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Before this story starts, let’s get this straight:
Dean Heyward Di-Laurentis was very good at games. He was a brilliant hockey defenseman, for one. He knew exactly how to defend and block any attacks, whilst assisting the puck up nicely to slide into the goal. Aside from hockey, he'd learnt how to control life so that it depended on his survival; on his invaluable presence. He could claim anyone he liked; charm anyone out of his way with a simple smile or a whisper of his surname, building a world around him where he could not be tamed nor captured. He was a free bird riding on a wave— breeze in his hair, stress of commitment slithering into white foam on the sand; a rollercoaster ride that surged into a loop-the-loop, then plummeted down at a breaknecking speed but never, ever screeched to a stop.
The game always stayed in his favour. That way, only he emerged a winner. He was never blindsided, always had the rules laid out clearly, and kept a friendly face even in the face of cheating because, to Dean, it was never that serious. It was just…a game. A way to get from Point A to Point B, a firm handshake to seal the deal, and an understanding that the board would probably be packed away and not revisited again, at least not with the same person.
Dean was an excellent team player. He never got too competitive; never angled for something more than what the other player could give, and always walked away from the game unscathed.
Just some food for thought. Now that you’re all caught up, let the match begin.
🎬🏒♟️
It began at karaoke.
Well, if we’re being technical—which Dean never claimed to be—it all started because of a pretty girl dressed as J.Lo and what Logan had famously named the STAG (Stand and Grind). Though Dean did a little more than standing and grinding…he practically dry-humped himself up against her, and felt his blood thrum to life when she smirked and held up a finger; the universal sign for No. He’d felt his curiosity pique then, as she’d left him wanting more because Dean always got what he wanted, even when she scorned him with the I have a boyfriend excuse. He may have been what his friends described as a man-whore, but he respected relationships. Until he saw the man she was standing with, as he stuck his tongue down some chick’s throat, and nearly laughed in her face. Him? he wanted to ask mockingly. That’s who you blew me off for?
As it went, he simply said All yours princess, and grazed her waist as he passed. Because maybe he was, already. He might not have known it then, but perhaps he’d wanted to be hers ever since she twirled in his hold for a brief, tantalising second and he knew what it was to feel fire sparking at his very palms. He could’ve sworn she shuddered, too, as he slid past her and a very smug self-satisfaction shot through him because he knew he’d get what he wanted, eventually. He always did. And yet, the weeks went by, and the next time he saw her—or, rather, heard her—was through the wall of a cubicle as Kelly sucked his cock. She sounded downright miserable and Dean wasn’t a callous person. He might not have been a relationship guy since Miranda but he didn’t think anyone deserved to feel that way about their boyfriend.
So, it did really begin at karaoke, when she glared at him and told him he was disgusting for hooking up in the ladies bathroom, Kelly’s lipstick still tainting his lips. He’d only smirked, not letting it affect him because that was what he did, didn’t he? He rode at a million miles per hour, uncaring if anyone else thought he was too dangerous, and he didn’t care. He was happy about it. He was more than content with making out with two beautiful women on his way home from Malone’s, hands mapping out curves and chasing pleasure like Michelle was the sweet chaser to the tangy sting of Kelly. He was delighted with being shoved into the wall of his own den, in fact, and even more excited about the way he was pushed back onto the couch, colliding with—
“What the fuck?” Allie Hayes sat up abruptly, perfect curls a tangled mess, disbelief creeping across her sleepy face.
“You again.” Dean turned to look at her, noting absentmindedly that the couch pillow she’d been sleeping on had made a slight imprint against her cheek.
“No, not me again,” she instantly shot back and, ooh the fire. “You again.” She blearily looked up at Michelle and Kelly, who were staring at her with intrigue. “Are you seriously hooking up on top of me?”
Well, you can join in, sweetheart, Dean thought. Three for the price of one. “Well, this is my house,” he said, instead, because he was a decent guy, and he didn’t hit on other men’s girls.
“Yeah, where you presumably have a room,” Allie snarked, just as Kelly went:
“It’s you from the bathroom!”
“Yes, we’ve established it’s me,” Allie said, as she swung her legs off the sofa. She briefly looked like she was going to leave and, though Dean really wanted her to because she was majorly cockblocking him, he also couldn’t quite explain the inexplicable need to stop her that surged through his body, but he acted on it anyway.
“Did you follow me?”
Allie’s mouth made a little indignant ‘o’ and Little Dean twitched in interest. “Well, it’s not my fault that you won’t leave me alone.”
She stood up slowly, and he matched her quickly, determined not to let her get the win. “It’s not my fault that you can’t last two seconds without sticking your dick in someone.”
Oh, so she wanted to play it like that, did she? “Oh,” he murmured, eyes latching onto her and shamelessly skimming over her body as she directed a No offence at Kelly and Michelle. “I take offence,” he told her, eager to get her fiery gaze back onto him. He’d always liked the heat.
“No one asked you,” she directed at him fiercely. He smirked, unable to get enough of her attitude because fuck, it was hot, and then he realised that Kelly had murmured to Michelle that they didn’t really need him and could just go back to Michelle’s place and shit, he’d been so caught up in Allie’s smart-ass expression that he was now going to miss out on the hottest threesome of his life even though wait, she’s leaving in a second and—
The door slammed, and Allie laughed. Dean closed his eyes with a groan, taking a moment to compose himself and console Little Dean, before turning to his personal cockblocker, who had the audacity to be grinning as if she got all her pleasure in life from making him miserable. “Happy now?” he asked her, with a sigh.
Allie wouldn’t stop smiling, and he hated that he couldn’t take his eyes off her lips. “A little bit.”
Dean pulled his gaze away before he did something he’d regret like kiss the shit out of her even though she had a loser boyfriend and swept his joint and Zippo off the coffee table. “Whatever,” he said, hopefully in a tone that conveyed how much he didn’t care about her. “I’m going outside.”
Next thing he knew, Allie Hayes was sitting next to him in his garden as he lit up the blunt, a fire crackling in front of them which was almost fitting because, every time he spoke to her—or, God forbid, touched her—he felt like the flames were licking at his skin, imprinting this is what you can’t have in white-hot scars. And Dean didn’t like not getting his way, or not having what he wanted, and yet he still embarked on a conversation with Allie about her loser boyfriend who would hopefully become an ex soon, if her rambling in the bathrooms had been anything to go by. He tried to play nonchalance every time they locked eyes, to try and shove down how badly he wanted to kiss her.
Because he’d always been a sucker for chicks with big eyes, dark hair, and great racks. No other reason.
Besides, he was just convinced that he could be a better lay than her boyfriend whom Allie tagged the ringing endorsement of FYI, the sex is fine to. She said that she loved him, which made Dean’s stomach twist because yuck, and that her parents had stayed committed to each other throughout everything, which was why she was so determined to make it work with Stan (or was it Sean? Dean didn’t really care…he was much more focused on how the joint sat so prettily between Allie’s lips and how, when she exhaled, the smoke floated over his skin and he could almost pretend it was her kisses). But, all of that aside, the truth of the matter was that she wanted to act and be in love, and that she didn’t want to move to Vermont to spend a life as a homemaker at Stan-or-Sean-the-boring-salesman’s side.
Which was weird, Dean realised. Not her hopes and dreams. But the fact that he’d retained all of that information, without getting antsy or impatient. It was so rare that he actually held conversations with girls, outside of their preferences in the bedroom. Getting to know people you were hooking up with was dangerous territory, because that was how they got the wrong idea and phoned you in the middle of the night threatening to… anyway. It was weird. Weird that he’d listened to Allie so intently. Weird that when she said it wasn’t likely she would succeed, he cared enough to shut her doubts up.
“Hell no. That’s not dumb. If that’s what you want, go after it. People who care about you will understand. And if they don’t, they’re not your people,” he told her.
She looked at him, then, with doe eyes hazy from the weed and head leaning against the deckchair, legs curled up to her chest which Dean thought was adorable and—for fuck’s sake, man, get it together. She’s sexy. You want to sleep with her. It’s the weed that’s making you sappy.
