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She turns back to me. “I don’t understand your problem with him. He’s super hot.”
“You don’t live next door to him.”
Not only does Lucifer himself patronize my favorite place in the whole world, he also lives in the apartment right. Next. Door.
I see him all the time. At the mailboxes. In the elevator.
Every morning.
It’s exhausting because he’s exhausting.
Like the traitor she is, Maya lifts her hand and waves. He shoots her a grin I’m sure he thinks is panty-melting and waves back as he heads to the front counter to place his order.
I swat it down. “Stop that!”
“You stop it!” She yanks her hand back. “There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s?—”
“ Super hot—yeah, I heard you the first time. He’s also super annoying.”
“How so?”
“For starters, he?—”
“Ah, Sam.” My mortal enemy approaches the line. “Nice to see you, bro .”
“That!” I practically rise up out of my chair, pointing an accusing finger at him. He peeks over at the commotion, thick brows squished together at my disruption. “That right there! He says stuff like that because?—”
“Hey, Dean.” Sam high-fives his old teacher. “How’s your weekend going?”
“Because of that. They’re Sam and Dean. Like the Winchesters .” I roll my eyes. “Spare me,” I finish as I settle back down on my ass, watching the two of them chat it up like old friends.
Which I guess they are. Kind of.
Last year when Maya and her ex were going through their divorce, Dean was there for Sam in ways only a father figure can be. With him being Sam’s teacher and seeing him at school, the two grew close, and though it’s incredibly silly, it makes me a little jealous.
And horny.
Which in turn makes me really damn angry.
I hate him. He’s an ass. A total jerk. And so not my type. I don’t like him. The attraction is the lack of a man warming my bed talking and nothing more.
Besides, what I’m looking for is not Dean. He might have a stable job and appear steady on his feet, but that doesn’t make up for how much he annoys me.
“You know, I’m starting to think maybe you only say you hate him because you’re secretly crushing on him.”
I bark out a sardonic laugh. “Please. That is so not it.”
“You’re saying you don’t find him attractive at all?”
“No.”
“No you don’t find him attractive, or no that’s not what you’re saying?”
I shift in my chair. “Of course I find him attractive.”
“Huh. Interesting.”
I tilt my head, pinching my brows together. “What is?”
“Dean turns you on.”
“W-What?!” I sputter, sitting up straight. “He does not! Why would you say that? I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to. A best friend knows these things.”
“What the…”
“Oh, honey.” We look down the table toward Lucy, whose nose wasn’t as stuck in her book as I thought. “It’s obvious to me too.”
“Lucy! What the hell?!”
She lifts a shoulder, a smirk teasing her red-painted lips. “I’m just tellin’ the truth, dear. Besides, it ain’t a bad thing. You’re not alone in your feelings—Dean makes me horny too.”
My eyes widen and my cheeks heat.
“Now, now. Don’t you two give me that look. I’m old, but there’s still motion in this ocean, and the ocean is definitely in my panties when that man walks through the door.”
She slides her tongue over her lips, and I have never wanted a hole to open up and swallow me as badly as I do in this moment, and that includes the time I walked through Wal-Mart with my skirt tucked into my underwear…my thong underwear.
Lucy takes a sip of her tea and turns her attention back to her book… allegedly .
Maya dips her head toward mine, leaning close to whisper, “So that happened.”
“Unfortunately, it did.”
“Look, it’s not a bad thing if you have a crush on him.”
“Just because he might —and I’m putting a lot of emphasis on that word— maybe get me a little excited in the pants, that doesn’t mean it’s a crush. I can be physically attracted to someone and still hate their guts.”
“Or you can be lying.”
I groan. “Trust me, it is not a crush, Maya. I don’t even kind of like him. In fact, I’ve said many times over the last year that I loathe him.”
“But for no good reason.”
“You’re kidding me, right? There are plenty of reasons!”
“Name one.”
Just one? There are so many reasons to dislike Dean.
He’s obnoxious. Always right about everything. Inserts himself into breakfast with my best friend every single Sunday.
And his worst offense?
The fact that he lives next door. He’s always playing that awful guitar on his balcony or blaring his horrid taste in music at all hours of the day. Screaming at the TV about whatever sport he always seems to be watching.
He’s the worst neighbor ever.
“He wakes up to the same song every damn day.”
“Most people do.”
“But Old Time Rock & Roll repeatedly? It’s?—”
She points a finger at me. “That song is a classic. You’re not allowed to trash-talk it.”
“Classic or not, does he seriously have to blast that song at five thirty in the morning including weekends?”
“He works. That’s more than I can say for half the dudes you go out on dates with.”
“But—”
“No. No buts . Could he turn the music down? Sure, but you’re not allowed to fault him for making a living, especially when it involves teaching and making kids’ lives better.”
“You’re only saying that because he’s all buddy-buddy with your kid.”
“So?” She shrugs. “Now name something else that isn’t absurd.”
“Leo.”
“Aw, come on. Leave Leo out of this.”
I point to Dean, who’s still standing in line with Sam because this place is packed on a Sunday morning. “I can’t leave Leo out of this when he brought him here.”
“Leo is adorable .”
“He’s a turtle!”
“But—”
“An emotional support turtle!”
“Yes, but?—”
“In a damn restaurant!”
Maya huffs. “You’re being a spoilsport.”
I glance back at Dean, who is now engaged in conversation with another customer about said turtle. They’re cooing at him like they would a baby. Leo’s eating up the attention because he’s as bad as his owner.
“He’s only doing it for attention.”
“Maybe the emotional support isn’t for him but for Leo? Did you ever think about that?”
“Did you ever think that’s the second most ludicrous thing to ever leave your facehole? Surpassed only by you telling me you can get Lyme disease by eating bad limes?”
“I saw it on Facebook!”
“Stay off Facebook!”
“But the drama…so addicting…” she murmurs. “Stop distracting me. We’re talking about actual, viable reasons for hating him.”
“He… He’s…”
“What?” She sits forward, brows raised, waiting for my response. “Attractive? Funny? Friendly? Good with kids? Has a steady job?”
“He steals my pie!”
She rolls her eyes again. “He does not.”
“Yes, he does. Intentionally. Every Sunday. It always happens.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“I am not.”
“You sure about that?”
“I might be overstating it a bit, but you know I’m right about it happening often.
We either get here too late and he’s already snagged it because it’s Sunday and the good pies always go fast on Sundays with people coming in and out after church taking them all—which is exactly why I want to meet early”—I give her a pointed look, and she shrugs sheepishly—“or he makes some futile excuse to trade whatever garbage he gets with Sam and your gullible little shithead buys it.”
“One, you can order without me.”
“I can’t. Then it’s not a true breakfast date. That’s you running into me when I already have my face stuffed full of pie.”
Ignoring me, she continues. “Two, there is no need for name-calling. Sam is not gullible.”
“He’s not? Because he believed he could get a fever from disco dancing on a Saturday night.”
“He did not. Besides, he’s just trying to be nice to his teacher—something you should be doing. Dean signed up to coach the football team this year, and your nephew likes football.”
“Your point? Sam isn’t my kid. I don’t have to kiss Dean’s ass for the sake of keeping the peace during the school year.”
“Huh. And here I thought you wanted to kiss Dean’s ass.”
“What’s that about my ass?”