Summary: Dean wants unlimited access to Beau’s Cape Cod residence for the summer following graduation. And Beau wants Dean to attempt monogamy for the last two months of their final semester. Dean agrees knowing Beau gets to pick the woman, but he didn’t realize Beau had already made his choice before they even shook hands.
Author's Note: I am going to upload once a week, which I know is slow, but I have a lot going on this summer with work and personal obligations. That being said, I really do hope you all like this series! If anyone reads this part, what traditionally published book are y'all reading right now? I'm reading Under the Iron Sky by A.T. Emerald.
"Is it necessary to sit next to me every week, Di Laurentis," you grumble hearing the creak of the chair beside you as you continue looking through your bag for a pen. A soft tap sounds next to your head, and you look over to see a pen being placed on your desk.
A small grin grows on your face as you lean forward to look past Dean to the man next to him.
"Thank you, Beau," you say. He gives you a wink with an "Of course." Your eyes drift over to Dean's face as you sit back in your seat. He runs his fingers through his hair while giving you a slow once over.
"It's too early for this," you tell him. He lets out a quiet laugh as he opens his laptop.
"I literally haven't even talked yet," he says.
"And yet, somehow you have found a way to already make an 8am lecture worse."
To be fair, Dean is right. Technically, he hasn't done anything to tick you off today, yet. One would think, however, that the blonde would see you choosing a random seat in the half-filled lecture hall every week as a sign. Especially when all of your classmates have stuck to the same seats the last two and a half months, no doubt watching your game of musical chairs. Today, you chose one of the back corners having hoped that he wouldn't see you.
"You know you'd miss me," he whispers as your professor pulls up the powerpoint to the week's lesson.
"Mhm, would I now? Beau, did he get checked into a wall during last night’s game? He's more delusional than usual." Dean scoffs as Beau snorts trying to cover his laugh.
“No, but I promise I’ll pay one of the hockey guys to if you come to the party tonight.”
“I have a shift tonight until 10:30, but I’ll text you if I’m able to get off earlier.” You tell him as you begin writing what’s on the current slide.
“What? You’ll give him your number, but I have to DM you on Instagram?” Dean whines. A guy two rows in front of you turns to glare at the three of you. You give him a tight-lipped grin and elbow Dean.
“Believe it or not, Beau and I are friends. We’ve been friends for three years. You were quite literally there when we became friends. And I muted you on Instagram.”
Dean’s jaw drops before he tries to recover and act like he’s not affected by this information.
“Well, if you do show up tonight, we could always take a trip down memory lane…” You stop writing and turn your head to stare at him, sure that you heard him wrong.
He chuckles awkwardly.
“Six Flags, right?”
You give him a quick once over, his cheeks turning a light pink.
“Don’t steal my line," you say with a hint of disgust as you point the pen at him, "I’ve heard you’ve been using it on your puck bunnies.”
“Why, jealous?” He asks with a smirk now.
“More like mad because my material is being stolen. I can’t have people thinking I’m associated with you.” His smirk falls away.
“Who else have you used that line on?” He whispers clearly irritated, his eyebrows furrowed.
“You want a list or?”
“Brutal,” you hear Beau mumble.
“Beau,” you say looking Dean in the eyes.
“What?” Beau asks looking above Dean’s shoulder at you.
“Nothing, I’m just giving Dean the list,” you say not breaking eye contact with Dean, his narrowing before he whips his head around to look at Beau. Beau raises his hands in defense.
The rest of the hour goes by with all three of you sitting in silence, much to your relief. You feel Dean's eyes on you a few times more, but he says nothing further. As soon as your professor dismisses class, you sling your bag over your shoulder and grab your papers before quickly making your way down the stairs and out the door.
I'm sorry for throwing that out there like that and then I hope he's not mad at you you send to Beau.
He'll get over it, I told him it was only one time freshman year he responds back. You're about to put your phone back in your pocket when you see the three dots pop back up.
I however, will be very mad at you if you don't come tonight. Consider it your way of making it up to me :)
You roll your eyes, your mouth twitching slightly and quickly type back I'll see what I can do.
It's around 11pm by the time you're able to sneak out from behind the bar of Hemingway's and clock out. You've thrown your apron over your shoulder, said your goodbyes to your coworkers, and are walking out the front door, trying to pull your hair out of the bun that has been giving you a raging headache for the past 5 hours when you hear your name being called. You turn to see Beau standing next to his Land Rover, a smug smirk on his face.
"Ready?"
“Wha-Beau, I literally am wearing my work clothes,” you protest. You let out a low moan as you finally get the hair tie out and shake your hair out, massaging your scalp.
“Correct, but then I remembered I could swing by your dorm and grab you something to throw on after work.” Your eyes lock in on clothes, your clothes, dangling from his outstretched hand.
“...and how did you get into my dorm exactly?” You question, eyeing him with suspicion as you walk over to where he’s waiting. He shakes your clothes teasingly for you to take them.
“I may have possibly happened to run across Maeve in Spruce’s lobby and convinced her I needed to get into your dorm because I left one of my shoulder pads in your room.”
“And she just didn’t question when you left my room with no shoulder pad but my clothes?” He shakes his head.
“Probably had something to do with her going “You’re Beau Maxwell”,” he says mimicking your roommate in an airy voice while batting his eyelashes. You cover your mouth to hide your smile at the accuracy, trying your best to stay serious.
“She probably thinks we’re sleeping together now. She talks,” you warn grabbing your clothes finally. He leans back against his car.
“Oh no, she’s going to gossip that I’m sleeping with a beautiful woman, whatever will that do to my reputation,” he gasps dramatically as he casts the back of his hand against his forehead.
“I’m covered in alcohol. I smell,” you counter changing the subject and he scoffs, cutting you off.
“You’re going to a party, everyone smells like alcohol.”
“I have a shift tomorrow.”
“At 2pm.”
“You seriously left the party just to come pick me up and force me to go to a party?”
“It’s barely started, and you know I’m not opposed to throwing your ass in the car, so be a good girl and,” he stops, gesturing his hands toward the car. You scrunch your face before groaning and trudging around the car, yanking open the door and climbing into the passenger seat.
Beau gets in and starts the engine, sending a big smile at you.
“Just get dressed as we drive,” he tells you pulling away from Hemingway’s and all you can think about is how lucky he is that he’s one of your best friends.
Dean’s in the middle of whispering in the ear of the woman who has thrown her arms around his neck, his hand settled on her lower back when he sees Beau walking through the front door. He makes a mental note to ask where he disappeared to tomorrow when he sees you trailing behind him, hand wrapped around Beau’s wrist. Something ugly tightens in his chest seeing you that comfortable with Beau, but he quickly shoves it away seeing Beau leading you two towards him and Megan? Miranda? It starts with an M, he’s sure of that.
