Page 45 of Everywhere You Look

Dean

Can it wait? I have a headache. Don’t really feel like putting on a happy face for the girls if that’s alright with you.

Luke

Damn, I’m sorry. It must’ve been all those essential oils in the tub earlier… ;)

Dean

Ha. Maybe.

Luke

No big deal. I’m still going to take the kids out to eat, though. Want me to bring you back something?

Dean

I’m good. See you later.

I pop openthe basket on the air fryer and pull out the chicken tenders and french fries that I asked our server at the diner to toss into a doggie bag before we left. Dean isn’t big on leftovers, but I know he’ll never turn down chicken and fries with honey mustard. And even though he said he didn’t want any food, what kind of husband would I be if I didn’t bring his favorite meal back with me?

After Lemmie, Mellie, Ollie and I got back to the city, I took them to their favorite diner in Hayes Valley for dinner. When we gothome, Dean’s car was in the garage but the house was quiet. I figured he was trying to sleep off his headache, so I handled bath and bedtime on my own. The twins were bummed that Dean wasn’t around to play nail salon with them before bed, but I did my best to fill in, and I have the hot pink and lime green toenails to show for it.

I grab a grapefruit flavored sparkling water out of the refrigerator and take the plate of food I’ve reheated up the stairs. I hope Dean is awake so he can eat and I can tell him all about my meeting with James and Giovanni, and how surprisingly good it felt to be back in the facility.

If I’m being completely honest, I wouldn’t mind revisiting the whole bathtub scenario, either. I was too busy driving and talking and watching the girls this afternoon to dwell, but I’d be lying if the image of Dean naked and wet beneath me didn’t have my dick twitching every time it crossed my mind. It probably wouldn’t be the worst thing to address the sexual tension in the room.

But when I bump the door to our bedroom open with my hip, the room is empty. The light is on, the blankets are untouched, and the door to the ensuite bathroom is wide open, showing off a dark and empty room. My stomach drops, a tornado of worst-case scenarios storms through my brain, and I’mabout two seconds away from panicking when I remember that this is a big house and there are a hundred other places Dean could be.

I already know he’s not in the kitchen or the living room. He’s not in the backyard or the garage or either of the girl’s rooms. He could be in the basement, though I don’t know why he’d want to hang out with the random crap we keep stored down there. I head back into the hallway in pursuit of finding him, and that’s when I see the crack of light underneath his bedroom door.

That’s…weird. Dean hasn’t spent a night in that room since he insisted that we share the night of the wedding. I don’t think he’s been in there much at all in the last few weeks. He has all but migrated his entire life into our bedroom, and I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t be there now.

I lightly knock on the bedroom door, not wanting to startle him. There’s no response, so I knock again. When he still doesn’t answer, I decide he must be asleep and that I should go in and check on him. I crack the door, and Dean is lying there on the mattress in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants. He’s turned away from the door, head propped up in his hand while he reads something on the Kindle he has propped up on the nightstand. His tan skin has an almost ethereal glow in the low light of the room. Ihave to take a second to enjoy the view of all the muscles of his back that look like they were carved from marble and the way they dip below the waistband of his sweats.

Fuck, he is mouthwatering. I want to yank at the waistband of those sweatpants. I want to trace my tongue over his hips and work my way down…down…down…

Oh my god. I have to stop this. I can’t keep having these horny thoughts all the time. Maybe I’m just backed up. I can’t even remember the last time I got off, but I know it was well before we got married.

That’s it: I just need to jerk off. After I give Dean his food, I’ll go have a nice hot date with my right hand in the shower. Then all will be right in the world and I’ll stop thinking about my husband all oiled up and naked. Maybe then my head will stop spinning.

I clear my throat, announcing my presence while also trying to tamp down the wave of arousal threatening to pull me under. Dean looks over his shoulder at me, then immediately goes right back to his reading.

“I told you I didn’t want anything,” he grumbles. Apparently, the bug that climbed up his ass at the photoshoot earlier today has yet to dislodge itself. I guess spending the morning recapping our historyand spinning it in a “we’re so in love” web of lies finally got to him. It’s the only thing I can think that explains his unusually piss-poor attitude.

“I know. I just thought you might be hungry, and you never turn down chicken tenders and fries from Hayes diner. I got extra honey mustard because I know it’s your favorite.” I cross the threshold, quietly nudging the door shut behind me as I enter Dean’s space.

“Luke, at any point tonight has it occurred to you that maybe I don’t feel like chatting?”

“Yeah, the thought occurred to me when I found you in here and not in the bed you insisted on sharing with me. Did it ever occur to you that you’ve been acting like brat ever since the photoshoot this morning and that I, as your husband, deserve to know what the hell is going on with you? It can’t just be a headache that’s got you all snippy,” I say as I sit down on the bed. He sighs when he feels the mattress dip under my weight and I watch as he reluctantly shuffles until he’s sitting up and leaning back against the headboard.

Fuck, he is so hot like this. How am I supposed to match his annoyed and huffy demeanor when he looks like that—all sexy and broody and lickable.

If I thought Dean’s back was mouthwatering, his front side puts the rest of him to shame. Every inch ofhim is thick and hard, and when he’s standing up, he is like a walking, talking washboard. His abs are insane, carved and bulging like he does nothing but crunches all day long. But when he sits, everything in his middle softens. The sweet pooch of his belly makes his body look sweet and lived in, causing his outside to match his golden retriever inside.

“It's not a headache. But I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, I’ve got good news and bad news, babe. The good news is these fries are still hot and delicious and perfect for eating your feelings,” I say, and Dean almost smiles as I grab a fry off the plate, dip it in the honey mustard and hold it out towards him. “The bad news is, I’m not going anywhere until you also share your feelings. So, spill. Why the hell aren’t you in our room?”

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