more for you. 

He remembered how he you drunkenly said one night that you wanted a guy who spun you off your feet "so you'll just keep pretending?" It was a reality that he hated even picturing.

Dean swallowed hard "I've been pretending for weeks." It had been closer to months but the hockey player didn’t want to admit it.

The boy in the drivers seat frowned "you think that's working?" Beau watched as Dean shook his head. 

"Then why?"

That was the million dollar question.

Dean laughed bitterly "because if I tell her," his eyes lingered on his lap.

His voice dropped "and she says no," Dean felt nauseous bringing the concept to life.

He cracked his knuckles, not even wanting to think about it "I lose her entirely." Silence settled between them.

Finally Beau spoke "you know what I think?" He didn’t know if he wanted to hit Dean or pity him actually.

Dean didn't answer, almost fearing that his best friend would be right "I think Logan screwed up." The blonde nodded once.

"He did."

The brunette pursed his lips together "and I think someday." The song on his playlist changed to some song that you argued was the best for car karaoke.

Beau smiled sadly "he's gonna realise he kissed the wrong girl." If Beau didn’t see you as practically the other half of his braincells he honestly would have been attracted to you. 

Because you were funny, kind, honest and really pretty.

Dean looked down at his phone, mostly surprised that you had texted him. 

You: missed you at lunch with Beau today x

He hoped you were okay.

He hoped you weren't crying anymore.