---

“Is Dean home?” I ask as I stand on the doorstep of the Orleans’ home. It’s raining hard and the wind is whipping the water against my back even though I’m standing under their covered porch.

The woman who answers the door, a tiny woman who looks like most of the other women who answer doors in this neighborhood, peers out at me. Her eyes hold suspicion and annoyance. She says in an unfriendly voice, her accent heavy with her native Spanish, “Can I help you? No soliciting here.”

Clearly, I don’t look like most of the people who ring the bell on the Orleans’ wrought iron and stained glass front door.

They live in the tony River Oaks neighborhood of Houston. It’s an exclusive neighborhood anchored by an even more exclusive country club. It once, famously, denied membership to the city’s mayor because his wife was Jewish.

My father probably out earns Dean’s father exponentially, but we live in the less exclusive neighborhood of Tanglewood.

This is my first time visiting Dean and I already felt conscious when I stepped out of my car, but her greeting makes me want to disappear.

Regardless, I try to keep a polite smile on my face. “I’m not selling anything. Dean is expecting me.”

“Mister Dean? He knows you?” she asks, and I start to feel annoyed. I'm getting soaked by the rain and it is galling to be treated like this by someone who I'm sure knows exactly what it feels like to be treated as less than in this neighborhood.

“Yes. Look, can I step inside, it’s raining really hard.” I try to speak calmly, even though I want to push her out of the way.

She pulls at the door as if to shut it when I hear Dean’s voice from behind her. “Hortensia, who’s at the door?”

I feel relief well up inside me as she steps aside and Dean appears. His eyes widen and he grabs my arm to pull me inside.

“Red, why are you standing outside getting soaked?” he asks as he takes my bag and pulls me into a hug.

I pull away because I’m wet, but also because his question annoys me. I pull my jacket off and hang it on the coat rack that stands in the foyer.

“I wasn’t standing outside. Hortensia here thought I was a burglar disguised as a door-to-door salesman and wasn’t exactly rolling out the red carpet for me,” I snap. Annoyance and embarrassment dripping from every word I utter.

“What?” he says, immediately angry as he looks between Hortensia and me. Hortensia’s eyes widen in fear, and I'm immediately contrite. She's only doing the job she was hired to do. I'm sure part of her is conditioned to see other brown people as suspicious. I shouldn’t let my anger jeopardize her job here. I'm sure she has people who rely on her and her paycheck.

I walk up to Dean, wrap my arms around his waist and hug him.

“Dean, it’s nothing. I didn’t say right away I was here to see you, so she was asking me questions and was about to let me in when you walked up. I'm starving, what’ve you got to snack on?”

That distracts him, he looks away from Hortensia and turns back to me.

He winks at me and says with a grin, “Cheese, of course. Come on.”

We get our snacks, Dean’s favorite sesame sticks and a cheese stick for me, and head upstairs.

We work together, sometimes talking about what we’re reading, but mostly in silence. Soon, we’re wrapping up our homework. We’ve been doing this . . . thing . . . for the last month or so. Dean usually comes to my house, but we study together, hang out, listen to music, or watch television and then he goes home.

I know Dean likes me. I like him, too, but he’s the popular guy on campus, and I’m the girl whose only friend is my younger sister.

I already know the guy everyone else sees on campus isn't who Dean really is. He hates the attention. He won the genetic lottery and his parents live a flashy lifestyle. So, kids look at him and see those things. But I can sense his anxiety because I have it, too.

I know he wishes no one cared how good he was at lacrosse. I saw him cringe the first time he gave me a ride home in his brand new convertible BMW. He was embarrassed by it and the impression it created.

I think that’s why we get along so well. We are both misunderstood. People only see our exteriors and no one bothers to look any deeper. I was so lonely until I met him, and he’s already my closest friend. I don’t want to ruin this by turning it into something more. We’re in high school. He’s dated a lot of the popular girls, the ones who won’t even sit at the same table as I do at lunch.

“So, what do you want to do now?” Dean asks breaking my meandering thoughts.

“Actually, I should probably go home.” I prepare myself for him to argue. He always wants to stay at my house late, even when it’s past his curfew. He always wants to stay on the phone, even when we’re both struggling to keep our eyes open.

He looks at me from his end of the couch and smiles. That smile, it’s devastating and makes my heart do a somersault.

