How to Drive a Man Away in 10 Days l Dean Di Laurentis x Fem!Reader
Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x Fem!Reader Genre: Romantic comedy, fake-dating, enemies to lovers, fluff Summary: You have 10 days to make Briar's star defenseman dump you for a magazine article. Dean Di Laurentis was supposed to be a predictable target. But as fake dates turn into real late-night talks, the line between playing a role and catching real feelings starts to blur. Note: My masterlist 1 & 2
--
The bass vibrates through the floorboards of the overcrowded Briar hockey house. It makes my plastic cup slosh with cheap beer.
I lean against the kitchen counter and scan the room. As a junior writer for our campus mag, my editor gave me a nightmare assignment. I must write a piece called How to Drive a Man Away in 10 Days. I need a target who breaks hearts for fun, so I don't feel guilty when he dumps me.
"You look lost, babe," a smooth voice purrs right above my ear.
I turn my head and lock eyes with Dean Di Laurentis. He leans one hand against the wall behind me with a crooked smirk that says he knows exactly how good-looking he is. He is Briar's star defenseman. He is loaded and a total playboy.
"I'm not lost," I say and fold my arms. "Just observing the wild animals in their natural habitat."
Dean chuckles with amusement. "Ouch. Harsh. I'm Dean, by the way. But you probably already know that, right?"
"Yeah, I read the campus news," I reply and give him a flat look.You're the guy who never calls anyone back after whatever you call a fling."
Across the room, his teammate Logan waves a hidden stack of cash at Dean. Dean does not even flinch. What I don't know is that his friends just bet him he can't keep a girl hooked on him for ten straight days. He thinks my sharp attitude is just a challenge he can win. He widens his smile and leans a bit closer, so I can smell his expensive cologne.
"Oof, bad reputation," Dean says and places a hand over his heart. "Gotta fix that. Let me buy you a real drink, pick you up tomorrow at eight, and prove I'm a changed man."
"Tomorrow?" I raise an eyebrow and secretly celebrate inside. He is making this way too easy. "I don't know, Dean. I'm kinda high maintenance once I start dating someone."
"Try me," he smirks and rests his fingers lightly on my hip. "I bet I can handle whatever you throw at me. Ten days from now, you won't wanna leave my side."
"Fine," I say and tap his chest with my cup. "Eight sharp. Don't be late, Di Laurentis."
He flashes a confident grin and walks back toward his friends. He throws a quick thumbs-up to Logan as they high-five. I take a slow sip of my drink. I am watching his broad shoulders disappear into the crowd while I mentally draft the outline for my first piece.
--
On Day 1, Dean picks me up in his fancy car for our first date at a high-end restaurant downtown. He smooths his leather jacket and gives me a smooth smirk. He clearly expects me to swoon over his money and good looks.
"I booked us the best table in the house," Dean says and opens the car door for me. "Only the best for us, right?"
"Thanks, Dean," I say and hop inside. "You know, my ex never took me anywhere nice. He had major commitment issues. You don't have commitment issues, right? Because I totally see us traveling to Europe together next summer."
Dean pauses for a second. "Uh, summer? Yeah, totally. Let's just focus on tonight first, okay?"
Throughout dinner, I don't let him rest. I overshare about my childhood pets and constantly analyze his every move.
"You just crossed your arms," I point out and tap my fork against my plate. "Psychology says that means you're hiding your true feelings. Are you feeling defensive, Dean? It's okay to open up to me. We have plenty of time to figure each other out."
"I'm just comfortable, I promise," Dean says and chuckles nervously while taking a huge gulp of his water. "Nothing to analyze here, babe."
By Day 3, it's time to turn up the heat. I march right up to his apartment carrying two huge shopping bags filled with pastel throw pillows, fluffy plushies, and an obnoxious vanilla scented candle. When he opens the door, his eyes go wide.
"Hey babe, I brought stuff to fix your place," I announce and push past him straight into his living room. "It's way too gloomy in here. It needs a soft touch."
I drop a bright pink stuffed bear on his dark leather couch and light the candle on his glass table. Garrett, Logan, and Tucker walk out of the kitchen. They take one look at the pink invasion before bursting into loud fits of laughter.
"Dude, nice bear," Logan wheezes and claps Dean hard on the back. "Really brings out your eyes, man."
"Shut up, Logan," Dean mumbles and clenches his jaw as he stares at the pastel pillows destroying his sleek setup. He turns to me and forces a strained grin through the absolute panic in his eyes. "Thanks, babe. I love it. Really."
He takes a deep breath of the thick sweet vanilla scent. He desperately tries to keep his composure while his roommates howl in the background.
