Dolly - Dean Di Laurentis
A doll. That was the first thing that came to peoples minds when they saw you, and was further solidified after getting to know you.
It how professors would describe you to each other when asked if you were a good option for a tutor, it was what girls would say you were after sharing your makeup tips with them, and it was how boys would would describe your looks to each other.
You fit the mold in every way, so it was no shock to anyone when you told your professor would absolutely help Dean catch up after all of his missed classes.
Dean had heard things about you through the grapevine, hearing how you would always say yes to helping professors, how you were the one to organize very single charity event for your sorority, and hearing how boys in the locker room would gush about you after one simple interaction.
He didn’t think much about it, sure he’d seen you around a couple of times, but you two were never in the same circle. You were too sweet to get wrapped up in frats and parties, he’d even heard you say you joined a sorority for the “community involvement,” one time at a darty.
He was interested in you when he first saw you, I mean, what guy wouldn’t be. But it was safe to say he quickly gave that up after realizing you weren’t the typical good time he was after.
He really noticed you for the first time when your economics professor introduced the two of you formally after a lecture, explaining the predicament Dean was in and how he had to catch up he wanted to keep his spot on the hockey team. You stood next to Dean quietly, occasionally looking up at him and fiddling with your charm bracelet as you listened.
“Well, dolly, guess it’s you and me every Tuesday and Thursday from now on,” he huffed as he walked out of the building, turning to look back at you, flashing those dimples.
“Guess it is,” you tossed a small smile his way, adjusting the strap of your bag as you turned towards the parking lot.
The first few tutoring sessions at the library went smoothly, he wasn’t as hopeless as you expected, he was actually pretty smart. It was a lot of you going over simple concepts he had missed by skipping class, as well as a lot of him trying to get you off topic by flirting with you. Yet, every time he tried, you just gave him an awkward little smile and pointed back to the textbook as you continued explaining. You were nice, but you were never entertained by him, only speaking to him when you had too.
This confused him, especially after hearing how much of a sweetheart you were, but you couldn’t even give him a proper conversation?
It was the fifth time of you guys meeting when he finally asked, “Do you hate me?”, with a little smirk on his face.
Your eyebrows scrunched together and a little pout formed on your face as you looked up, “No, what makes you think that?”
“I mean, you wont talk to me unless it’s about economics,” he dropped his pencil, watching as you adjusted one of the two clips that held the front pieces of your hair back. He noticed that about you in this short amount of time, the way you would always fiddle with something when you were in an uncomfortable situation, or at least a situation you found uncomfortable.
“That’s what we’re her for, no?” You were confused now, you thought he was just trying to be nice when he talked to you. You already felt bad enough he was having to spend two nights a week in a library with you, you didn’t want to prolong it at all.
“Well, yeah. But can’t we talk about other things to while we work? I don’t even know anything about you, other than what everyone tells me about you,” he was leaning back in his seat now, restlessly rocking as he played with the strings of his hoodie.
“Okay,” you gave another one of your little smiles, and he gave a big one back after finally getting what he wanted.
The friendship started to blossom from there. Study dates were either at the hockey house or your dorm now, continuing even after his grade had raised. You’d went to your first briar hockey game and waited for him in the tunnel afterwards, which quickly became a Sunday tradition for the both of you.
There were no labels, no intimacy, and yet Dean found himself happier as ever. This was a weird dynamic for him, he hadn’t hooked up with anyone since the two of you became close, and he didn’t want to.
He knew he liked you, he’s known for months, but it wasn’t until a party at the hockey house he really acted on those feelings.
Some douche from the baseball team was obviously trying to flirt with you, leaning in close even when you backed up, doing everything in his power to make you laugh or smile, and as Dean walked by he heard his request of, “taking the conversation somewhere a little more private,”.
He stepped in then, coming behind you and wrapping his arm around your waist, “what’s goin’ on, dolly? Been looking’ everywhere for you,”
You didn’t have a chance to respond before the other guy chimed in, ‘We were in the middle of something man,” rolling his eyes and taking a swig of his beer.
Dean just gave him a cocky little smile back, “Well, I think you’re actually done, so I’ll be taking my girlfriend upstairs now,”
He pulled you away as you stood there with your mouth parted in shock. What the heck just happened?
You stayed silent as you went upstairs, holding his hand tightly and ignoring the looks of everybody from the party.
“Your girlfriend?” you finally squeezed out quietly as he shut the door.
“You just seemed uncomfortable, I didn’t know how else to get you away from the guy,” he ran one hand through his hair, truing his bedside lamp on.
“Oh, okay,” you were disappointed that was actually all it was.
You liked Dean, you thought it was obvious. You spent almost all of your time with him, tutoring him for free, postponing your Sunday resets to go to his games, and you thought you’d been pretty open with your flirting.
You must have shown some disappointment on your face because he started to smirk, “Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” your voice went up a pitch now, “Thank you,”
He stared at you for a little while, fingers playing with your bracelet, standing awkwardly at the end of his bed, your little sock clad feet digging into the carpet.
“Do you want to be my girlfriend, dolly?” His tone was softer now, his face softening as well as he asked the question.
You stood speechless, obviously for to long because he asked another question, “Do you want me to be your boyfriend?”
You gave a small nod, “Yes,”
“Sorry what was that? I couldn’t hear you,” he turned his ear toward you now, always having resort back to being his playful self.
“Yes, Dean,” you were smiling now too, crawling over to where he was sitting on the bed and plopping yourself next to him.
You squealed as he pulled you into his lap and gripped onto your waist, “Guess it’s settled then,”
“Guess it is,” you but your lip, trying to not smile too hard as you looked at him.
He leaned in to kiss you, the loud party below faded out as you tangled your hands into his hair. The taste of his beer mixing with your coke, your soft breaths mingling as you pulled away smiling.
“Been waiting to do that,” his voice was softer quiet it was almost a whisper.
“Well I’m glad you finally did it,” you leaned back in for another kiss.
Best party ever.