“Okay, maybe you should go,” he responds. My somersaults stop and disappointment, fresh and hot blooms.

I try to smile as I gather my things. “Yeah, okay, sure. It really is late.” I look up at him. He’s still smiling that warm smile; his eyes are looking at me the way he always does. But, he’s watching me pack up and not asking me to stay.

“Well, my mom will be home any minute. And she hates you,” he says, still smiling the same warm smile.

I rear back like he slapped me. I knew his mom didn’t love me and only tolerated me because my dad is an executive her husband reported to, but Dean saying she hates me causes tears to spring to my eyes.

“Why would you say that?” I ask him, not able to disguise the hurt in my voice.

His smile disappears and a dark sneer mars his handsome face. He leans toward me on the couch.

“Because it’s true, Milly. We all hate you. You killed my father.”

---

I wake with a start and find myself in a haze of congestion and with a horrible taste in my mouth. I’m drenched in sweat, my heart pounding from the nightmare. It’s one I haven’t had in years. But, seeing Dean must’ve revived some of my old fears. I’ve spent much of my life thinking those things are true, but it’s been a while since that nightmare has been so vivid.

My room is dark, but I have blackout curtains so that doesn’t tell me anything. I glance at the clock by my bed and see that it’s 1:00 p.m.

I pick up my phone and see that I have several missed calls from my mother, but I also see the date and I realize three days have passed since the last time I checked the phone. A thread of anxiety shoots through me. What is going on?

I groan as I try to stand up. My body is stiff, yet my legs feel like jelly.

I remember bits and pieces of things. I remember my mother leaving for her weekend away with Rabea. I remember my cold turning nasty, and I remember Dean showing up at my door.

Oh, my God. Dean.

Where is Anthony? A wild panic grips me as I stand up and rush down the hall toward his room. What kind of mother am I? Has he been alone all this time? As I step into the hallway, I hear the shower running in the bathroom.

Is Anthony in the shower? He's old enough to give himself baths, but I don’t understand why he would be showering in the middle of the afternoon. Oh God, I wonder if his school has been calling.

I walk toward the bathroom door, it’s wide open and I step inside. The sight that greets me stops me dead in my tracks.

It’s not Anthony, but Dean. What is he doing in my shower? Did I fall down a rabbit hole?

The clear glass shower door gives me a clear view of him. His back is to me, and he didn’t hear me come in.

We were kids the last time I saw his bare back, but the spray of dark freckles across his shoulders is just as prominent now as it was then. Except, his shoulders are so much broader. His back is a study of texture and tone. He's so well-muscled.

I wonder if he still plays lacrosse. His shoulders say yes. One of his hands is braced on the wall and his head is bowed.

My eyes follow the path of the water as it cuts down valleys and crests created by the muscles in his back. His waist is girded with muscle and tapers in from the breadth of his back. My eyes continue their feast, and I drink in his perfect backside.

I forget for a moment I’m in desperate need of a shower myself. I forget I’m tired and my chest is burning with the effort of walking down the hallway.

My body instantaneously remembers how much I want him. I just stare, feeling the desire that almost overwhelmed me last time I was with him come roaring back to life.

I'm horrified when I hear a moan rip from my own throat. Dean’s head whips around at the sound and our eyes meet. His eyes show surprise, which then turns to heat. He smiles lazily at me.

“You’re up,” he says, speaking loud enough to be heard over the running water. His back is still to me and one hand is still braced on the wall. I have to force myself to stay focused on his face. His beautiful, familiar face. I don’t have the strength to deal with this today.

“I’m up. Where is Anthony? I only remember bits and pieces of the last few days.” I hope I’m able to sound neutral because I’m feeling anything but.

“He’s at school. You’ve been in and out of sleep for three days. You have the flu. A really bad case.”

“So, you’ve been checking on me for three days?” I ask. I feel like I should be asking so much more, but I'm utterly confused. I need to get my thoughts in order.

He smiles at me, gently. “Not checking on you. I’ve been staying here. You think I’d leave your kid alone while you’re basically dead to the world? I’ve been feeding him, hanging out with him. I took him to school today. He seems okay.”

“Oh. Wow. I don’t know . . . I don’t know what to say,” I stammer, completely at a loss.

“Well, how about you let me finish in here, and I’ll come out so we can talk?” he says with a smile. And I remember I am standing in the bathroom while he is showering. I turn to leave and say over my shoulder, “I’m sorry. Okay, yes.”