--
On Day 4, I step into the crowded Briar rink wearing a custom jersey. The back reads Di Laurentis’s Deanie-Bear in massive pink letters. During warmups, I jump up and down near the glass and wave a glittery poster.
"Go Deanie-Bear! Show 'em who's boss, babe!" I scream at the top of my lungs.
Dean turns around on the ice, freezes, and almost trips over his own skates. His frinds skate right past him and practically double over in laughter.
"Hey Deanie-Bear, your girl is real enthusiastic tonight," Garrett cackles and slaps Dean’s shoulder pad.
Dean takes a deep breath and glides toward the glass. He then flashes me a forced smile. "Thanks, babe. Love the energy," he calls out, though his face is bright red while his teammates continue to roast him.
By Day 5, I decide to ruin our movie night at my place by talking through the entire film. I pick a complex thriller, sit right next to him on the couch, and start my relentless commentary.
"Why is he going into the basement?" I ask and nudge his shoulder. "That's so dumb, right? Would you save me if a killer came into our house, Dean? Cos my ex totally would've run away."
I wait for him to snap or leave, but Dean just laughs softly. He stretches his arm along the back of the couch. He pulls me a little closer.
"Yeah, I'd definitely handle the killer for you," Dean says. His voice drops into a quiet tone. "And he's going into the basement because he lost his flashlight. Keep up, babe."
He doesn't get annoyed. Instead, he grabs the blanket from the chair, covers my cold feet, and hands me a bowl of popcorn.
When I make a joke about the main character, Dean bursts out laughing. He looks right at me, smirk fully loaded, and my heart does a weird little flip. He's supposed to be a shallow playboy, but sitting here in the quiet room, he is attentive, warm, and insanely charming. The plan is starting to crack, and I'm the one feeling shaken.
On Day 6, Dean decides to double down to secure his bet. I walk into his apartment expecting another round of chaos, but the place smells like garlic and fresh herbs. The pastel pillows I brought are still on his couch, but the table is set with real candles and two plates of homemade pasta.
"Welcome back, babe," Dean says and wipes his hands on a towel. "I made dinner."
"You cooked?" I ask. "I don't know, Dean. You don't have to do all this."
"I wanted to," he says and pulls out a chair for me. He hands me a small, beautifully wrapped box. "Saw this in a shop downtown and thought of you."
I open it to find a vintage notebook. It perfectly matches my love for writing. My jaw drops. I look up at him, ready to make a joke, but Dean just sits down across from me. He rests his chin in his hands.
"Tell me about that mag piece you're working on," Dean says gently. "Not the silly stuff. What do ya actually wanna write about?"
For the next hour, I forget about the bet, the mag, and the ten-day rule. I talk about my real passions, and Dean listens to every single word without breaking eye contact. He smiles, asks questions, and acts like the most perfect boyfriend on the planet, completely unaware that his genuine kindness is ruining my entire strategy.
--
On Day 7, Dean drives us out to his family’s quiet lakeside cabin for the weekend. Away from campus, the tension between us evaporates. We sit on the wooden dock and dangle our feet over the cool water.
"Honestly, I thought you'd bring those pink pillows along," Dean says and nudges my shoulder with a lazy smirk.
"Don't temp me, Di Laurentis," I laugh and bump him back. "I can still decorate this cabin."
"Please no," Dean chuckles, but his eyes are warm and relaxed.
Without the crowds or his teammates watching, Dean drops his flashy playboy mask. He tells me about his childhood, his hockey injuries, and how much he cares for his family. He is sharp, funny, and surprisingly gentle.
At the same time, I stop doing my crazy girlfriend act. I show him the real me, and Dean looks at me like I'm the only person in the world. He realizes he is not playing a game anymore; he is falling for me.
By Day 8, the chemistry between us is electric. Rain pours over the lake and traps us inside by the roaring fireplace. We sit close together on a plush rug and share a blanket.
"I didn't expect this weekend to go like this," Dean admits softly and leans closer until his forehead rests against mine. "Not gonna lie...you totally threw me off at first."
"Yeah?" I whisper. My pulse races as his thumb traces my cheekbone. "What about now?"
"Now I don't care about anything back at school," Dean says emotionally. "I just wanna stay right here with you."
I forget all about my magazine article, the ridiculous rules, and the ten-day clock ticking in my head. I lean in until our foreheads rest together. Our lips almost touch, but I hold back. I need him to hear the truth first. I look straight into his dark eyes. I'm ready to drop the last of my guard and confess how deeply I'm falling for him.
"I have to tell you something," I whisper. My hands tighten on his shirt. "None of this was supposed to happen, Dean."
Dean smiles sincerely and brushes a thumb over my cheek. "Me neither, babe. But I'm really glad it did."