Before you look at him, he lets himself take you in, breath stilling at the shirt you’re wearing remembering the first time he saw you wearing it.
It’s the first weekend of your freshman year at Briar. Your roommate had invited you to come to some party she had been invited to, which she immediately abandoned you at as soon as you walked through the front door. You walked into the kitchen of the cramped four-person dorm throwing your now empty plastic cup into the sink as you began looking for a paper towel after someone bumped into you, your chest completely soaked with a vodka cranberry. Dean walks into the kitchen a minute later looking for another drink when he sees you opening random cabinets and slamming them shut after not finding anything on the counters.
“Stupid fucking frat guys, who doesn’t own paper towels,” you grumble to yourself as you stand from looking in the last place they could be. He watches as you sway, hands planting themselves on the counter to steady yourself.
He chuckles to himself seeing you that frustrated knowing the paper towels are hanging next to the sink in plain view, right next to your head. Your head whips over to him and a smile pulls at the corners of your mouth.
“Dean!” You cheer happily, turning to him with your arms outstretched for a hug. He looks down at your outfit and feels himself stop breathing for a second. Your low cut top accentuating your chest in a way that hits him harder than the 3 drinks he’s had have. He pulls them away and looks back into your eyes, putting an exaggerated frown on his face.
“What happened, sweetheart?” You look down and match his frown looking back up at him.
“One of your dumb frat brothers knocked my drink into me,” you slur, “and I looked so cute too.”
Dean hums as he reaches behind you to grab a couple paper towels, wetting them in the sink and handing them to you. You gasp as you see the paper towels.
“You still look cute,” he whispers, his mouth twitching in amusement at your amazement towards the appearance of the paper towels. He looks away as you start scrubbing the sticky residue off of your skin.
“Do I?” You ask blushing.
“You know you do,” he says, his cheeks turning a light pink too before taking the paper towels from your hands and throwing them away for you. The alcohol still shows on your shirt. You don’t notice.
“I also know that you have had way too much to drink,” he continues. You pout.
“I didn’t even have that much.”
“Oh yeah, and how much would you quantify that as?”
“Ummm,” you say thinking hard for a second before holding up four fingers. His eyebrows raise.
“You’ve had four drinks?”
“Three shots, vodka cran, that one doesn’t count though,” you say pointing to the sink.
“So five drinks?”
“Four and a half drinks,” you argue.
“Okay, well, how about this,” he starts, placing his hands on your shoulders, “I get you one of my shirts and I walk you back to your dorm?”
“But I don’t want to leave,” you look up at him, eyes wide, before pulling yourself up to sit on top of the counter. You cross your arms like that will make you immovable. He stares at you for a solid five seconds before he reaches towards you and gently pulls you off the counter, holding you bridal style as he starts walking towards his bedroom. You hear someone say “Yeah, Dean!” and giggle before looking up at him to see him rolling his eyes before pinching your thigh.
“Mean!” You lightly smack his chest right before he drops you onto his bed. He moves towards his drawers and starts rummaging through them before he finds his favorite. He turns to hand you the shirt only to find you’ve taken off your shoes and jeans which are discarded next to his bed while you’ve made yourself at home under his comforter. He’s grateful you decided to keep your shirt on.
“And what do you think you’re doing?”
You tap the other side of the bed while the other hand is outstretched, your fingers wiggling for his shirt.
“Tired,” you say as he hands over his shirt and looks away so you can change.
“You’re good,” you whisper. He turns back and his eyes widen as he sucks in a sharp breath seeing you sitting on his bed, legs tucked under you, flooding in his shirt. You give him the smallest smile while patting the comforter again.
“Stay, please.” He hangs his head in defeat and walks over to his door to make sure it’s locked before grabbing a pair of pajamas and changing in his bathroom.
He walks back out only to hear your steady breathing coming from his bed, your eyes closed and face completely relaxed. He turns off the light and then pulls back the comforter to climb into the bed beside you. He watches you sleep, your face being dimly lit by the parking lot lights outside his window.
"Goodnight, sweetheart."
He falls asleep with a smile on his face.
“Di Laurentis,” he hears. He looks up, you have an eyebrow raised.
Shit he thinks, how long was I staring at her chest? Megan, Miranda, scoffs and walks away.
Beau gives him an awkward smile having seen it too and is about to turn towards you when he hears someone yell from outside “Di Laurentis, Maxwell, beer pong next round!” You roll your eyes and tell Beau you’re going to go find a drink before leaving the two. He calls your name in what sounds like a warning to Dean.
Dean watches you walk away and disappear into the kitchen without realizing that Beau is watching him watch you. Beau looks away before Dean turns back and walks out the sliding door to the deck. Two guys from the football team stand on opposite sides of the table. Two women stand next to them. The game is nearly over, one side clearly having no chance.
“How about we make this interesting?” Beau says over the music blaring from the speaker in the second floor’s window. He crosses his arms looking over at Dean with a smug look.
“How so?” Dean asks, already intrigued.
“You win, you get to use my family’s Cape Cod house this whole summer, whenever you want. You can bring whoever you want, no need to let me know beforehand, and I’ll even give you a key to the place,” Beau says knowing Dean has been begging for just that the whole year. Dean’s eyebrows raise and he tilts his head back thinking.
“Okay, and what do you get if you win?” He questions suspiciously.
“I’m so glad you asked! You know I love hearing your fanclub circulating your name around campus, but I truly think what would really warm my heart is you finding a special someone to be monogamous with these last two months we’re here,” Beau explains looking over at Dean.
“Terms?”
“I get to pick her out, you cannot sleep with, kiss, or text any other women the whole time, and you have to actually put effort in. And because I am the best friend ever, I’ll even let you still have the Cape Cod house with all the previous terms if you can pull this off.” Dean considers everything Beau has said, considers the length of two months, and then considers how many plans he had already considered which surrounded his access to that house.
“I’ll take those terms," Dean decides extending his hand to Beau who immediately extends his and gives him a firm shake. And if Dean sees the smirk planted on Beau’s face as Beau walks over to the winning side of the table, he doesn’t mention it. And he certainly doesn’t mention the way you walking over to Beau to hand him a drink before settling yourself on a chair next to the table makes him feel a jolt of irrational anger towards his best friend.
I tried to make sure everyone is tagged, but some people's accounts wouldn't show up for me. I don't know if it is a setting issue. I added everyone anyway in hopes it still works.
I neeeeeeed a garrett x reader fic where garrett is in love with a fellow history nerd and they go to museums and libraries and shit but he just knows the guys will make fun of him for being so nerdy around reader
Wait, stop, this is such a cute idea! I’ll start working on it tomorrow!!!