“Milly!” he calls after me, and I stop.

I take a second to gather myself, to try to calm my blush, before I turn around and say casually, “Yes?”

His smile is full-blown and so carnal, I grab the door handle for support at the sight of it. I haven’t seen it in so long. His eyes, though, are full of mirth.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. You can join me. There’s plenty of room for two, and I was just thinking about you.”

It’s only then, when he says this, I realize the hand not braced against the wall is in between his thighs. I watch his arm move, up and down.

My eyes shoot back to his face, his smile is still there, but his eyes are no longer laughing. They are hooded and serious while he’s watching me.

I feel a throb start between my legs and I feel moisture, unbidden and unexpected, as my body responds to his invitation. I bite my lower lip to stop the groan that collects in my throat.

I straighten my back and say with as much indignation as my aroused mind will allow me, “No, that’s perfectly fine. I’ll go shower in my own bathroom. By myself.” I turn and rush out. Dean’s laughter taunts me as I make my way down the hall.

I walk into my room and shut the door behind me. I lean against it and try to compose myself. I rip my sweatshirt off, yank my leggings down, and leave a trail of clothes in my wake as I strip and make a beeline for my bathroom.

I turn the water on and hazard a look in the mirror. It’s worse than I thought. My hair is a total disaster. My skin looks oily and my lips are chapped.

I hop in the shower and start to wash off days of sleep and sweat. After I’ve rinsed off, I stand under the spray and I think about Dean. He’s been taking care of Anthony. He has been staying in my house and watching my son while I’ve been sick.

A part of me isn't surprised. He has always been a caring person. But, another part of me is dismayed. He’s a virtual stranger to me now. And our last interaction was far from friendly.

The last time I thought about him properly, all I could muster was hurt and disappointment. Those emotions are still there, but now I also feel a sense of gratitude and comfort that he’s here.

My hands skim my torso as I think about him in the shower. My hand caresses the ring that sits on the same long chain as the pendant my parents gave me. My hand brushes my nipple as I play with the necklace and the sensation makes me moan. It’s been so long since my body has been this responsive. That kiss with Dean in his car awakened something. I think about Dean stroking himself while he said he was thinking of me and my clit starts to hum. His body is incredible. There was no mistaking the invitation in his eyes and words, and part of me wishes we didn’t have so many issues between us because it’s been years since I was this aroused.

I pluck my nipples with one hand as the other travels between my legs. I begin to rub my clit as I imagine Dean’s hands on my body instead of my own. His fingers, calloused from playing lacrosse, would be rough as they explore me. I imagine his mouth on my nipples. Sucking and licking them and my fingers speed up.

Even though my body still feels weakened from the flu, I also feel empowered in my ability to find pleasure on my own terms again.

One hand on my breast and the other between my thighs as I think about his hand wrapped around himself. I close my eyes and picture the invitation in his eyes and I come, so unexpectedly I don’t have time to think about muffling my cry of pleasure.

I lean against the shower wall as I come down from my orgasm. I haven’t done this in so long, but I also can’t remember the last time I was inspired to.

As I step out of the shower, I feel clean but tired. I can feel the strain on my lungs as a cough racks my body.

I need to talk to Dean and figure out what’s going on. I just hope I’ll find the strength to ask him to leave. He can’t stay. My desire for him, not just his body but his company, is too strong.

Yet, at the same time, I feel like I don’t know him anymore and my thoughts about him now are being conflated with memories of who he used to be.

My heart skips a beat when I think about that time in my life. We were so in love. We thought we could conquer the world as long as we had each other.

Suddenly, I’m so tired, I’m not sure I can finish getting dressed. But, I must. Dean and I need to talk and don’t have much time before I need to leave to get Anthony.

We are not who we used to be. But, right now, I wish we were because I know I never stopped loving Dean. I know the reason his little scheme hurt so much is because I love him. My heart has always been on my sleeve when it came to him. My nightmare has shaken me. I have always felt like Dean blamed me for everything that happened. I am not sure that I believe he doesn’t.

When we were young, I felt empowered by how much I loved him. I felt fortunate I had met someone I could love without reservation or doubt. But now, my love feels like a self-inflicted wound. Now, I feel exposed and vulnerable, and I pray I can survive whatever is coming next for us.

I gather my determination and head downstairs to find Dean.