“Okay, which one of your exes taught you to be so insightful?” she asked.
Miranda flashed into his mind’s eye, tearstruck and shouting; drunk and wheedling. He pushed her out of his brain as quickly as she appeared. “I don’t have any exes,” he lied. “It’s…” He handed her the joint, electricity buzzing between their fingers as they touched. “...the weed.”
“Wait…” Her grin became incredulous, and it was weird that he felt shy about it, wasn’t it? He was twenty-one, for Christ’s sake. “Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis has never had a girlfriend?”
“I like being the casual sex guy,” Dean said carelessly. “It’s easy.”
She giggled around the blunt. “I have heard you’re easy.”
I wish you were, he thought as he lolled his head to face her, basking in the sight of her illuminated by the firepit, joint dangling from her fingers in a tease as he wondered if it was possible to chart the constellations in her sparkling eyes. Fuck, there he went again. Get it together, Dean. “I’m Six Flags, baby,” he replied. “Everybody wants a ride. They come for a good time, not a long time, and that’s fine by me.” He snatched the blunt back off her, just for something to do with his hands so that he wouldn’t grab her face and pull her mouth to his.
Allie didn’t take her eyes off him. “Is it?” she asked, and something heavy lodged in Dean’s chest. Nobody had ever asked him that before. His friends had just accepted him as the man-whore that he was. All the Briar women knew what they were getting into if they slept with him. No one ever questioned whether he wanted more; if he was capable of more. They came for the rollercoaster, not the structure behind it, or the wheels and tracks that made it soar.
For the first time, Dean felt like someone wanted him, not the ride.
His throat felt raw, probably from the weed. And, just as he was about to clear his throat and make a weak joke, Allie’s phone buzzed and their eye contact was broken. He tried not to feel disappointed by it, especially when he caught that she had that gimpy looking loser on her homescreen. Of course she didn’t want him. She didn’t even want the dazzling attraction, let alone who he was when the lights faded, the wheels stopped spinning, and the carriage fell apart.
Nobody ever had, and nobody ever would. Which was fine by him. It was how the rules of his game worked. No strings, no heartbreaks. No commitments, no losses.
So, Dean dropped back into the role when Allie passed him her phone to save me from myself. He at least had to try. He typed his number into her phone, letting her know that she would want a fun ride to distract her when she broke up with Stan-or-Sean, and that he volunteered himself as tribute. He tried not to let the sting sizzle on his skin when she said Sorry dude, I don’t do rollercoasters because why should he care about one person, when there were hundreds lined up? He tried not to look as she changed his name to DO NOT CALL because any girl would be happy to stick their tongue down his throat so it wasn’t that he specifically wanted Allie…he just liked the chase of wanting something he couldn’t have.
That’s all it is, he told himself, trying not to dwell on how her simple question had unravelled him at the seams, unpicking every thread that he’d diligently stitched into the fabric of his personality. You just want what you can’t have. You always get what you want, so you’re just craving what’s inaccessible to you. That’s all. It’ll go away when you get her. It always does.
🎬🏒♟️
Spoiler: it did not go away when Dean finally got to fuck Allie.
The stupid idea balloon (as she’d called it) that she’d deflated instantly rose to life in his chest when her number flashed up on his phone, after the Drunk Shakespeare where he’d roved his eyes over the way her corset cinched her waist beautifully and boosted her tits just right. Beau had nudged him, commenting on how hot she was, and he’d tried not to let it affect him because he had no right for it to; he didn’t deserve the possessive monster that reared its head and growled Stay away from her when he hadn’t even had her; when she had a loser boyfriend who gave her 1/10 sex that she refused to leave and—
“I broke up with Sean.”
Hallefuckinglujah. Dean didn’t believe in God or anything, but he could’ve thanked the heavens on his motherfucking knees at that point, as he smirked and tried to convey as much pity as he could manage (not a lot) into his I’m sorry, which Allie saw through immediately. She told him that she really wanted to call him, but she’d called Dean instead, and he felt a little cocky when he remembered how confidently she’d typed DO NOT CALL into her phone. He wasn’t entirely surprised, though. He always got what he wanted in life, and she was simply an undefensive hanging piece who was now his to claim on the board, as easy as taking candy from a baby.
All roads led back to Dean, and he had never been more thrilled that Allie Hayes had decided to hop in his vehicle because oh boy, was he going to bring out the big guns for her. And, once he fucked her; once his craving was finally sated, then he could finally shake off the weird affectionate feeling that gnawed at his heart whenever she was around. Now, he would be able to dismiss the strangely fond creature who had howled at the moon and charged his body upwards into a standing ovation after her drunken spiel in A Midsummer’s Night Dream because he’d wanted to save her from the embarrassment of puking out her feelings. Weird, weird, weird.
“You lied,” he said, as he caught her in his peripheral vision, turning to face her with a smirk. “You like rollercoasters.”
Allie tucked her tongue into her cheek and God, he wanted to bite it. He hadn’t felt this ravenous for a woman in all of his life—probably because they’d never made him wait for it like Allie had. “No,” she answered, hanging up the call and, against his will, Dean’s stomach swooped as he waited for the other shoe to drop. “I fucking love rollercoasters.”
Oh hell yeah baby, Dean thought. After that, he didn’t care about anything but getting his mouth on her as-soon-as-fucking-possible and, as she dragged him into the Theatre Department’s Wardrobe Room, he was practically salivating, so eager to feel how her lips felt against his. Once the door slammed behind them, Dean didn’t wait for a moment longer—he pounced, and Allie moaned the second that their mouths collided hungrily. He swallowed the sound, savouring it like honey dripping down his throat, and slid his tongue into her mouth ravenously, slamming her up against the wall and burying his hand in her soft curls. She was pliant and receptive in his hands, body moving to his rhythm effortlessly, but she also held her own: she shoved his jacket off his shoulders with needy hands; she kissed him with a bite to her, digging her teeth into his lip so harshly that he felt the skin tear, and she tugged on his blonde hair enough to make him arch with a groan into her. Fuck, she was good. She was everything he’d ever wanted.
She’d looked so divine all night, with her silky gloves and voluminous breasts that Dean genuinely didn’t think he’d ever felt this wild for someone in a while. FYI, the sex is fine repeated in his head as she grappled for his belt, fingers grazing his rock-hard cock with a fiery touch that made him determined for her to discover what better-than-fucking-fine sex felt like. Because she deserved so much more than that vanilla-milkshake-ass-guy. She deserved every flavour in the book. He flipped her around, pressing heated kisses up the gleaming skin of her neck, inhaling her scent—what was it? Strawberries? Mangos? Roses? Whatever it was, it was goddamn addictive.
“Okay,” Allie panted out, clutching onto the wall as Dean rocked into her, desperate to feel some friction against his boner because she just looked so gorgeous in her emerald dress. “I just broke up with Sean, and I can’t hurt his feelings,” she said, as Dean made a good attempt at ripping the laces of her corset apart. God, he needed her so badly that he would be more than happy to fuck her in it, mainly because he actually didn’t think he could undo how tightly she’d done up the corset and also to shut her up because, damn, she was still talking about that limp-ass-banana—
“Tell no one.”
A giggle shrieked out of Allie’s mouth as Dean tossed her back around, thumb tilting her grinning face up towards him as he matched her radiant smile, noses and foreheads pressing together. He’d never felt this insane about a girl but, right now, he couldn’t care less. “I got it,” he told her, and she barely got the chance to mumble Good before he was licking into her mouth, savouring every sound she made like it was his favourite dessert. She tasted sour on his tongue, margarita and salt invading his senses but, as he rucked up her dress and decided to bang her against the wall because fuck, he couldn’t wait, the moans that spilled out were nothing short of sweet.