I have to reread Atmosphere by Taylor Jenkins Reid for work and I ugly sobbed over it the first time, and I’m already getting teary eyed again. I’m so doomed when the movie comes out…
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — dean di laurentis needs a fake girlfriend for his family’s charity weekend. unfortunately, the girl he asks is the one person who can’t stand him. even more unfortunately, she might be the only one who can make it believable.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — 18+ mdni, fake dating, enemies-to-lovers banter, only one bed trope, forced proximity, tension, flirting, dean being dean, suggestive moments, almost kiss, no smut in this part.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 — 7,019.
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫's 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — part one of boyfriend material is finally here. i’m so excited for this mini-series. tell me what you thought about part 1 <3
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⟶ you can find my taglist here!
𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⟶ you can find my masterlist here!
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The first thing you realized was that Dean Di Laurentis wasn’t good at begging without making it dramatic.
The second thing you learned was that Dean absolutely hated being bad at anything.
“No,” you answered.
Dean blinked at you from across the kitchen table as your answer had personally offended him. “You didn’t even let me finish.”
“You said, ‘I need a huge favor,’ and then looked at me like you were about to ruin my entire week,” you told him, taking a sip of your coffee. “That was enough.”
Hannah pressed her lips together beside you like she was trying very hard not to laugh.
Allie didn’t bother trying.
She leaned back in her chair, already grinning into her mug. “This is my favorite conversation.”
Dean gave her a look. “No one asked you.”
“You showed up in our dorm at nine in the morning.”
“It’s almost ten.”
“On a Saturday,” Allie added. “That’s basically dawn.”
Dean ignored her and turned back to you, his hands braced on the table. His hair was messy, his hoodie was wrinkled, and he had the faintly panicked look of someone who’d made several bad decisions and was only now realizing consequences existed.
It wasn’t an unfamiliar expression on him.
“Just hear me out,” he tried.
“Absolutely not.”
“[Y/N], come on.”
“Dean, no.”
“I’m serious this time.”
“That’s when you’re usually most dangerous.”
Hannah finally gave up, laughing softly into her hand.
Dean pointed at her. “Don’t encourage this.”
“She doesn’t need encouragement,” Hannah said. “She’s doing great on her own.”
You gave him a sweet smile.
Dean’s eyes narrowed. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Deeply.”
“You don’t even know what I’m about to ask.”
“I know it involves you, your family, and the phrase ‘huge favor,’ so that tells me everything I need to know.”
Dean exhaled and dragged a hand through his hair. “Okay, fine. I may have accidentally told my parents I’m seeing someone.”
Allie went quiet, Hannah looked up, and you lowered your coffee like the conversation had suddenly earned your full attention.
Dean looked between the three of you, suddenly defensive. “It made sense at the time.”
You stared at him. “No, it didn’t.”
“You don’t have the context.”
“Was the context that you lied?”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
Allie leaned forward like she’d been waiting for this. “Oh, this is good.”
Dean let out a groan. “It’s not good.”
“It’s incredible,” she corrected. “Keep going.”
Dean shot her a glare before turning back to you. “They’ve been on my ass lately about taking things seriously.”
You hummed thoughtfully. “Wonder why.”
His gaze cut to yours. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m still listening.”
“You’re judging me with your whole face.”
“I’m capable of both.”
Hannah touched your arm like she was asking you, very nicely, to let him finish.
You leaned back with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Go on.”
Dean looked like he was starting to regret coming here, which was satisfying.
“My family’s hosting this charity weekend,” he started. “Country club, hotel, dinner, auction, donor thing, the whole nightmare.”
“That sounds expensive and exhausting,” Allie said.
“It is.” Dean pointed at her as Allie had just proven his point. “Exactly.”
You raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m still waiting for the part where this becomes my problem.”
“I’m getting there, okay?”
“I’m getting older,” you added, watching Dean clench his jaw.
Hannah tried to hide another smile.
“My mom asked if I was bringing anyone,” Dean admitted. “And I said yes.”
You waited for him to keep going, and when Dean didn’t, you narrowed your eyes.
“Dean,” you warned, watching him look away. “Dean.”
“I panicked,” he admitted.
“You panicked,” you repeated, because somehow that explained nothing.
“She got weirdly intense.”
“She asked whether you had a date.”
“She asked it like it meant something.”
“Oh my god, Dean.”
“And then my dad made this comment about wanting to meet whoever finally got me to settle down, and I didn’t correct him fast enough, so now my parents think I have a serious girlfriend.”
The room went quiet for about two seconds before Allie burst out laughing.
Dean pointed at her again, which only made her laugh harder. “This isn’t funny.”
“It’s kind of funny,” Hannah admitted.
“It’s actually very funny,” you told him.
Dean looked at you like you’d personally wounded him. “I’m in crisis.”
“You’re dealing with consequences.”
“I need your help.”
“You need a reality check.”
“I need a girlfriend.”
“I need a girlfriend,” Dean blurted, and you nearly choked on your coffee.
Allie made a delighted little sound, and Hannah looked at him like he’d lost his mind.
Dean held up both hands before you could react. “Fake girlfriend.”
“No,” you told him, setting your mug down hard.
“You haven’t even heard the full plan yet.”
“There’s no plan in the world that ends with me pretending to date you.”
“That’s actually hurtful.”
“That feels fair.”
Dean leaned across the table and lowered his voice, as if that would make him more convincing. “It’s one weekend.”
“No.”
“It’s three days.”
“Still no.”
“Two nights, technically.”
“Not a chance.”
“I’ll owe you big.”
“You already owe me after you told Logan I liked his haircut and he thanked me for twenty minutes.”
Dean winced at that. “That was an accident.”
“You said, and I quote, ‘[Y/N] thinks you look hot.’”
“I was just trying to distract him.”
“Distract him from what, exactly?”
Dean paused before admitting, “I don’t remember.”
“That’s what I thought.”
He sighed your name, long and pleading.
You hated that your name always sounded softer when he said it like that, and you hated it even more because part of you noticed anyway. After all, that was the thing, you didn’t hate Dean the way you pretended to.
Hating Dean Di Laurentis would’ve been a lot easier if he weren’t so hard to like.
He was arrogant, irritating, shamelessly dramatic, and way too pleased with himself, the kind of guy who flirted like it was a reflex and teased you because he knew exactly how to get under your skin. He stole fries from your plate whenever you sat with Hannah and Allie at Malone’s, called you “sunshine” when you glared at him, and “sweetheart” when he was clearly trying to get something thrown at his head.
But he was also usually the first one to notice when Hannah got overwhelmed in crowded rooms, to cover Allie’s drink when someone brushed too close to it, and to walk you home when it got late, like it wasn’t a big deal.
Dean was irritating and had always been in trouble, but he also had a way of looking at people that made him notice more than he should.
You found that deeply inconvenient.
“No,” you repeated, because apparently he needed to hear it twice.
Dean’s shoulders slumped. “You don’t even want to know what’s in it for you?”
“No.”
“I’ll get you tickets to the next game.”
