Page 102 of Where We Stay

“It doesn’t have to be complicated yet.”

Blair’s smile grows. “Does going slowly mean you’re not kissing me tonight?”

I run my thumb across her knuckles. “I said slow, Blair. I didn’t say fucking impossible.”

She laughs, and the last of the tension between us breaks.

For the first time in three years, I’m not thinking about all the ways this could go wrong.

I’m thinking about how much I want to find out where it goes.

Twenty

Blair

There are probably safer things Dean Ashford could’ve said than I said slow. I didn’t say fucking impossible.

Less dangerous things.

Unfortunately, he chose that.

Now I’m sitting across from him with his hand wrapped around mine, trying not to smile like an idiot.

“You mentioned rules,” I say, running my thumb along the side of his hand.

Dean lifts his beer with his free hand, his eyes never leaving mine. “I have a few.”

“And how many have I broken?” I ask, narrowing my eyes playfully.

“Enough,” he answers, his mouth pulling up at one corner.

Well, fuck.

We sit quietly for a moment, his thumb moving slowly across my knuckles.

Dean has told me more in one dinner than I’ve told him in the entire month I’ve known him. His childhood. His family. His marriage. Courtney.

He gave me his honesty without demanding mine in return.

It makes me want to offer him something.

Even if it’s only a small piece.

“When I said there are parts of my life I’m not ready to talk about…” I begin, taking a steadying breath. “My childhood wasn’t great.”

Dean’s expression changes, the playfulness disappearing from his face, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“I left home young,” I continue. “I worked. Studied. Kept busy.”

His thumb brushes across my knuckles again. “You still do,” he observes quietly.

I look at him.

Of course he noticed.

“Yeah,” I admit.

Dean doesn’t ask why. He doesn’t ask where my parents are or what happened to make me leave.