Page 48 of Ablaze

Warren shrugs. “Good. At least you admit your expectations for him are low.”

I square my shoulders, touching the patch of rough skin on my other wrist. “That’s not what I said–”

The rest of our heated exchange is cut off when the doorbell rings. I watch as Rohan walks over to open the door, while I try to settle my soaring pulse.

What the hell? Why is all this even coming up right now? Of all the times to choose to have this discussion, he chooses this one? When I have all my friends over. When I was getting ready to celebrate what was supposed to be a happy occasion?

A moment later, Dean’s presence fills the foyer. His mouth turns downward immediately as his eyes rake over my face. They move over to who he assumes is the culprit who put the expression on my face there.

Warren turns to me with a tight sneer. “Looks like you got your birthday wish.”

I reach out to run my hand over his bicep. “Warren–”

He pulls away, busying himself in the kitchen. “Just go, Mala. He’s who you’ve been waiting for, so . . . just go.”

My shoulders slump. “Can we at least talk about this later?”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Warren moves past me, heading back to the living room to join the others.

Trying to mask the emotion and confusion surely written all over my features, I rush over to Dean with a smile. “Hey! What took you so long?”

As soon as I’m in his arms, I feel his nose in my hair. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

“Mala.”

I pull him tighter to me. “Nothing, I swear.” I clear my throat, looking up to meet his sharp stare. “Where’s Jessie?”

Seeming to accept that I’m not going to divulge more, he scans the room behind me. His eyes harden for a moment, and I wonder if he’s found Warren, before he looks back down at me. “She might come by a little later. She got called into the casino for a shift. I dropped her off there before I headed over. Apparently, they were short-staffed and needed someone.” He gives me an apologetic look. “She’s still paying stuff off, and–”

I place my hand on his chest to stop him from continuing. Whether he’s saving face for Jessie or not, I’m not sure, nor do I want to know. “No need to explain. I get it.” I gleam at him from ear to ear. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

He pulls me into another hug. “Happy birthday, sprinkles.”

Dean and Jessie have had an interesting on-again, off-again relationship, but they seem to be working it out again. At least that’s what I can put together from my conversations with him.

As usual, he hasn’t been very vocal about his feelings for her, not with me, at least. And now that she no longer works at the café–she got a better position at the casino that offered more pay–it’s been hard to get a better read on them aside from what he tells me.

I will say–though I feel a little guilty for doing so–it’s sort of been nice to not have to see Jessie at work every day. She was a good worker–chatty and a bit absentminded at times–but it’s hard to deny the strange awkwardness I felt around her at times, especially when she brought up Dean. It was like she would go out of her way to talk about how much they enjoyed their time together and how happy they seemed to make each other.

I got it. Jeez. She’d peed on him, staked her claim, and wanted to make sure I was aware.

After their big breakup last year, because Dean refused to lend more money to help her brother, I thought they were done. Dean actually took a few weeks off work to visit his mom, stepdad, and Grams in Colorado, but when he came back, so did Jessie.

I talked to him a couple of times while he was there. I was worried because he’d left so abruptly, and even on the phone, I could tell he wasn’t himself. He wasn’t the Dean I knew. Each time we talked, I felt like I was speaking to a different person altogether, someone aloof and standoffish . . . reserved.

I finally gave up trying to get him out of his shell and called Grams, hoping she’d have a clue. She told me to give him time, that he was struggling to figure out how to move forward. “Wait for the thunderclouds to clear, dear girl. They will. He’s just got his head stuck inside them right now, but hopefully, he’ll find his way to a beautiful rainbow after it all passes.”

I honestly had no idea how to make sense of her words. What thunderclouds were looming around him? What was he trying to move forward from? Why wouldn’t he just talk to me?

I’d felt that shift in our friendship the night I told him I was moving in with Warren. I’d definitely had a couple of drinks and wasn’t feeling like myself, but I remember enough to know something was different between us. A pull like the night on my couch all those years ago. But I kept thinking I must have been imagining it. That it must have been the haze of alcohol playing with my senses.

Even when he carried me to his room, I remember trailing my eyes down his profile . . . wondering if perhaps there was something there between us. But the way he’d so quickly changed the subject when I told him I found him attractive, I knew I’d mistaken all the signs yet again.

I internally wince, thinking about my admission. On one hand, I don’t regret it. It’s something I’ve always thought–he’s hopelessly, unquestionably, devastatingly good looking. But I wondered what the big deal was? So what if I said it aloud? It’s not anything he hadn’t heard before based on the throngs of women who threw themselves at him like possessed wildebeests. So why was my vocalizing the same thing so shocking for him?

I surmised it was likely because he still thought of me as just a friend or–and I cringe–a little sister. It was the only explanation for his haphazard reaction. I swear he was purposely trying to give me whiplash.

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