“I already know too many hockey players.”
“I’ll make Garrett stop calling you scary.”
“I actually like it when Garrett calls me scary.”
“I’ll get Logan to stop flirting with your friend.”
“You absolutely can’t.”
Dean considered that for a second, then nodded. “Fair.”
Allie leaned closer to you. “You should ask for money.”
Dean looked genuinely offended. “I’m not paying someone to date me.”
“You’re not,” you told him, “because I’m not dating you.”
“Fake dating,” Dean corrected.
“Somehow, still no.”
He looked at Hannah as if he were getting desperate. “Help me.”
Hannah lifted both hands. “I’m not getting involved.”
“You’re already involved,” Dean told her. “This is your apartment.”
“That’s not how involvement works.”
Dean looked back at you, and for the first time since he’d shown up, the panic slipped into something quieter.
“Please,” he murmured.
The word landed differently this time.
It wasn’t dramatic this time. It wasn’t teasing. It was just Dean, looking at you like he really needed you to say yes.
Your chest tightened before you could stop it.
Damn him for making it harder to say no.
You hated that seeing him genuinely stressed made it harder to stay annoyed. It was much easier to say no when Dean was being insufferable, not when he looked like he actually needed you.
“Why me?” You looked at him, trying not to sound like you were already considering it.
Dean blinked, thrown for half a second, like he hadn’t expected you to ask.
Then he straightened slightly, like the answer was obvious once he said it. “Because they’ll believe you.”
You frowned at him. “Why?”
“Because you don’t act like someone who would put up with me unless you wanted to.”
Allie snorted into her mug, and you shot her a look.
She held up both hands, still grinning. “Sorry. That was good.”
You looked back at Dean, trying not to think too hard about what he’d just said, but he was watching you carefully now, without the smirk or the teasing, and that made it harder not to.
“Also,” he added, a little quieter, “you’re good with people. My mom will like you, my dad will think you’re smart, and you won’t get intimidated by my family or let me say something stupid without kicking me under the table.”
“You say stupid things all the time.”
“Exactly. I need supervision.”
You looked away first, which felt annoyingly close to a loss. That was a mistake, because Allie immediately let out a soft little gasp as she’d just witnessed something historic.
“Oh my god,” Allie gasped. “You’re considering it.”
“I’m not.”
Hannah tilted her head like she was trying to be gentle about it. “You kind of are.”
“I’m not,” you insisted, which didn’t help your case. Dean’s eyes lit up with dangerous hope, and you pointed at him before he could say anything. “Don’t look excited.”
“I’m not,” Dean said, looking extremely excited.
“You are,” you told him.
“I’m cautiously optimistic.”
“You should be afraid.”
“I can multitask,” he said, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
You dragged both hands over your face.
This was ridiculous. It was ridiculous. It was exactly the sort of thing you shouldn’t agree to under any circumstances.
Dean Di Laurentis was a lot of things, but boyfriend material wasn’t one of them.
He was flirt-at-a-party material, bad-decision-after-midnight material, the kind of guy who looked good leaning against counters and bad for your common sense. Charming when he wanted something, dangerous when he smiled, and completely unqualified to be anyone’s serious boyfriend, especially yours. Fake or not.
You leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “Do you want my help, or do you want to die?”
Dean, for once, made the smart choice and closed his mouth.
You pointed at him. “No kissing unless necessary.”
“Define necessary.”
“You know exactly what necessary means.”
“I do, but I’m getting the feeling your definition is stricter than mine.”
“My definition includes your mouth staying away from mine most of the weekend.”
Dean’s eyes flicked briefly to your mouth, so briefly that you almost convinced yourself you’d imagined it.
Almost.
Then he looked back up at you, expression so maddeningly innocent it had to be fake. “The majority?”
You narrowed your eyes at him, which only made him smile.
You hated him.
You hated him.
You were starting to think that might be a problem.
“No sex,” you added, sharper this time.
Allie choked on a laugh.
Hannah breathed, “Oh my god.”
Dean blinked once, then twice, before his mouth curved. “Sweetheart,” he murmured slowly, “I hadn’t even brought that up.”
Heat rushed to your face. “That’s why I’m bringing it up first.”
“Very responsible of you.”
“I’ll stab you with this spoon.”
Dean’s grin widened. “Fake relationship rule number two. No sex.”
“Rule number one,” you corrected, “is no kissing unless necessary.”
“Right. Very tragic rule.”
“Rule number three,” you went on, ignoring him. “No feelings.”
Dean raised an eyebrow like that was exactly the wrong thing to say. “Were you worried?”
“Yes. For you.”
Dean laughed. “For me?”
“You seem emotionally fragile.”
“I’m already devastated.”
“Rule number four,” you continued. “No calling each other boyfriend or girlfriend when no one is around.”
Dean’s smile shifted slightly, just for a second, before it came back.
“Why not?” Dean wanted to know.
“Because that’s weird.”
“We’re pretending to date for an entire weekend, sharing a hotel room, and lying to my parents, but boyfriend is where you draw the line?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.”
“It’s not interesting, Dean.”
“It’s kind of interesting.”
“Rule number five,” you went on, louder this time. “When this is over, we go back to normal.”
Dean studied you like he knew there was more beneath the surface. For once, he didn’t immediately make a joke, which somehow made it worse.
The word sat between you in a way you didn’t want to look at too closely, because normal, for you and Dean, had never been simple. It’d always been bickering in kitchens and too-long eye contact, comments that felt like dares, and smiles you pretended not to return. It’d always been his hand hovering near your back in crowded places, never staying long enough for anyone to call it something, but close enough that you noticed every time.
Dean nodded once, like he understood exactly what he was agreeing to. “Deal.”
Your stomach tightened a little. “You’re agreeing too easily.”
“I told you, I’m desperate.”
“That’s very comforting.”
“I mean it,” he promised. “Your rules. I’ll follow them.”
Allie coughed, as if she had thoughts about it.
Dean glanced at her. “What?”
“Nothing,” Allie said, in a way that meant absolutely nothing.
“That sounded like a judgmental cough.”
“I just think ‘your rules, I’ll follow them’ is going to age beautifully.”
You ignored her and held Dean’s gaze like you were trying to figure out whether you believed him.
“You owe me,” you reminded him.
“Anything,” Dean promised.
“You don’t even know what I want yet.”
“Then I’ll find out.”
The words shouldn’t have sounded like that, soft and low and too much like a promise. Your fingers tightened around your mug.
Allie, because she had no mercy, leaned back in her chair. “This weekend is going to be a disaster.”
Dean looked at you, and you looked back at him. For once, neither of you argued.
**
Less than twenty-four hours later, the disaster began.