For a few quiet heartbeats, the storm outside disappears. We only hear the quiet crackle of the fireplace and the unsaid truth hanging in the air between us.
--
On Day 9, we return to campus for a massive victory party at the hockey house. Music blasts through the speakers, and the room is packed with people celebrating. I stand near the kitchen with Dean whose hand is resting comfortably on the small of my back.
"I gotta grab us some drinks, babe," Dean whispers in my ear and gives my waist a gentle squeeze. "Be right back."
While he walks away, my phone buzzes with an incoming message from my editor. My stomach drops when I open it.
Kira: 'Hey, sent your article draft to Dean by mistake! Hope that's cool!'
Before I can process the text, Tucker walks up to me with a red cup in his hand. He grins widely.
"Congrats on lasting nine days," Tucker laughs and shakes his head. "Dean owes us fifty bucks each. None of us thought he could stay with one girl for more than twenty-four hours."
My chest tightens instantly. "What are you talking about?"
"The bet," Tucker says. He is oblivious to my changing face. "Dean bet us he could keep you hooked for ten whole days without running off."
At that exact moment, Dean walks back toward us. He stares down at his phone screen with a look of pure shock. He looks up at me with hurtful eyes.
"Is this real?" Dean asks. His voice cracks slightly. "You used me for an article called How to Drive a Man Away in 10 Days?"
"You took a bet to date me!" I yell back and tears sting my eyes. "Everything was just a game to you!"
"It started as a dumb bet, but it changed!" Dean shouts over the loud music. He takes a step toward me. "I actually fell for you!"
"How can I believe anything you say?" I snap and pull away from his touch. "We're done, Dean."
I turn around and storm out of the house into the cool night air. I don't see him standing frozen in the middle of the crowded party as he watches me walk away forever.
--
On Day 10, I sit at my desk in the student newspaper office. I stare at the blank document on my laptop. My head aches from crying all night, and my heart feels completely hollow. I delete the petty bullet points about clingy texts, tacky decorations, and embarrassing jerseys.
Instead, I type out the raw truth. I turn the silly assignment into a real confession about how hard it is to drive a man away when you're secretly falling in love with him. I submit the draft to my editor, log off, and pack my backpack.
I step outside the media building into the cool afternoon air. I clutch my jacket tight around my chest. The campus courtyard is quiet, but as I walk down the brick path toward the library, a sudden hush falls over the nearby benches.
"Hey! Stop right there!" a loud voice shouts across the quad.
I freeze and turn around. Dean walks briskly across the lawn. He ignores the dozens of students staring at him. He wears his blue Briar hockey jacket. His blonde hair is messy, and his ocean eyes are completely locked onto mine. He doesn't care that his reputation as the cool, untouchable athlete is crumbling right in front of the whole school.
"Dean, please don't do this here," I say and step back as he approaches. "I turned in the article. It's over."
"I don't give a damn about your article," Dean says and stops right in front of me. He breathes heavily. "And I don't care about that stupid bet anymore either. You're not walking away from me."
"You lied to me from day one," I say. My voice cracks despite my best efforts to stay firm. "You played a game with my feelings because your teammates dared you to."
"And you played a game with mine because your boss told ya to!" Dean counters. He steps even closer, so I can smell his familiar scent. "You hid behind that needy, crazy act because you were terrified of letting someone actually see the real you. You thought if you pushed me away first, you wouldn't get hurt."
I open my mouth to argue, but the words catch in my throat. He is completely right, and it stings more than I want to admit.
"I did the exact same thing," Dean continues softly and vulnerably. "I hid behind the playboy act so I'd never have to risk my heart. I thought I was hot stuff until you walked into that party and totally blew my mind."
"Dean..." I whisper in tears.
Across the grass, I spot Garrett, Logan, Tucker, and a few other hockey guys leaning against the stone wall. They are watching us with wide eyes. Dean doesn't even glance in their direction. He steps right into my personal space and cups my face gently with both of his hands. His thumbs brush away the tears on my cheeks.
"You tried every trick in the book to make me hate you, and all it did was make me realize I don't want anybody else," Dean says. His signature smirk flickers back onto his lips confidently and irresistibly. "So go ahead, give me another ten days. I dare you."
"You're unbelievable, Di Laurentis," I laugh through my tears and grabs the front of his jacket.
I pull him down and press my lips against his. Dean wraps his arms tightly around my waist. He lifts me slightly off my feet as he kisses me back with breathless passion.
The entire quad bursts into loud applause, and behind us, Logan and Tucker whistles loudly while Garrett groans about losing his cash for good. Dean just holds me close. He laughs softly against my mouth while the whole world watches us start over.
