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“You know I’m no good, right?” I can’t help but ask him as we sit next to each other in the diner. In the back of my head I can hear myself saying he’s no good for me too. But it’s so quiet. The hum of something else has taken over. He gives me a fuzzy feeling. One I haven’t felt in a long time. One that makes me want more.

The food’s half gone on my plate. Just chicken tenders and fries. You can’t go wrong with that. Dean’s finished his burger and is working through the pile of fries left on his plate. Two Cokes top off the meal.

He huffs like it’s a joke and doesn’t answer me, reaching for his drink instead. I find it fascinating watching him. He’s different. A kind of different I like.

He makes me feel safe and wanted. It’s foolish, but I want that. I want him.

“I think this weekend I’m going away. I don’t have to worry about you running off, do I?” he asks me.

“You probably should,” I joke. Judging by the expression on his face, he doesn’t like my answer. “Where are you going?” I ask to change the subject. I like his smile the best. My skin pricks at the realization. Knowing that my own happiness is somehow attached to someone else’s. I don’t care for it because people come and go. They leave you, disappoint you. They die.

And then you’re left all alone.

“To Brunswick. I think,” he says.

“You think?” I ask him playfully, but my heart hurts. My mother’s in Brunswick. All of it happened in Brunswick. I hate Brunswick.

“I haven’t decided if I’m going yet.”

I let out a small chuckle; it’s more a breath of a laugh. “I swear I won’t run off,” I tell him.

“I just wanted to hear you say it. Right now you’re mine. We don’t need labels, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let you think I’m fine with you fucking someone else.” His words are hard and brutish. Almost like a slap in my face.

“What if I want to?” I ask him and he looks me square in the eyes.

“Do you?”

I hesitate and my heart seems to struggle with each second I don’t answer.

“I guess not. You fuck well enough,” I say and then stuff half of a fry into my mouth, hating how much it hurts me to play it off.

“I’m serious, Allie,” he says and Dean’s voice is hard, with no room for negotiation there. “I don’t want to think about you just up and leaving.”

“I don’t even know you,” I answer in jest, but all humor leaves me when I see the look in his eyes. They’re dark, piercing. Possessive.

“Yeah you do, you know enough.” He lets out a heavy breath, pushing his plate away. “I’m telling you I want you and I don’t want you running around on me. That’s all I want.”

“I think I like that,” I say, mesmerized by how easily he admitted that. How easily he made himself vulnerable. I really like it. “I want it too.”

“You want me?” he asks with the hint of a smile and I nod and then say, “Yeah, I want you.”

“Only me?” he asks, cocking a brow.

“Sure, for now,” I answer him with a flirtation I think he likes.

The smile on my face only grows as his does. That’s the thing about him that’s addictive. The pain vanishes when he smiles.

It’s quiet for a minute. A long minute and I don’t like the tension, but I’m the one who caused it to begin with. A dull ache pulses between my legs as I lean closer to him to cross them.

“You did a number on me,” I whisper and brush my cheek against his arm. My hand wraps around his wrist for a moment, just to feel him.

He’s so close, only inches away since we’re sitting on the same side of the booth. I guess he wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to take off again. Smart of him.

“Is that right?” he asks me, putting down his drink so he can rest his hand on my thigh. We both watch as he rubs his thumb in soothing, slow circles. “How’s your shoulder?” he asks me, and it takes a second to register.

Reaching up with my hand to push the fabric away, I take a look and let out a small laugh. “I match you now,” I tell him.

He brushes my hand away and gently soothes the scratch on my shoulder. I can hardly feel it; I hardly feel anything but exhaustion at the moment.

“It’s nothing,” I tell him and he glances at me, but then back to the scrape.

“Beds are better,” he says with a small smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Did you like it?” he asks me.

“Dean, you have no idea what I’d let you do to me.” I shake my head and feel embarrassed from how quickly and honestly I responded. I should know better.

“Is that why you think you’re no good? Because you like it hard?”

“Not just hard.”

“Brutal, anal, gangbang, rape fantasy, what?” He says the words like they’re no big deal. And maybe to him they aren’t. “How fucking bad do you go, Allie Cat?” he asks me and I hesitate. So much is threatening to spill out. My heart’s racing and my hands are feeling clammy.

“It’s not that easy,” I tell him, watching my hands as I pick at my fingernails.

“Sure it is. Unless it’s a gangbang situation you’re after. It’s gonna be hard for me to fill that order by my lonesome.”

I snicker and shake my head slowly, finally peeking up at him.

“I like to fuck,” he says as he leans in closer to me. “And I’ll tell you a little secret,” he lowers his lips to my ear and whispers. “I’ve done dirtier shit and loved it.”

“Like what?” I ask him instantly, desperate to know.

“Anal, for starters,” he answers and reaches for the ketchup.

My eyes roll into the back of my head. “Gross. Okay,” I say sarcastically, the heat of anxiety beginning to wane.

“It’s dirty,” he pushes and I tsk at his humor.

“I’ve used rope before,” he finally says before reaching for his soda and taking a drink. My eyes lift to his, willing him to continue. “I like having control. So long as I have that, I can push the boundaries. I can chase you down, pin you beneath me. You need to tell me what you want, but if you think you’re oh-so-bad, little kitten, I can assure you that you’re not.”

He has no idea that he’s playing with fire.

“I just like … ” I pause but force myself to look him in the eyes as I continue, “to fight back.” I tell him a secret I haven’t told anyone. I want to play. I want to push my limits. I haven’t met someone I could do it with. Not until Dean.

“You didn’t fight me much out there,” he tells me and a spark of desire ignites in the pit of my stomach.

“Did you want me to?” I ask him and he shrugs it off, picking at the fries on his plate.

“I don’t care how I fuck you so long as I get to,” he answers me with a slowly forming smirk on his face.

I find it hard to focus. To eat. To do anything other than think about how much Dean could push me, and how I could push him back.