Dean picked you up at noon, which gave him just enough time to text you seven times beforehand.
dean
wear something my mom will believe i had a shot with
you
so basically nothing?
dean
very hurtful.
you
objectively accurate.
dean
my mom’s going to love you.
you
because i’m obviously charming?
dean
because you’re mean to me. she’ll find it refreshing.
you
your family sounds smarter than you.
dean
everyone says that, actually.
By the time Dean pulled up outside your apartment, you were already on the curb with your overnight bag, pretending your stomach wasn’t twisting.
Dean pulled up to the curb and got out immediately.
You wished he looked worse. It would’ve been helpful if he’d shown up in something ridiculous, like a stained hoodie, bad shoes, or a hat that made him look like an idiot.
Instead, he showed up in dark jeans, a navy sweater pushed up at the sleeves, and sunglasses hooked into the collar like he’d been designed specifically to ruin your life at a family charity weekend.
His eyes moved over you before he seemed to remember he wasn’t supposed to be obvious about it. Too late, though. You noticed.
“You look…” Dean started, then seemed to forget the rest of the sentence.
You raised an eyebrow. “Careful.”
His mouth curved. “Expensive.”
You stared at him because somehow that was worse.
Dean smiled like he couldn’t believe he had to explain it. “That was a compliment.”
“That was a weird compliment.”
“My mother’s going to love it.”
“You really know how to make a girl feel special.”
He took your bag from your hand like it hadn’t occurred to him not to.
“I’m your fake boyfriend,” he reminded you. “That’s my job.”
You froze. Dean froze, too, like he’d realized it at the same time, and then you slowly turned your head toward him.
“What was rule number four again?”
Dean sighed as if this rule were personally inconvenient. “No calling each other boyfriend or girlfriend when no one is around.”
“And are we currently around anyone?”
Dean looked dramatically up and down the empty street before nodding toward a bird. “Does that count?”
“Dean,” you warned.
“Fine.” He put your bag in the trunk. “I’m the man pretending to be emotionally invested in you for social gain. Better?”
“Much better.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You literally begged me.”
“I’m regretting it already.”
“No, you’re not.”
He shut the trunk and smiled at you over the roof of the car like he knew you were right.
“No,” he told you. “I’m not.”
That shouldn’t have warmed something in you. It did anyway.
The drive to the hotel took about 2 hours. Dean spent the first 30 minutes giving you a full family briefing, as if you were about to enter witness protection.
“My mom’s going to ask how we got together.”
“We’re going to need a story.”
“We already have one.”
You looked over at him. “Since when?”
“I flirted with you until you gave up.”
You stared at him until he glanced over. “What?”
“That’s not a story.”
“It’s close enough to the truth.”
“It’s absolutely not.”
Dean grinned as he’d just found a loophole. “So you admit there’s some truth to it?”
“I admit you flirt with anything that has a pulse.”
“Not anything.”
“Sorry,” you corrected. “Anything attractive that breathes.”
Dean tilted his head as he’d just caught you. “So you admit you’re attractive?”
You closed your eyes as that might help. “I hate you.”
“That’s not very fake girlfriend of you.”
“Dean. Rule four.”
“Fake girlfriend,” he insisted.
“That still counts.”
“It doesn’t.”
He smiled at the road like he was enjoying this way too much.
You hated how easy it was to fall into this with him, into the fighting and the rhythm and the way he always seemed ready for whatever you threw at him. It made the fake part feel less fake than it should’ve, and that was dangerous. Very dangerous.
Dean’s phone buzzed where it sat in the cup holder.
He glanced down at it, then passed it to you. “Can you read that for me?”
You picked it up. The text was from his mom, which felt ominous.
Mom
Can’t wait to meet her. Your father says, “Please don’t be late.” I say try not to scare her off before dinner.
You smiled despite yourself as you handed the phone back. “She sounds nice.”
“She’s nice,” Dean admitted. “That’s the problem.”
“Since when is nice a problem?”
“When nice people are disappointed in you, it’s worse.”
Your smile softened. Dean said it casually, but his fingers tightened slightly on the wheel, just enough for you to notice.
That was the problem with fake dating someone you spent so much time pretending not to care about. You knew things, tiny things you weren’t supposed to know, like how Dean joked more when he was nervous, how he tapped his thumb against the wheel when he was thinking too hard, and how his confidence was loudest when he was trying to convince himself of it.
“You’re nervous.”
Dean’s thumb stopped tapping against the wheel.
“I’m not nervous.”
“You are.”
“I’m just focused.”
“On lying to your parents, you mean?”
“On surviving this weekend.”
You studied him for a moment, and when you spoke again, your voice was quieter. “Do they really think you’re that unserious?”
Dean’s mouth twitched, but it didn’t quite turn into a smile. “I mean, I haven’t exactly given them evidence otherwise.”
Something in your chest pulled tight. “Dean.”
He glanced over at you, and for a second, there was no teasing in his expression at all.
“I know what people think of me,” he admitted. “It’s not like they’re wrong.”
You didn’t answer immediately, because you’d thought those things too. Cocky, careless, shameless, charming enough to get away with anything. But then there were the other things, the things Dean pretended didn’t count, like how he’d shown up at Hannah’s after one text when Garrett was spiraling, how he always checked if Allie got home safe even when they were arguing, and how he noticed which teammate needed to be dragged out of a party before anyone else did.
Dean was unserious about a lot of things, but not everything.
“Maybe you’re just bad at letting people see the evidence,” you offered.
Dean looked over at you again, and when the car went too quiet, you looked out the window like that would help.
“Don’t make it weird,” you told him.
His voice was softer than you expected. “You made it weird.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You said something nice to me.”
“That was an accident.”
“Do that again, and I might fall in love.”
Your head snapped toward him, and there it was again, Dean’s grin, annoying and beautiful and infuriating all at once.
“Rule three,” you reminded him.
“No feelings,” he agreed lightly. “Yeah, yeah.”
But his hand stayed tight on the wheel long after that.
**
The hotel was exactly what you expected from a Di Laurentis family charity weekend: expensive, tasteful, and deeply intimidating.
It sat beside a sprawling country club with polished lawns, white columns, and more valet attendants than one entrance could need. People moved through the lobby in tailored clothes and quiet confidence, like they knew which fork went with which course and had opinions about wine regions.
You stepped out of Dean’s car and immediately felt underdressed, which was unfair, considering you’d agonized over your outfit for an hour.
Dean appeared beside you, already grabbing both bags from the trunk. “You okay?”
You blinked at him. “What?”
He looked down at you, brows drawn like he’d noticed before you had. “You got quiet.”
“I’m just observing the rich people’s habitat.”
His mouth twitched. “Careful. They can smell fear.”
“Great. Then I’ll stand behind you.”
“You think I look less scared?”
“You look like you belong here.”
Dean looked toward the hotel, his expression shifting into something you couldn’t quite read.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s the idea.”
Before you could ask what he meant by that, a woman’s voice called his name.
“Dean, sweetheart!”