Dean genuinely felt like he’d passed away and gone to Heaven as he sheathed his cock deep inside of her dripping cunt, his head dropping back as she met his every thrust with an eagerness that sent jolts to his entire body. She fell apart in his arms, his name riding on a beautiful whine, and he came quickly into her, tossing the condom to one side to slide down her body, tasting her release until she squirmed, thighs bracketing his head as she buried her hands in his hair. Allie came again on his tongue, as he fucked two fingers into her at a languid pace, only speeding up when she begged him; when her cunt clenched around him with a truly gluttonous noise that he praised in a hushed voice. Then, as she came down from her high, she sunk to trembling knees and made good work of his cock, which had sprung back up in no time when she’d fucked his face. Dean tried to thread his fingers through her hair to fuck her mouth, but she only grinned around his cock and reached behind her, on the racks of costumes, for a long length of ribbon which she tied his hands to a rail with. I like you like this, she said. Completely at my mercy.
And, Jesus Christ, he was at her mercy alright. He groaned so loudly when she kitten-licked her way over his leaking, red tip and the ribbons cut into his wrists, a painful yet arousing reminder that Allie Hayes had him completely stripped down, and not in the physical sense—neither of them actually took all items of clothing off that first time. Dean loved sex. It was one of his favourite things about life but, as he finally broke free of the ribbons and felt how wet Allie had got from sucking him off, he wondered deliriously if sex would ever feel like this, again.
Or, if he was doomed to constantly be unravelled by her.
🎬🏒♟️
Dean didn’t make a habit of repeat performances but, the day after he hooked up with Allie, all he could think about was how much he wanted to fuck her again. Every time he remembered how she’d sucked on his skin like candy, or how she’d whimpered when he’d pinched her clit, he got impossibly hard, which he usually dealt with by burying his cock in another woman. Six Flags, remember? But, instead, as he watched the rain slash down his bedroom windows like the sky was striking vengeance, he elected to text Allie Shitty weather tonight like a sappy sapster instead of the Sex God he was.
[Allie-Cat]
Today at 00:56
I know, right? Malone’s lights keep flickering
[Dean]
Today at 00:57
Oh shit, ur at WORK?
Keep a flashlight near u in case power goes out
For Christ’s sake, he sounded like he was writing a shitty survival guide. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? Scratch that, why was he even texting her? He’d fucked her. Several times. That girl could fuck, alright, but there was no reason for him to still have her in his system. He’d done what she’d requested—he’d rocked the heartbreak out of her, and it had been a one-time thing. Dean was good at one-time-things. They were literally his whole brand. So, why did he want to do it all over again? Why did he find himself grinning at his phone when Allie said she wished that she was snug as a bug in a mug that was simply just incorrect, because it was in a rug (as he said), which was enough to make her call him and rant at him about how someone might step on the bug in the rug. If it’s in a mug, someone might drink it, he laughed into the phone, wondering why his skin buzzed at her indignant response. The rain hammered down at a reckless speed, prompting Dean to tell her to stay inside like he fucking cared about her well-being, or some stupid shit like that.
“Malone’s has lost power anyway,” Allie told him, and he sat up in bed.
“Shit.” Why do you care? his brain screamed.
“It’s okay. If a serial killer hunts me down, I can take him.”
He snorted, trying to dissipate the brief flash of fear that jolted him at the thought of Allie being in danger. He needed to get a grip. It was just because he was horny. His craving of her had been sated, but he would always want more. He was greedy for women who knew exactly what they wanted in sex, and didn’t have any qualms about putting men in their place. Dean listened as Allie told him all about her intensive father-daughter self-defence programme, replying in all the right places and trying not to dwell on how much he was smiling.
“Anyway, I should finish up closing,” she said, and alarm slammed into his chest. Don’t go, he thought pathetically. She paused, as if she was going to say something else. “Sleep well.”
“Wait,” Dean blurted out, before she could end the call.
“What is it?”
He stared at the rain sliding down the window panes, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He’d never felt like this about anyone he’d fucked before. In his defence, it had been a really good lay. Probably one of his best, if not the number one hookup of his life. Dean licked his dry lips, and decided to just go for it: “I want to fuck you again.”
Allie’s breath hitched over the phone, and his vision was washed with the image of her head hitting the wall with a gasp as he flicked his tongue over her clit. “I told you, it was a one time thing.”
“I know,” he said, running a rueful hand over his eyes. “But, I want—” You. All of you. I don’t know what’s wrong with me but, suddenly, all I want is you.
“Besides, we’ve already done last orders,” Allie’s words were still all breathy, and it was making it very…hard for Dean to concentrate on anything that wasn’t the memory of her nipples puckering underneath his graze; her hot mouth around his cock. “You’d be completely disrupting me and—and that would be against company policy.”
This wasn’t sounding like a no to Dean. He quickly grabbed his sweater off the side, pulling it over his head. “That’s a terrible shame. I guess it would be very irresponsible of me to show up, huh? Seeing as you’re closing and all that.”
“Yeah, it would be awful,” Allie said, and he grinned. God, he was obsessed with her. Wait. What? Never mind.
“Can’t have you breaking the rules, Allie-Cat,” Dean replied airily, pocketing his wallet and snatching up his car keys from the bedside. He could withstand the storm if it meant that he got to stop lusting after this chick. Maybe it just needed to become a two-time thing. Then, they’d get each other out of their systems once and for all. “Especially not for little ol’ me.”
Allie didn’t even look surprised when he rocked up at the door of Malone’s, rapping on the closed blinds. He was soaked to the bone as she pulled him in, tsking when he shook his head like a dog, getting rain everywhere. “I just mopped,” she told him, lips pursed.
“Sorry.” He grinned roguishly, already reaching for her.
“No, you’re not,” she said, with a sigh. She let her palms skate up the length of his chest.
“No, I’m not,” Dean admitted, inhaling and briefly thinking that he could get high on her scent.
“You’re going to get pneumonia if you stay in these wet clothes,” she murmured, eyes hazy.
He skimmed the side of her uniform, undoing her apron seamlessly. “I have an idea of how we can solve that.”
“Oh yeah?” Allie’s teeth sunk into her bottom lip and fuck, he was so gone for her.
“Yeah,” he breathed, desperate to kiss her again. “Let me make it up to you.”
Within minutes, they were both naked (“I’m desperate to see all of you this time, baby doll,” Dean told her as he practically tore her Malone’s uniform off), and he was pounding into her over the ice machine, one hand braced on the counter as the sound of his balls hitting her thighs filled the empty bar. “Okay, this is the last time,” she panted, knuckles white from how hard she was gripping onto the shelf in front of her. He only huffed a laugh into her shoulder, biting down until she whined and clenched around his cock in a heavenly way that had him seeing stars.
And, well…you know how the next part goes.
“Okay, this is the last time,” Allie said, as Dean buried himself between her legs, feasting on her like she was a buffet that he couldn’t stop going back to. She was a whole goddamn banquet, and she’d spoiled him for any other delicacies now—he was only interested in the way her thighs shook around his face; the way she gasped out his name in the midst of a delicious moan; the way her tits jiggled when she bounced on his cock; the way she slammed him up against walls and threw him onto beds, taking control in a way that made Dean more than happy to be the rollercoaster she’d decided she was tall enough to ride.
“This is definitely the last time,” she spat out, through a mouthful of bubbles, after Tucker had nearly burst in on them in the bathtub. Which…damn. Dean had just been getting acquainted with Winston, and how turned-on it made him to watch the way Allie squirmed as he pushed the pink vibrator into her. He’d been having a pretty good time, thank you very much, with her wet and naked body spread out for him on the ledge of the bath, his tongue lazily suckling on her clit to match the slow thrusts of the toy.
Dean didn’t see her for a week after that—a week in which he had to put up with the merciless teasing from all of his roommates about how he clearly liked a dildo up his ass. Logan sent him a picture of a novelty My Little Pony dildo, with rainbow sparkles on the handle. Garrett buried a bottle of lube under his pillow with a note saying For your ass and Tucker had handed him a plate of bacon and eggs the other day, innocently asking if his ‘little pink buddy’ would be joining them for breakfast. In the meantime, he left Allie messages that probably made him sound so fucking desperate, but she’d rewired his sex drive to only lust after her like, in Beau’s words, he’d imprinted on this girl’s pussy like Jacob and that weird mutant baby.