Dean’s whole posture changed, not dramatically, but enough for you to notice. His shoulders straightened, and his smile shifted into something warmer, brighter, less guarded.
A woman with dark hair and elegant gold earrings crossed the lobby toward you, followed by a man in a blazer who looked like an older, sharper version of Dean.
His parents.
Your stomach flipped when Dean’s hand touched your lower back, light and brief, like a silent check-in. You hated how much it helped.
“Mom,” Dean greeted, leaning down to kiss her cheek when she reached him.
She hugged him tightly, and despite yourself, you smiled. Then her eyes found you, the warmth in them sharpening into curiosity.
“And you must be [Y/N],” she greeted warmly.
You smiled and extended a hand, but she ignored it and pulled you into a hug instead.
“Oh,” you laughed softly, surprised. Beside you, Dean coughed.
His mother pulled back, still smiling. “Sorry, I’m a hugger. Dean should’ve warned you.”
“He left that part out,” you told her.
Dean’s father stepped forward and offered his hand. “It’s nice to meet you finally.”
Finally.
The word made you glance at Dean, but he was looking anywhere except at you.
You shook his father’s hand and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
His father looked between you and Dean, assessing but not unkind.
“So,” his mother began, slipping her arm through Dean’s like she wasn’t about to interrogate you in the middle of a hotel lobby. “How long has this been going on?”
Dean opened his mouth, but you answered first. “Long enough for him to annoy me into saying yes.”
Dean’s mother laughed instantly. Dean turned to stare at you, and you smiled sweetly up at him.
His father’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “That sounds like Dean.”
“It really does,” you agreed sweetly.
Dean leaned in, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
“You literally begged me,” you whispered back.
His eyes flicked down to yours.
For half a second, the lobby disappeared.
His mother looked between you and Dean, smiling. “Well, I already like her.”
Dean’s gaze lingered on yours for a second too long.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “That happens.”
Your heart did something deeply inconvenient.
So you looked away first.
Check-in went smoothly, mostly because Dean’s mother handled it while asking you questions with the skill of a woman who had definitely hosted charity events before and knew how to extract personal information without seeming rude.
She wanted to know where you were from, what you were studying, how you knew Hannah and Allie, and, most importantly, how you and Dean had gotten close.
Dean answered the last one before you could. “She hated me at first.”
You blinked at him. “At first?”
His mother’s smile widened. “And now?”
You tilted your head like you were giving it serious thought. “Now I tolerate him.”
Dean pressed a hand to his heart as you’d wounded him. “She’s shy with affection.”
“I’m shy with public displays of murder.”
His father laughed under his breath. Dean’s mother looked delighted, and Dean looked at you like he was trying not to smile.
It was ridiculous how easy it was.
That should’ve been the first warning sign.
The second came when the receptionist handed Dean the room keys and said, “King suite, eighth floor.”
You waited, Dean waited, and his mother smiled pleasantly.
Your stomach dropped.
“King suite?” you echoed.
Dean’s head turned slowly toward his mother like he already knew she was responsible.
She blinked at him with perfect innocence. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Dean said, too quickly.
At the same time, you asked, “One bed?”
Dean’s father raised an eyebrow. Dean’s mother looked between you and Dean, just as his hand came to rest at your waist.
Warm. Steady. Entirely too natural.
“We’re good,” Dean said smoothly. “She likes to pretend she needs her own space.”
You turned your head very slowly toward him.
Dean smiled down at you, the kind of smile that made people believe terrible lies.
“Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart.
Your nails dug into your palm.
Rule four. No boyfriend or girlfriend in private. Technically, this wasn’t private.
Still.
Dean was enjoying this.
You smiled back, bright and dangerous. “Only because you kick in your sleep, babe.”
Dean’s eyes flashed. His mother made a soft, delighted sound. His father looked like he might be reconsidering everything he knew about his son.
Dean leaned down until his lips were close to your ear.
“Babe?” he murmured, like he was testing the word out.
“You started it,” you whispered back.
“You’re going to regret that,” he murmured, still close to your ear.
“Can’t wait.”
You felt his fingers flex once at your waist, like he’d forgotten himself for half a second.
Then he stepped back, smile still in place.
You were in trouble.
The room was somehow worse.
The suite was beautiful, because apparently Dean’s family didn’t do anything halfway. There was a sitting area, a massive window overlooking the golf course, a marble bathroom, and, right there in the middle of the bedroom section, one enormous king bed.
You stood in the doorway, staring at it. Dean set the bags down behind you.
Neither of you spoke.
Then you said, very clearly, “Absolutely not.”
Dean sighed, already resigned. “Here we go.”
“You knew.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You absolutely knew.”
“I thought there would be a couch.”
You stared at him. “There’s a couch.”
You both turned to look at the small decorative couch near the window.
It looked like it’d been designed exclusively for people without spines.
Dean made a face.
You pointed at the couch. “Enjoy.”
“I’m six foot two.”
“Congratulations.”
“I won’t fit.”
“Fold.”
Dean turned to you like you’d lost your mind. “You want me to sleep on that?”
“You created this problem.”
“I didn’t create the furniture.”
“You created the fake serious girlfriend.”
Dean opened his mouth. Closed it. Then nodded once, like he hated that you had a point. “Fair.”
You walked farther into the room and crossed your arms. “I’m not sharing a bed with you.”
Dean’s eyebrows rose. “Scared?”
You laughed. “Of you?”
“Yeah.”
“Dean, the only thing scary about you is your ego.”
“My ego and my charm.”
“Your delusion.”
“You like my charm.”
“I tolerate your charm.”
“You said you tolerate me. That’s different.”
“I’m expanding the category.”
He stepped closer, smiling like he knew exactly how annoying he was. “You know, for someone who hates me, you’re very committed to arguing with me.”
“For someone who needs me, you’re very committed to being unbearable.”
“Maybe that’s my love language.”
“Then I pity every woman you’ve dated.”
Dean’s smile faltered, barely enough to notice.
But you noticed.
The joke had landed wrong somehow.
You almost apologized.
Then Dean turned away, walking toward the window like he needed something else to look at. “You can have the bed.”
Your arms loosened before you could stop them. “Dean.”
“It’s fine,” he said, but it didn’t sound like it.
The sudden lack of teasing felt strange. Too strange.
You watched him pull his phone from his pocket, pretending he suddenly had something to check.
Dean was good at pretending, and you were starting to realize that was part of the problem.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
He looked back, grin already in place like nothing had happened. “Relax. I’ve slept in worse places.”
And just like that, the moment was gone.
You didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
Dinner was scheduled for seven. Dean had called it “casual,” which apparently meant everyone would be wearing outfits that cost more than your monthly rent.
You managed to unpack in silence for approximately three minutes before Dean ruined it.
“So,” Dean said from the other side of the room, sounding way too casual, “should we practice?”