But then, he remembered what Allie had said the last time that they’d hooked up, right before she’d started holding her back and wincing, which had been what had caused him to run a bath for her in the first place (the fooling around had just happened). She’d been stressing about needing to book a train ticket to Brooklyn for Thanksgiving and he could’ve bet, knowing her, that she’d been so scatterbrained after her near-drowning that she would’ve forgotten. Knowing her? What the fuck? Dean shook the thought away. It was normal to know someone a little, when you’d fucked them several times. He didn’t often make a habit of repeating hookups, so that was probably why it felt strange. He hadn’t ever had the chance to get to know someone before, but that didn’t mean anything.
After all, he was just about to ask Allie whether she wanted Beau to give her a lift to New York, instead of her having to pay the ridiculously expensive last-minute train fare. Because he wanted to fuck her, obviously, without having to worry about anyone bursting in and causing her to dunk under the water. That was it. That was why. He was only sick of sneaking around; of being a dirty little secret because he wanted to fuck her loudly and without shame, as he did with everyone. He’d offer anyone a ride to New York for sex.
Allie wasn’t special or anything.
🎬🏒♟️
God, she was so fucking special to him.
Dean had to bite down his smile as Allie climbed into Beau’s car with a megawatt grin that only widened when she met his best friend. They bonded very quickly over Allie’s love for Joanna, and he felt something akin to dread bubble in his gut when it turned out that Beau and Allie not only had the same top favourite musicals, but that they insisted on subjecting him to an enthusiastic version of Omigod You Guys from Legally Blonde. Despite him being in literal hell, he couldn’t quite take his eyes off Allie in the backseat as she sang along to the soundtrack happily, and he wasn’t even as displeased as he pretended to be when Beau showed her a video of Dean dancing to Cobra Starship.
If it was anyone else, he would be fuming. But, as Beau asked her if she needed a ride back and he texted her friday seems really far away and she tucked a smirk into the corner of her mouth, he realised that Allie Hayes wasn’t just anyone. She probably hadn’t been for a while, and that should’ve scared him—it did terrify him, deep down—but he also wasn’t complaining, not when she met his eyes in the rearview before saying, “See you Friday,” to Beau.
He wasn’t sure when he’d become the type of guy that shot off clingy texts to chicks, especially ones that should be out of bounds because of Allie’s tendency to ‘nest’ (she’d admitted in the car that she’d been in a serious relationship throughout high school, then there had been Sean for two years). But, the more that Dean wallowed in the silence of his penthouse, the more he wanted Allie around. For sexual purposes, of course. And yet, he knew that he actually just missed her, too. He missed her laugh. Her attitude. Her gaze that could read right through him, making him feel like he was actually worthy of being known.
When she asked him for his address, Dean actually felt like punching the air in excitement. He was so happy that she wanted to spend time with him clearly just so amped for sex. Allie showed up on his doorstep with a chocolate turkey, and his heart just about melted. He really needed to get it together. He buried his nerves in glasses of red wine and an elaborate tour, trying to act like he didn’t care about what Allie thought of where he grew up but, as her exclamations over the gratuitous wealth of the place spilled into the air, he realised that he did care. For the first time with a girl, Dean didn’t want her to look at him and see a filthy rich player who only got what he wanted because of Daddy’s money; because of his connections.
Which was so fucking weird. Because that was his whole purpose. That was his game tactic. He charmed and he fucked and he smiled his way into the things he wanted; the people he wanted. He was easy. He was a good time, not a long time. But, when Allie asked what he’d be doing if she wasn’t here, he didn’t go towards the piano and sing Mad World. He played chess with her, talking to her about his family because she asked; because she was acting like she cared. Maybe she did care. Maybe she wanted more than just the rollercoaster.
“I’m sorry you can’t be there with your family,” Allie said softly. “It seems like you miss them.”
“I get to be here with you,” Dean replied simply.
Because it was, wasn’t it? It was simple, with Allie, when they were tucked away in Manhattan with none of their friends breathing down their necks. It was so much less complicated, when she wasn’t constantly turning him down because Hannah was home, and she was clearly embarrassed of being seen with him. It felt so much easier, when Allie was untying her top and whispering Never let the enemy distract you instead of stressing about how bad she felt whenever they hooked up; how she felt like she was betraying Sean, the motherfucker.
Dean laid himself fucking bare, letting Allie capture every pawn and nook until he was indefensible against her touch, her laugh bordering on a moan as he muffled it into her mouth, wrapping her legs around his waist and fucking into her (“You feel so good, like a goddamn dream.” “Yes. There. Fuck me right there.”) He slid home, closing his eyes and trying not to think about the fact that Allie Hayes might have singlehandedly ruined him; ruined sex with anyone else that wasn’t her, as her pretty whimpers strung into symphonies. She fell apart for him, breaking into melodious moans, and all of his senses were filled with her sounds, her smell, her touch. Her. It was all so easy with her.
But, of course, everything had to get all complicated again.
The guys phoned to say Happy Thanksgiving when Allie was curled into Dean’s side, all fucked out and satisfied enough to murmur that he could take the call, even with her lying next to him. But, as he was joking around about not freezing his ass off at the rink, he clocked Allie shoot up from beside him, flying to the window in nothing but a sheet. He knew it had been too good to be true, but he couldn’t let himself react whilst their friends were still on the phone. Fuck. His heart hammered as he hung up, and he hated the way it crawled into his throat when Allie turned and said:
“This was supposed to be a one-time thing.”
Dean barely got a chance to catch up with where she was going with this…he’d thought they were both on the same page; that they were both not deeping it and just enjoying being in each other’s presence because, yes, they had verged a little away from the realms of casual sex, but it wasn’t like they loved each other or some sappy bullshit like that. He liked fucking her. She liked fucking him. Why did it have to become some huge drama? He didn’t want—he didn’t want a drama. He just wanted her.
“I mean…Hannah’s stupid happy and Garrett’s your friend,” she continued. “I can’t mess that up.”
Dean felt like he was rising from an ocean’s surface, blinking water out of his eyes. Why was fear gripping his heart like a vice right now? Why did he feel like he was drowning? “How is this messing that up?”
“By making her thing about me.” Allie had started to dress herself again now, and Dean told himself that he was just gutted because she was putting her tits away, but he knew it was something more than that. He just couldn’t quite name it yet. “She deserves this…and the second people find out we’re…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “They’re going to ask what this is.”
Well, what is this, Allie? Do you feel it, too? Is that why you’re running away? “No, no,” he shut her down, and his own thoughts in the process. He couldn’t go there. Not right now. Not ever. “No one’s gonna ask that.”
Allie scoffed. “They’re not gonna ask you that.”
Ouch. Her words were a bullet to the chest, and Dean couldn’t quite find the words to force out of his throat that was closing up, the casual malice of her remark lodged in his ribs. He thought ironically that he felt just as unravelled as he had when she’d asked Is it? to his comment about being happy with his status as Six Flags. Which was so fucking great, wasn’t it? Because, at the beginning, he’d felt like she saw him as something more than Briar University’s bike. And, now, it was like she’d shoved him back onto the route he was supposed to be riding, with a brutality that skinned his knees like a kid without training wheels for the first time. He’d thought—he’d thought that she saw something different in him; something more. But, clearly, he’d just been kidding himself. Maybe she’d been fooling herself all along, too, into only sleeping with him because it felt slutty and naughty, and not because she cared about him. Which was…that was fine. Because Dean felt that way, too. About her. He didn’t care—
Oh, fuck it. He did care. He cared a fucking lot. And Allie’s words hurt.
“People are gonna talk and Sean will find out, and I can’t hurt him,” she told him, disbelief painted all over her face as if she regretted it; regretted everything; regretted him. “Like, I called you, what, thirty-six hours after I broke up with him? That’s less than forty-eight. Oh my God, I–I–I fucked you less than forty-eight hours after breaking up with Sean.”
Frankly, Dean was pretty goddamn sick of hearing about Sean. But, he could see that Allie was spiralling now, so he pushed through his own wounds to try and bandage hers. “We had fun. We were safe. We didn’t hurt anyone,” he said softly, desperation threaded through his tone. Just come back to bed, he wanted to beg. Come and kiss me, and I’ll help you forget about him. You don’t want to hurt him? Fine. But, don’t hurt me either.
“Yeah,” Allie agreed, and a little piece of his heart fluttered again. Maybe not all was lost. Maybe they still could—“So, let’s keep it that way.”
“Allie, come on…” Dean didn’t even try to mask the devastation in his tone now.
She shook her head, downtrodden beyond belief, and he just wanted to go back to when the call had come through. He should’ve rejected it, should’ve cuddled Allie closer so that reality didn’t come knocking on their door; so that the pin didn’t pop the bubble they’d been living in ever since she showed up at his home. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
Allie walked past him, and Dean exhaled sharply. “Allie, come on…”
But she was already scooping up her clothes from the floor, and stepping back into them. He tried not to fall apart, because this was what they were, weren’t they? They were casual. He had no right to try and hold onto her when all he’d ever done with women was make it crystal clear that they were having sex with no strings, lest they get too attached and try to nail him down like Miranda had. How funny. Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis had waved a set of rules in front of his hookups like a terms-and-conditions page, and now he was falling victim to his own contract.
He watched Allie leave, wrenching out a desperate At least let me order you a taxi, which she silently accepted. And, when the door closed behind her, Dean physically flinched, hand coming up to rub at his chest because fuck, it ached. Why did it ache so much?
Because you got attached, a snide voice reminded him. And now she’s cut your strings.
Dean sank onto his knees, eyes latched on the chocolate turkey that Allie had left on his kitchen island, and he absentmindedly wondered if this was what it felt like to lose a game he’d started playing without knowing how high the stakes were.
Happy fucking Thanksgiving.
Allie: 1. Dean: 0.
🎬🏒♟️
I'll keep you my dirty little secret (Dirty little secret)
Don't tell anyone or you'll be just another regret
(Just another regret, hope that you can keep it)
My dirty little secret, who has to know?
Dean locked eyes with Allie during the Hurricanes fundraiser at Malone’s, and he realised that he didn’t think he’d ever be able to get her out of his system. He’d requested for After Hours to sing Dirty Little Secret by The All-American Rejects just to see her reaction as he walked past the bar, and her lip bite was enough to make his stomach swoop. He knew that she’d freaked out over Thanksgiving, but he knew what he wanted, and he wasn’t going to give up that easily. Whether she liked it or not, he knew Allie Hayes, and she wanted him it, too. She was just holding back because of motherfucking Sean, and it was eating him apart.
Just meet me in the bathroom in, like, say five minutes, he murmured to her, and tried not to smirk when she swallowed, as if she was trying to resist the urge to kiss him too. But then, her answer came in her request of P!nk’s U + Ur Hand, and Dean couldn’t stop himself from laughing. God, he was so obsessed with her cheeky attitude. He couldn’t get enough of it because he knew—he knew that she enjoyed what they’d been doing, so he was sure that she was just playing hard to get to tease him which was fine by him. He liked a challenge; a chase; a game. She may have won the last set, but he was determined to come out on top for this one. He watched with a broad grin as she danced with Hannah to P!nk’s song, texting her every filthy thought that was running through his mind, especially when she proceeded to bump hips with other girls on the dance floor, sending a jolt of arousal through him. Next time you put on a show like that for me, you better fucking be naked, he texted her, but Allie didn’t glance at her phone, still wiggling her hips irresistibly. So, he called her. Yes, whilst they were in the same bar. That was the only way to get her attention, so fucking sue him.
“Is that your answer?” Dean asked, leaning against the wall to try and stay discreet. He’d make out with her on top of the bar if he could have his own way, but he had to respect her boundaries. She wanted them to be a dirty little secret. Fine. He was brilliant at keeping secrets.
“Take a look around,” Allie said. “Any girl would be happy to stick her tongue down your throat.” She found his intense gaze from across the bar and his eyes skimmed over her, remembering how easy it had been to untie her apron and rail her over the ice machine, in this very room.
“I don’t want any girl,” he told her, and he was startled at how honest he was being; at how much he meant it. It was true, after all. He hadn’t been able to look at any other woman since he’d started hooking up with Allie. She’d ruined him, and he was more than happy to be wrecked.
Allie inhaled, and he knew that his words had affected her. Who wouldn’t enjoy being the sole subject of someone’s desire? Especially someone like Dean, who had had no problem in the past with having any and every girl who flung themselves at him. It was weird for him to be so fixated on one person. But, as he watched her chest heave with her breath, he didn’t regret it. She may have been acting nonchalant, but she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. He could’ve bet that, if he snuck his hand up her skirt and slid his fingers past the gusset of her underwear, she would be soaking wet. The thought made him shift slightly, his trousers pressing into his semi.
“Well, guess you’re stuck with your hand,” Allie answered, head cocked to one side alluringly.
‘Cause you know it’s over, before it began…
Keep your drink, just give me the money
It’s just you and your hand…
Fuck. He cared so much. He was so far in over his head that he could barely breathe. Allie sashayed away, and he hated to watch her leave but he loved to watch her walk away. Her ass was simply magnificent. That was all this was. Pure, unadulterated lust. Or, at least that was what Dean kept telling himself. But, as he sauntered back through the bar and at least three different girls batted their eyes at him, he felt the disinterest shoot through him like a venomous injection into his blood. It was so strange for him to not soak up the attention of every woman, but all he wanted was Allie Hayes’ eyes on him and it was driving him crazy. He addressed the crowd, and their cheers were enough to keep his energy up, but he couldn’t stop seeking out Allie at the bar. She was talking to a man—probably just taking his order or something—and jealousy fizzled in his gut. He needed to stop. He needed to get her lips on his. He needed her like oxygen, and he couldn’t help but wonder when this want; this hunger had turned into something needier; something admittedly a little pathetic.
“And, in first place…Grace Ivers! Please collect your prizes from Della at the bar. Congratulations…to all of our lucky winners tonight,” Dean spoke into the microphone, unable to take his gaze off Allie weaving through tables, leaning over to wipe up spillages and collect empty glasses. It was just lust. Lust. Lust. Lust. Again, he just wanted what he couldn’t have. “A lot of people got what they wanted, but not all of us,” he added, desperate for her to look at him. Look at me, he wanted to shout into the mic. “So, if there’s any last-minute requests, changes of heart…” Look at me! She turned, and Dean fought the urge to punch the air. “...remember that the photobooth is out of order.”
Allie’s eyes flickered to the Sorry, OUT OF ORDER sign on the photobooth curtain, and he felt something akin to hope blossom in his chest. He’d been aiming for casual all night, cockily telling her that he just knew what he wanted, but Dean knew there was something deeper brewing. He’d felt the ache when she’d left his place on Thanksgiving; when she’d pulled away and cold air had snuck between their ever-crackling flames. And now, the rejection was sitting heavily on his chest like a constantly-pressed bruise. That was why he cared. You just don’t like losing, he told himself.
But, when he waited in the photobooth for her and there was a moment where he thought that, perhaps, he’d misread Allie’s glance; had misconstrued this whole thing, Dean wanted to punch himself in the face for getting so hung up on one woman. This wasn’t like him, at all. This was weird. Just as he was about to give up, though, the curtain shifted to one side, and relief slammed into him as well as a sliver of satisfaction. Because yup, there she was. His vixen. His girl. She’d come back to him, just as he knew she would. He hadn’t doubted his prowess for a second.
“Change your mind?” Dean grinned, hoping that he didn’t come across as too eager.