You looked up from your bag, shoe already in hand. “If the next words out of your mouth are kissing-related, I’m throwing this at you.”
Dean glanced at the heel in your hand and raised both palms like you were the unreasonable one. “Hostile work environment.”
“You created the job.”
“I meant the story.”
“What story?”
“Our story.”
The shoe lowered in your hand. “Right.”
Dean sat on the edge of the bed, which annoyed you because he looked too good there. Relaxed, comfortable, like the room belonged to him, and the weekend wasn’t already beginning to unravel around you.
“How did we get together?” he asked.
“You annoyed me until I had a lapse in judgment.”
“Funny, but my mother is going to want details.”
“Fine. We started hanging out because of Hannah and Allie.”
“True.”
“You flirted.”
“True.”
“I rejected you repeatedly.”
“Debatable.”
“Dean.”
“I’m listening.”
“And then one day, you were slightly less annoying than usual, so I agreed to dinner.”
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I like that.”
“You like being called annoying?”
“I like that your version still has me winning.”
“You didn’t win. I suffered a moment of weakness.”
“I’ll take it.”
You rolled your eyes, but your mouth betrayed you anyway.
Dean saw the almost-smile.
“Careful,” he murmured.
You looked at him, instantly suspicious. “What?”
“You almost looked like you liked me for a second.”
The room shifted. Maybe it was the softness in his voice, or the bed between you, or the fact that in less than an hour, you’d have to walk downstairs and convince his entire family that whatever this was had a name.
You forced a laugh like that would fix whatever had just happened. “Don’t get excited, Di Laurentis.”
“Too late,” he said, smiling like he knew exactly what he was doing.
Your stomach flipped. You turned back to your bag before he could notice.
He probably noticed anyway.
Dinner was both easier and harder than you expected. Dean’s family was warmer than you’d feared, which should’ve helped, except their warmth only made the lie feel worse.
His mother sat beside you at the long table in the hotel restaurant, asking questions with genuine interest. Across from Dean, his father watched him with quiet amusement every time you corrected him or stole the bread basket from his side of the table.
“You two bicker a lot,” his mother said, smiling into her glass.
Dean leaned back, his arm draped over the back of your chair. “It’s part of our charm.”
“Our?” you echoed, eyebrows rising. “Interesting.”
“Fine. Your charm. My patience.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself.
Dean looked at you, and his smile softened.
His mother noticed.
You could feel it.
“So,” she said, looking entirely too pleased, “Dean tells us you’re the reason he’s been slightly less impossible lately.”
You nearly choked on your water.
Behind you, Dean’s arm stiffened. “I said no such thing.”
His father’s mouth twitched. “You said she keeps you in line.”
“That’s completely different.”
You turned to him before you could stop yourself. “You talk about me?”
Dean’s eyes met yours, and for once, he didn’t look away.
Then he said, “Only to complain.”
“Liar,” you said, but there was no heat in it.
His mouth curved. “Prove it.”
The table faded again.
That kept happening. Little moments where the performance went quiet, and something else slipped in.
You hated it.
You liked it.
You were doomed.
Later, after dessert, after his mother had hugged you again and his father had told Dean not to be late for breakfast, you both made it back to the suite in silence.
The door clicked shut behind you.
The performance dropped, sort of.
Dean let out a breath and leaned back against the door. “You were good.”
You kicked off your shoes. “I know.”
He laughed quietly. “Humble.”
“I was excellent.”
His smile softened. “You were.”
The sincerity made you pause. Dean pushed off the door, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked farther into the room.
“My mom loves you.”
“She has good taste.”
“My dad too.”
“Clearly, good taste runs in the family.”
Dean looked at you then, and something unreadable moved through his eyes.
“Yeah,” he said, still looking at you. “They do.”
Your pulse stumbled.
No.
Absolutely not.
You turned toward the bed because that felt like the safer option.
It wasn’t.
The bed was still there, large and waiting and definitely mocking you.
You pointed at the decorative couch. “Your throne.”
Dean followed your gaze and sighed. “You’re really going to make me sleep there?”
“Yes.”
“You’re cold.”
“You’ll survive.”
“I might not.”
“How tragic.”
He walked over to the couch and sat down, only for his knees to immediately look ridiculous.
You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh.
Dean stared at you. “Don’t laugh.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m being respectful.”
“You’re biting your lip.”
“Out of grief.”
He narrowed his eyes, which only made you laugh.
You couldn’t help it.
Dean tried to glare, but his mouth twitched. “You’re enjoying my suffering.”
“Deeply.”
“You know, a loving fake girlfriend would offer to share.”
You froze, and Dean froze too.
For a second, both of you seemed to remember the rule at the same time.
No boyfriend or girlfriend when no one was around.
“Sorry,” he said, quieter this time.
The apology came quickly, too quickly, as he meant it, and that made it worse.
“It’s fine,” you said.
Dean stood, suddenly restless. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
You looked at him. Really looked. Noticed how tired he seemed now that his family wasn’t watching, how the weekend had already pulled something tight in him, how he was trying, actually trying, to respect the line you’d drawn.
The bed was huge. Huge enough to avoid touching, probably.
Maybe.
You exhaled. “Dean.”
He looked up, cautious now.
“You can sleep in the bed.”
His eyebrows rose like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right.
“But,” you said sharply, pointing at him, “there will be rules.”
His mouth curved slowly. “More rules?”
“Yes.”
“I love rules.”
“You break rules.”
“I lovingly challenge them.”
“You stay on your side.”
“Yes.”
“No touching.”
“Yes.”
“No flirting.”
His smile widened. “In my sleep?”
“Especially in your sleep.”
“What if I dream about you?”
“Then wake up ashamed.”
Dean laughed, warm and low, and you hated how much you liked hearing it in the quiet room.
“Deal,” he said, softer than you expected.
You changed in the bathroom, mostly because you didn’t trust Dean and partly because you didn’t trust yourself.
When you came out in sleep shorts and an oversized shirt, Dean was already in bed, shirtless.
You stopped in the doorway, because apparently your body needed a second.
He looked up from his phone. “What?”
“Where’s your shirt?”
Dean looked down at himself like he’d forgotten. “Off.”
“I can see that.”
“I sleep shirtless.”
“Not tonight.”
“You’re policing sleepwear now?”
“Yes.”
Dean’s gaze moved over your face, amused and something else you didn’t want to name.
“You’re flustered.”
“I’m annoyed.”
“You’re standing in the bathroom doorway, glaring at my chest.”
“I’m glaring at all of you.”
“My chest feels singled out.”
You marched to your suitcase, grabbed a pillow, and threw it at him. He caught it easily, laughing.
“Put a shirt on.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because I said so.”
Dean’s smile turned dangerous. “That’s not a reason.”