“No. Maybe,” Allie said. “Just every time we do this, I feel so—”
“Amazing,” he replied, cocky as ever.
“Bad,” Allie corrected him. “I feel bad. Guilty.”
Motherfucking Sean. “Wait, are you Catholic?”
“No, I’m just a girl,” she insisted, and he fought the urge to smile. God, she was adorable. “I have to think about what everyone else feels before I can figure out what I’m feeling. And, I can’t even do that right now because this fucking breakup is totally messing with my head. I don’t even know what to think.”
“Then, don’t,” Dean said, as if it was simple. Because it was, to him. He was more than happy to take her mind off everything, if it meant that he could still have her. “Don’t think.” Be with me, he thought. He took a step closer to her. “Tell me what you want.” She wouldn’t meet his eye. Tell me that you want me as badly as I want you. “Allie-Cat,” he whispered. “Tell me what you want.”
“This is not a relationship, okay? No strings, no feelings, just sex—”
Fine by him. “Just fucking kiss me,” he murmured and, when her lips met his, Dean felt like he’d won a prize; a trophy greater than any of his hockey achievements. Because Allie Hayes was kissing him back, with just as much need as he had for her, and it didn’t matter that she only wanted sex because that was what he was good at, wasn’t it? She didn’t need to know how insane he was about her. He could be the no-strings guy in a heartbeat.
“Meet at mine in an hour,” she mumbled, before dashing out of the photobooth, but not before looking to see if anyone had noticed they were in there.
And…well. Dean had enjoyed the secrecy and the sneaking around at first. It had been hot. But, tonight, when she’d been dancing with Hannah, all he’d wanted to do was slide up behind her and kiss her senseless, in front of all their friends. It was fine, if she just wanted sex. That was fine. It wasn’t like he knew how to do anything more than that. He wanted more than that. Which he didn’t quite realise until Allie slipped past him, and he was left in the photobooth wondering why the fuck he suddenly wasn’t happy with an arrangement that he usually thrived in. Why was he the one who wanted more, when he’d always been the one happy with less?
“Fuck me,” Dean said, when he arrived at Allie’s dorm and she answered the door in nothing but a kamino and a matching set. And he meant it, as she dragged him to the couch and climbed on top and he ran his hands over the lace, squeezing her tits in the way he knew she liked so that her head would loll back. He felt it, when his senses were consumed with everything that was her, pushing her thong aside and burying his cock inside of her dripping cunt like it was where he was supposed to be; where he belonged.
“God, you’re so—” he choked out, thrusting into her languidly. She was so perfect beneath him, grinning wickedly into every kiss as he teased moans and whimpers out of her red-lipsticked mouth. Maybe it was worth it, being the casual sex guy, if he was the only one who got to see Allie Hayes like this, so unbelievably confident in her sexiness. Maybe Dean didn’t need to overthink the other feelings swirling in his gut—he just needed to accept that he was obsessed with fucking her, and everything else could just stay benched because it would only make things messy. But, as they cuddled on the couch afterwards and he absentmindedly thought that he could get high off her laughter; drunk off her scent, Dean knew he was just kidding himself.
He knew, when his stomach sank as she kicked him out because Hannah was coming home, that it would only be a matter of time before he got too invested. That it was probably already a matter of time…he was rather obsessed with her, and he didn’t know how he’d cope if she tried to end it again. They were just having fun. Allie had made that very clear, and he’d respected that because that was usually how he played this game, too. Just fun. No strings. No commitment.
He knew, as he rushed for the door still half-dressed, that it wasn’t normal to be this gutted over not being able to cuddle his very-casual-no-strings-no-feelings-hookup.
“You look so good,” Dean hissed out, on a disappointed exhale, and that was an understatement, really. He wasn’t just bummed about how amazing Allie looked; how she’d dressed like that for him. He wanted to spend more time with her. He was sick of their time together being cut short because she didn’t want to be seen with him.
And, as he hurried out of Bristol House, still shrugging back into his shirt, he knew one more thing:
He was royally fucked. He was in a stalemate, with no more moves remaining. He just wanted Allie, and it felt so simple and so right. And yet, he knew it was wrong. He knew it was weird. He knew that she didn’t want him in that way, and he knew that he shouldn’t want her in that way; that he’d never wanted anyone as badly as he wanted Allie Hayes.
But, sue him. He just wanted to be wanted. So, maybe it was time to cross the line she’d laid out as bait; to let her reel him in—hook, line and sinker.
🎬🏒♟️
Dean felt like a fish out of water.
It had been bad enough that the game against St Anthony’s had completely gone to shit, after Garrett pummelled the other Captain’s face into bloodied shreds, sending him off the rink—and probably out of the entire season—so that the Hawks were probably definitely fucked. Then, Garrett’s hearing meant that the NCAA took away all of the Hawks’ wins, leaving them in dead last, meaning that they basically had zero chance of making the Frozen Four. Birdie was out with a concussion, Garrett was suspended for a month, and Dean didn’t know where else the team was supposed to turn. Also, Allie wasn’t responding to his texts, which he kept telling himself he didn’t care about, but those read receipts were harsh. They hurt.
Not to mention the fact that, when they were discussing what else the Hawks were supposed to do, Logan and Tucker suggested Hunter Davenport, of all people. Hunter Davenport, the guy who had made Summer sob into a pillow. Hunter Davenport, who had got under Dean’s skin so much in St Bart’s that he’d wanted to rip it off. Hunter Davenport, who was apparently a really great defenseman, but he was not a defenseman that Dean wanted on the rink beside him. He would rather pluck out his own eyeballs than play with that prick. Beisdes, he’d already been offered a spot, and he’d turned it down, so why the fuck should he get a chance now?
Then, to make matters even worse, he was clearly down bad enough to beg for Allie to come over. And, when she tumbled through his window with all the gracefulness of Bambi’s first steps, Dean caught her, and everything seemed to click into place as they fell onto his bed, laughing and holding each other. For a moment, it didn’t matter that everything he’d been working hard for had just gone to hell. All that mattered was the way that Allie’s eyes crinkled slightly when she giggled, and how she curled into him.
“Just need you to sit…” she said, hands on his shoulders as she pressed him back down onto the bed when he tried to go for a kiss. “I came to say…”
Dean’s breath caught in his chest. Was she about to….well, not that he was sure if he wanted her to or not, but was she going to admit that she felt as insane about them as he did? That he wasn’t just batshit crazy? That she wanted him as badly as he wanted her? “Okay, what’s—what’s going on?” He felt so out of control, as he often did with Allie. She unravelled him, seam by seam.
“You may have noticed that it’s been a second since we slept together,” she said, and no shit. He’d been nursing boners and muffling her name into his pillow when he jerked off to thoughts of her for nearly a week now. It was driving him crazy.
“I have noticed, and let me be the first to say I’m not crazy about it,” he replied, wanting to keep her there; right there where he could still kiss the shit out of her and swallow her moans.
“Yeah, it’s because I had a revelation,” Allie answered, and Dean tried to keep his cool; tried not to let her see how much that panicked him. Was she about to tell him that she’d got back with Sean? That she didn’t want him anymore? “Uh…we need to sleep with other people.”
Dean laughed uncertainly. “We’ve always said that we can sleep with other people.” Not that he had. In fact, now that he came to think about it—
“Right, of course. You’re Six Flags,” Allie said dryly. “But, when’s the last time someone other than me actually got on this particular rollercoaster?”
Dean thought about it—and he did, really, think about it. He’d been so busy with hockey this past week but he’d slept with someone last week…no, that had been Allie. Before that, it had been over Thanksgiving…which had been Allie. And, the days prior he’d been thinking about Allie, so he’d actually only slept with Allie in his recent memory. Though, hadn’t he slept with Kelly and Michelle? No, that had been interrupted…by Allie. “Shit,” he said.
“Exactly, yeah. So, um…like, this thing between us….it’s fun.”
“Agreed.”
“But, it can’t be a relationship.”
Well, Dean didn’t do relationships anyway, no matter how crazy he felt about her. “Sure.” He didn’t care what they were, as long as he got to have her.
“Just need to lower the stakes a little on us. Sleep with other people, so we can sleep with each other, as well,” she told him, and that was…fine. He could do that. He was the expert at doing that. He didn’t quite get why she wanted him to stick his dick in other women, when she was clearly enjoying what they’d been doing, but he’d do whatever she wanted at this point.
“I’m not tracking the logic here,” he murmured because, maybe if he seduced her right now, she would forget about this paranoia that had crept into her brain.
“Just have sex with someone,” she burst out. “Are you in or are you out, Di Laurentis?”
“A sexy homework assignment,” he said. “I’m in, Allie-Cat. I am so in.” Because if that was what it took to get her to sleep with him again, then he’d do it easily. Without even breaking a sweat. She smiled at him, saying Good with eyes that said please-fuck-me-Dean but, when he leant in for a kiss, she pushed her palms against his chest and escaped out of his window, leaving him painfully hard and, honestly, a little hurt that she’d come all the way from Bristol House to tell him to fuck someone else before leaving. What the fuck was that about? Anyway, it didn’t matter. Dean could sleep with someone else, easy. That’s what she’d said, hadn’t she? That he was easy? He could fuck somebody else in no time and then he would’ve completed her assignment, and he could continue sleeping with her.
Except…he clearly couldn’t.
Because, no matter how many times he tried to let himself engage with the women who continued to fling themselves in his general direction, he…couldn’t do it. He couldn’t sleep with them. He sometimes got as far as kissing them but, the second they reached for his waistband, he was reminded of how they simply weren’t Allie Hayes so he genuinely couldn’t get it up. Which was so weird. Why wasn’t he attracted to the women who dragged their mouths along the column of his neck? Why couldn’t he separate these nameless chicks from the one woman who clouded his entire thought process? This was his jam. This was the game he always won. And yet, thanks to the girl who’d taken over his whole mind, he couldn’t win. He just kept losing.
“I’m having a crisis,” he told Beau, after a day of desperately trying to hook up with someone else that wasn’t Allie, and failing so miserably that he honestly kept looking at Little Dean just to ask the fella What’s wrong with you?
Beau proceeded to instantly be on board with whatever murder Dean had been a part of and, even as he told his best friend that he’d been hooking up with Allie, Beau didn’t even blink. I know, the prat said, with a self-satisfied smile. I was in the car with you for eight hours and I have eyes, he continued which…damn. If Beau knew, did any of the other guys have suspicions? Probably not Garrett, because he currently had his work cut out with his suspension from the Hawks and his breakup with Hannah. But, had Logan worked it out? Did Tucker know? Were they not as discreet as his lovely Allie-Cat may have hoped?
“Oh. Fuck, you’re not as dumb as you look.”
“I appreciate that. So, what’s your crisis?”
“I’ve lost my game,” Dean admitted, because it was true. “I tried hitting on, like, three different girls. Gorgeous girls. All of them totally into me. But, I just…I don’t care. Heart’s not in it. Dick’s not in it.”
“Whoa.”
“I know.”
Beau cracked an incredulous grin, as if he wasn’t sure why Dean hadn’t caught on yet. “Dude, you like Allie,” he said. “Like, “like” like her.” Dean blinked at him. What? No. “Just tell her how you feel.”
“No. No, that’s…” Stupid. Against all of my rules. Makes me into a blunder. Fucks up all of my game etiquette. Ruins everything because she wants the rollercoaster, not the person behind the wheels. She made that very damn clear. “No,” he laughed. “She wants Six Flags.”
Beau rolled his eyes. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”
“She doesn’t want anything heavy or real,” he told him. “Yesterday, she told me that we have to sleep with other people. And, uh, evidently I cannot.”
“We?” Beau clarified. “Like, she’s supposed to hook up with other people, too?”
Dean fought back the nausea at the idea of Allie melting into anyone else’s touch. “Yeah.”
“And…” Beau looked at him like he could see a different story playing out on his face. “You’re cool with that?”
“Totally.” Dean forced a laugh, because no, he was not cool with that, but what did that mean? Why did he care so much? “I mean, we aren’t…”
“No, you aren’t.”
“We aren’t at all, like…”
“But…” Beau arched an eyebrow.
Dean thought about kissing Allie in front of all their friends; about taking her out on dates and drinking in her laughter because it got him higher than any drug; about slipping his hand into hers and inhaling her scent as he dragged her off towards his house, or her dorms; about cuddling in the same bed as her—for a whole night, not just the brief moments post-sex—and feeling the sensation of her soft curls through his attentive fingers; about running her hot baths every time a rehearsal left her aching; about seeking her bright eyes out whenever he scored a goal, and skating over to kiss her in celebration; about getting gassed off her happiness; about—
Oh, fuck.
“Yeah.”
Beau grinned. “You’re fucking awesome, D. I know that. She knows that. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be hooking up with you. So, stop being chicken shit and tell her how you feel. And you gotta do it fast before she goes and hooks up with some other guy,” he said.
Dean nodded slowly, his brain going into overdrive. Tell Allie how he felt? He didn’t know the rules for that one; didn’t know how to turn the game in his favour with that assist. But, as he sat in that booth with Beau, he knew his best friend was right. That he liked Allie, as more than just a fuckbuddy. So, as he left Malone’s, he tried phoning her. Maybe he could just put a pin in this whole homework assignment thing because, knowing Allie, she wouldn’t actually do it until she knew he’d done it. And, if he was planning on never looking twice at another woman just so that she could smile in his general direction—because that was what she truly wanted, right? She wanted love…she’d told him that—then, he had nothing to worry about. He could tell her how he felt; a big confession like something from the movies, and she’d eat that right up.
He knew it. Because he knew her.
Allie didn’t pick up. She was probably still at rehearsal. It was all going to be fine.
And, to be honest. Dean was even a little bit excited. He may not have known how to play this part of the game, but he was sure that he’d come out on top. They’d come out on top.
🎬🏒♟️
“Hey, we won. You should come to Malone’s. I want to talk to you,” Dean said into the phone, high off their win.
“No time,” Allie cut him off. “Hannah’s doing the showcase. You have to get Garratt there.”
Despite himself, he smiled. “Why?”
“Because they’re stupid right for each other, and Hannah deserves a romantic gesture,” she said.
Do you want a romantic gesture, Allie-Cat? ‘Cause I’ll give you one. “So, you want me to…”
“Yes! Now!” she commanded.
And, this might have been something new that Dean had learnt about himself, but he would pretty much always do whatever Allie Hayes said. Even as he nearly blew his cover with his insistence that Garrett had to be there for Wellsy’s showcase to the point where Beau had to save his ass (everyone say Thank you, Beau) and they rushed to the auditorium to catch Hannah’s performance—which was amazing, by the way—all Dean could think about was how he wanted to lean forward and intertwine his fingers with Allie’s who was, obviously, front row and centre. He wanted her so badly and, after his chat with Beau, he knew that it wasn’t just lust.
It was something more.
Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis didn’t know how to do more. He was a free bird. A team player. But, maybe he wanted to feel more than the breeze in his air. Maybe he wanted to discover what it was like to sink under the waves a little, instead of riding them carelessly. Perhaps it was possible that he could still win the game; the hand he was dealt whilst getting what he wanted—who he wanted. And, that who was Allie, without a doubt. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted anyone as badly as he wanted her; didn’t want to be known by anyone as much as he longed for her to break down his every defence. He’d stop the ride for her…scratch that, he’d stop the world, just to get off with her. He’d lose the game, if it meant she emerged as a winner. Because he…
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She spoke to a bartender—her coworker, most likely—to request three shots of tequila, and Dean gravitated to her side like a moth to a flame. Except he was fairly sure he wasn’t just seeking out the light…he was craving the fierce burn of her touch. He grazed her waist, evoking a small smile from her, and he took a deep breath. This was it. This was the moment where he collapsed all of his defences to the most versatile piece in his life. As long as she wasn’t protected by another—which she wasn’t, because he knew her, and he knew that she just wanted love and, you know what, maybe he could…maybe he could capture her; maybe he could give her that. Or, perhaps he could give her something close to it, anyways.