Your face warmed. His eyes flicked over it, but then he reached down, grabbed a shirt from his bag, and pulled it on.
“There,” he said.
You blinked. “That was… easy.”
“I can be easy.”
“Never say that again.”
His grin returned immediately. “Too tempting?”
You reached for the lamp on your side and turned it off before he could see your expression.
“Go to sleep, Dean.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured.
You climbed into bed carefully, staying as far to the edge as possible. The mattress dipped under Dean’s weight when he shifted. Even with space between you, you could feel him there—his warmth, his breathing, his presence taking up too much of the room.
For several minutes, neither of you spoke.
Then Dean’s voice came quietly from the other side of the bed. “You did save my life today, by the way.”
You stared into the dark. “I know.”
“My mom would’ve killed me if I showed up alone.”
“She still might if she ever realizes this is fake.”
Dean was quiet. Too quiet. You turned your head slightly, but you couldn’t see his face well in the darkness.
“Dean?”
“Yeah?”
You didn’t mean for your voice to soften. “Are you okay?”
He let out a quiet laugh, not amused exactly.
More surprised.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You went quiet.”
“I’m fine,” he said, too quickly.
You recognized the answer because you used it too.
Fine.
The least convincing word in existence.
You rolled onto your side, turning toward him in the dark.
He lay on his back, one arm behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” you told him.
The words were out before you could think better of them.
Dean turned his head toward you, and even in the dark, you felt his gaze settle on your face.
“That’s funny,” he said softly.
“Why?”
“Because pretending is kind of the whole point, isn’t it?”
Something in your chest tightened. “Not all of it.”
The silence after that was different.
Thicker.
Dean shifted onto his side too, until you were facing each other. Too close. Not touching. Close enough to see his eyes in the low light from the window.
“You’re being nice again,” he murmured.
“It keeps happening by accident.”
“That’s a dangerous habit.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late.”
Your breath caught.
There it was again, that softness. The part of Dean that didn’t feel like a joke.
For a second, neither of you moved. His eyes dropped to your mouth, and this time, there was no pretending you didn’t see it.
Your pulse jumped.
“Dean,” you whispered.
“I know,” he murmured, his voice lower now. Rougher.
He didn’t move closer, and neither did you, but somehow, the space between you felt impossibly small.
“No kissing unless necessary,” you whispered.
His gaze lifted back to yours. “Right.”
“This isn’t necessary.”
“No,” he said, but neither of you moved. He didn’t look away, and you didn’t roll back over.
Almost kissing him was somehow worse than actually kissing him. The possibility of it. The heat. The fact that you could feel how easy it would be to close the distance and ruin every rule on the first night.
Dean’s hand shifted on the mattress between you. Not touching, but close enough.
Your fingers curled into the sheet.
He noticed. His jaw flexed, and then he rolled onto his back, putting space between you with a quiet exhale.
“Goodnight, [Y/N].”
You stared at the side of his face, your heart still racing. “Goodnight, Dean.”
You eventually turned away, facing the window. But sleep didn’t come quickly. Not with Dean lying beside you. Not with the ghost of an almost-kiss sitting between your ribs. Not with the horrible realization that rule number one had already started to feel less like protection and more like a challenge.
The Bet | Dean Di Laurentis x Reader (Sneak Peek of Part 1)
Part 1
Summary: Dean wants unlimited access to Beau’s Cape Cod residence for the summer following graduation. And Beau wants Dean to attempt monogamy for the last two months of their final semester. Dean agrees knowing Beau gets to pick the woman, but he didn’t realize Beau had already made his choice before they even shook hands.
"Is it necessary to sit next to me every week, Di Laurentis," you grumble hearing the creak of the chair beside you as you continue to look through your bag for a pen. A soft tap sounds next to your head and you look over to see a pen being placed on your desk.
A small grin grows on your face as you lean forward to look past Dean to the man next to him.
"Thank you, Beau," you say. He gives you a wink with an "of course." Your eyes drift over to Dean's face as you sit back in your seat. He runs his fingers through his hair while giving you a slow once over.
"It's too early for this," you tell him. He lets out a quiet laugh as he opens his laptop.
"I literally haven't even talked yet," he says.
"And yet, somehow you have found a way to already make an 8am lecture worse."
To be fair, Dean is right. Technically, he hasn't done anything to tick you off today, yet. One would think, however, that the blonde would see you choosing a random seat in the half-filled lecture hall every week as a sign. Especially when all of your classmates have stuck to the same seats the last two and a half months, no doubt watching your game of musical chairs. Today, you chose one of the back corners having hoped that he wouldn't see you.
"You know you'd miss me," he whispers as your professor pulls up the powerpoint to the week's lesson.
"Mhm, would I now? Beau, did he get checked into a wall during last night’s game? He's more delusional than usual." Dean scoffs as Beau snorts trying to cover his laugh.
“No, but I promise I’ll pay one of the hockey guys to if you come to the party tonight.”
“I have a shift tonight, but I’ll text you if I’m able to get off early enough.” You tell him as you begin writing what’s on the current slide.
“What? You’ll give him your number, but I have to DM you on Instagram?” Dean whines. A guy two rows in front of you turns to glare at the three of you. You give him a tight-lipped grin and elbow Dean.
“Believe it or not, Beau and I are friends. We’ve been friends for three years. You were quite literally there when we became friends. And I muted you on Instagram.”
Dean’s jaw drops before he tries to recover and act like he’s not affected by this information.
“Well, if you do show up tonight, we could always take a trip down memory lane…” You stop writing and turn your head to stare at him, sure that you heard him wrong.
He chuckles awkwardly.
“Six Flags, right?”
You give him a quick once over, his cheeks turning a light pink.
“Don’t steal my line. I’ve heard you’ve been using it on your puck bunnies.”
“Why, jealous?” He asks with a smirk now.
“More like mad because my material is being stolen. I can’t have people thinking I’m associated with you.” His smirk falls away.
“Who else have you used that line on?” He angrily whispers at you.
“You want a list or?”
“Brutal,” you hear Beau mumble.
“Beau,” you say looking Dean in the eyes.
“What?” Beau asks looking above Dean’s shoulder at you.
“Nothing, I’m just giving Dean the list,” you say not breaking eye contact with Dean, his narrowing before he whips his head around to look at Beau. Beau raises his hands in defense.
Author’s Note: Beau’s here for a good time and a long time. He’s a certified passenger princess in this series. This is just the opening scene, but I’m hoping the full chapter will be up by the end of Sunday!
Tag List: @downbadwellread @thecraziestcrayon @theadharablack @archxve
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Voting ended onJun 13
Dean wants unlimited access to Beau’s Cape Cod residence for the summer following graduation. And Beau wants Dean to attempt monogamy for the last two months of their final semester. Dean agrees knowing Beau gets to pick the woman, but he didn’t realize Beau had already made his choice before they even shook hands.