“I didn’t complete the assignment,” he told her, trying to hold back his grin because he knew her, and he knew that this would be the kind of shit that she would eat up; the type of romantic gesture that she’d swoon about whilst singing one of her Broadway songs.
But, instead of instantly relaxing and telling him that that response was what she’d been hoping he would say, Allie tensed up. She blinked as if he wasn’t making any sense. “What? Why?”
“Because I like you,” Dean said, before he could overthink it. “I like us.” With every word he said, he realised how true it was; how much he meant it. However, he was already starting to get slightly unnerved by Allie’s dumbstruck expression. “I know that’s not…what we said…” (“This is a one-time thing.”) “But, I was hoping—”
“Hey, no, Dean.” Allie looked genuinely shocked, and he knew it was probably because she didn’t expect the rollercoaster to have much more to it than an adrenaline-fuelled loop-the-loop. “You can’t.”
God, she was so adorable. She was probably worrying that she’d locked him down by accident; that he was only saying this because she’d backed him into a corner; boxing him in, with little squares as easily accessible as they’d been before. But, little did she know, Dean wanted to be with her; wanted the more that she presumably had to offer. “And yet, I am.”
“No, I mean, like, you have to complete the assignment,” Allie told him, which was…weird, right? Why was she so desperate for him to sleep with someone else? He would’ve thought she’d be the type to want exclusivity. “Because—“
“Because why?” He grinned, a little in disbelief.
“Because I did.”
Dean felt like he was standing on the edge of a board that was teetering off the edge, pieces scattering. Allie…Allie had—she’d…completed the assignment? She’d slept with someone else? Someone that wasn’t him? You gotta do it fast before she goes and hooks up with some other guy, Beau had said. Had he…he not been quick enough? It had only been two days. He hadn’t been able to stomach the thought of having sex with anyone else, and he’d thought—no, he’d known that Allie struggled with the concept of casual sex, so he’d thought that—
“Okay, someone tell me why we aren’t drinking over here.” Beau approached, plonking down drinks on the table between them, but Dean couldn’t…he couldn’t focus on anything but the sound of his own heart rushing to his feet in shattered fragments.
“I swear, it didn’t mean anything,” Allie protested, eyes wide.
Which…maybe that meant that they meant something, but Dean couldn’t quite stop his mind from envisioning someone else kissing Allie’s neck; someone else making her moan; someone else thrusting into her and feeling her clench around them. He’d thought that they had something special going on; that she was the only exception to his rules, and that he was teaching her a new sort of game. “I…Joanna set me up with this guy, like a total stranger at a bar,” she continued, and Dean felt like he was going to throw up.
A stranger…a stranger. Allie had been anxious enough about sleeping with him, and they at least ran in the same social circles. She’d told him that she didn’t like having sex with people she couldn’t also talk to; couldn’t get to know. He knew that about her. He—he thought he’d known that about her. He’d been so fixated on why he—Dean I’ll-fuck-anyone Heyward-Di Laurentis—wasn’t able to sleep with somebody else, that he hadn’t even thought twice about whether Allie was going to complete the assignment before him. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Allie I-feel-bad-whenever-I-fuck-you Hayes would happily have sex with someone she didn’t know; someone she wouldn’t have had the time to trust enough. That wasn’t like Allie. That wasn’t the Allie-Cat he knew and—
Fuck. For the first time, Dean was speechless. His words had stuck in his throat, behind a lump that suspiciously felt like a suffocated sob. He hadn’t cried since high school. He didn’t cry over girls. That was…that was why his rules existed. Why he was the priceless piece on a chessboard that everyone wanted to capture, but could never quite catch. Because this was what happened. He stumbled over a hidden trap, and the hockey stick smashed into his shins enough to make him drop to the ice, cast out of the game for the foreseeable future.
Allie’s eyes slid to the door, and she visibly blanched. “Oh shit,” she hissed out, snatching her gaze away as if she’d been shot; as if she’d seen something that made her severely uncomfortable. Dean was still fighting past the tsunami of emotions that had engulfed him whole but he couldn’t have anyone making his girl uncomfortable, so he turned. And the board crashed to the ground, pieces engulfed in flames. Because Hunter Davenport was walking through the door, and Beau was asking Allie, is that who you…and all Dean could think about was Summer’s cries muffled into a pillow, and Allie’s moans silenced by Hunter’s mouth and he—Christ, he was going to throw up, surely, because there was no bloody way that she’d fucked—
“Him?” His voice cracked, and his heart did, too. Out of all the people, she’d picked the enemy? The only one capable of rescinding Dean of his position at the top of the scoreboard; at the endgame. Allie stammered out a series of ineligible responses that Dean wasn’t even listening to, his brain just stuttering on the Yes that fell from her lips; her lips that he’d dreamt of for weeks; her lips that, apparently, Hunter Davenport had been able to taste, too. It hadn’t been enough for him to have Dean’s sister. He had to take his girl, too.
Dean saw red. I heard your team needs saving, Hunter smirked, the cocky asshole, and he wondered if Allie had found his snarkiness funny, too, or if she only reserved her laughter for him. Then, as chaos unfurled and betrayal reared its violent head—You scared I’m going to dust your ass again? Yeah, you wanna try?—Dean’s hands smacked onto Hunter’s chest until he staggered; until all he could focus on was pushing that pompous prick as far away from him as possible; as far away from Allie, whose shouting of his name still filtered through the din because she was the most versatile; the most precious; the most powerful.
It took three of the guys to drag him off Hunter, as he slammed him into the bartop until his lack of control risked his own invaluable survival; his own capability of holding his own against an enemy defense. Because the game had fallen out of his favour, and Dean didn’t know how to hold onto it anymore; didn’t know how it had slipped out of his grip, but he knew it had been lost somewhere between Allie’s mesmerising grin and her irresistible touch; amongst the ocean of her eyes that he was pretty sure he’d drown in until he washed up on the shore; within the roar of his heart whenever her laughter looped around him, screeching everything that was important to a stop. As if nothing mattered more than her happiness. As if the entire ride could shudder to an end, but it didn’t matter, not as long as she wanted him as much as he wanted her; not as long as he wanted to be wanted by her, and only her.
“Dean, get off him!” Garrett shoved him back, but Dean couldn’t stop; he wouldn’t stop until he got to swing for Hunter again; for the guy who had had the audacity to sleep with his Allie-Cat. Even though he was an excellent team player at casual sex because he never got competitive; because it was sealed with a handshake and didn’t mean anything, he wouldn’t rest until he’d knocked the motherfucker out.
And, as he caught Allie’s stricken gaze through the ruckus, he wondered if she knew how much she’d unravelled him; how much she had broken down every defence line he’d ever built. How she’d backed him into a corner, the ultimate offensive powerhouse, and ripped his scars wide open for all the world to see until he was bleeding and screaming out. If she knew how much he wanted to be wanted by her, and how much it fucking hurt that she clearly didn’t care as much about him as he cared about her; that this had all just been an adrenaline-fuelled ride for her, when he’d turned off the lights long ago.
If she knew how powerful she was in dismantling him into an inescapable attack, or if she hadn’t realised the impact of her decisions on him because she thought he was just Six Flags; that he was just playing with her until he got bored and moved onto the next attraction.
Clearly, she didn’t. Because she was staring at him as if she couldn’t read him, as if he suddenly had more layers than she’d ever realised. As if he’d crossed a line. As if she’d orchestrated a checkmate effortlessly, without seeing how that would be the final blow to Dean’s clever game. As if there was no evidence of the loss and damage she’d caused; of how she’d defeated them.
Which…there wasn’t. Not really, when you thought about it.
So, fucking sue him.