Chapter Text
1.
It really was supposed to be a one-time thing. That was what Allie Hayes told herself when she let Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis press her up against a pillar in the Costume Department, his features backlit by the blue backstage lighting creeping through the room like fog. That was what she told herself when he grinned into the kiss; when he gave her an orgasm before even unzipping his trousers; when he asked her What do you want? and she realised that it was the first time a man had actually asked her that. The first time a man had asked what she wanted in sex, instead of just assuming and taking her along for the ride. For someone who claimed he was Six Flags—a good time, not a long time; a fun ride not anything serious—Dean hadn’t half exceeded her expectations. But, it was a one-time thing. That was the first time, and it was the last time.
Except, it wasn’t.
Because, barely even twenty-four hours later, he seduced her in the multi-storey car park on campus, after texting her that he couldn’t stop thinking about her and, instead of playing hard to get, Allie had simply dropped her location pin. Then, he’d invited her over two nights later because the house was free, but she’d still snuck in through his window, and he’d babbled praise as she dropped to her knees and sucked him off. The next night, she’d been closing at Malone’s and he’d been giving her fuck-me eyes from the booth he was sitting in with the hockey guys. He’d left with everyone else after last orders but, once the bar had cleared, Dean had snuck back in and it had been barely any time before he was bending her over the ice machine at Malone’s, fucking into her and huffing out a laugh into her shoulder when she tried to insist that this was the last time.
The sex wasn’t the problem. Well, it was. Allie could lose herself in Dean’s irresistible touch and addictive kisses, gasping into his smug smile and threading her hands through his blonde hair to tug just hard enough for him to whimper. The sex was incredible. But, afterwards, shame would always curl over her like smoke sneaking underneath a door. And, there wasn’t ever smoke without fire. She could sense the looming explosion, like it was brewing to combust any day now, and she needed to push back against the flames. She’d always liked the heat, but it was dangerous. Alarms sounded whenever she got too entrapped in the blaze and, if she wasn’t careful, she was going to choke. Because this thing…that had truly started out as a one-time thing and was now a four-time-thing…was supposed to be casual. It was casual. Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis only ever did casual. But, if they didn’t stop whatever they were doing soon, then Allie was going to get the wrong idea.
And that was the problem. Because she’d always been in relationships, for as long as she could remember. She didn’t do flings and casual sex. She needed emotional connections and borrowed sweaters and memorised coffee orders. That was how she worked; how she ticked. But, the sands of the timer were starting to file out on her and Dean. The lines were blurring. She’d started to get attached. She smiled at her phone whenever he texted. She cuddled into him after sex, and accidentally fell asleep in his bed. She started craving the urge to tell him about her day, and he listened politely, but it would only be a matter of time before he realised she’d started to nest, and he’d crush all the branches.
“—so I think we could do with reworking that blocking at the next rehearsal. Mal never stands where she’s supposed to, and I really don’t want to have to put a spike down just to keep her feet still because that’s ridiculous,” Steven was saying as they left the Drama building after rehearsal. But, as much as she respected and adored her director, Allie wasn’t really listening. Because her phone had just lit up with a message.
[Maverick]
Today at 21:06
U still on campus?
[Allie]
Today at 21:08
Yeah, just leaving rehearsal
Why?
[Maverick]
Today at 21:08
Could u bring my jacket to the rink ;)
Yeah right. Allie didn’t trust a semi-colon and bracket combination as far as she could throw it. Dean probably wanted her to bring the jacket he’d left at Malone’s after railing her during her close so that he could tug her into the locker room and bend her over the bench, or fuck her in the shower. Which didn’t…sound too bad at all. Allie bit her lip, thumb hovering over her screen, and Steven waved his hand in her face.
“Earth to Allie?”
She blinked, tearing her gaze away from her message thread with Dean. He’d added a Pretty please? With 🍒 on top? and she could practically visualise his cheeky grin as he chose the emoji that looked the most like boobs that he could find. “Sorry. I think she pretty much knows the blocking for Act One…it’s just Act Two where she goes a little ropey.”
Steven hummed in agreement, before cocking his head to one side. “Who’re you texting?”
“I–what? Oh, no one.” Allie pocketed her phone instantly.
“I thought you’d broken up with your boyfriend.”
“I have,” she said slowly.
“So, who are you texting?” He smirked.
“None of your business.” She scowled, crossing her arms over her chest.
Steven held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, fine. Do you need a ride back to the dorms?”
“It’s fine, I’ll walk,” she replied, feeling her phone buzz. Dean was such a shameless triple-texter. She guessed that, when you were Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis who could get any girl you wanted, it didn’t really matter if you shot off too many messages at once. Allie broke away from Steven just as some other cast members were filing out, which was good because she was fairly certain a sophomore called Rory, who played her one-time Russian lover in the play, was starting to develop a bit of a crush on her which…nope. Not happening. Not going there.
[Maverick]
Today at 21:12
C’mon Allie Cat, live a little…
Allie started typing out a response as she began walking in the direction of the hockey rink—she did have his jacket after all, and it was an excuse to see him briefly. Maybe a quickie at the stadium would be adventurous and exciting. A pleasant shiver ran over her skin as she thought about Dean under a hot shower, streams of water running down those washboard abs. But, just as she was going to reply with something flirty, the telltale sound of abrupt footsteps made her turn.
“Allie, hi.” Rory grinned at her. Great.
“Hi,” she said, still continuing to walk. He wasn’t deterred, and she gritted her teeth. “Can I help you with something?”
“Just thought I could walk you back to your dorm,” he answered sweetly.
“That’s okay, I’m not—”
“You live in Bristol House, right?” Rory swept a hand through his hair. He was cute, in a cinnamon roll kind of way, and he was an insanely good actor, but he was too…nice. Too much like Sean. Allie was trying to distract herself from guys like Sean.
“Yeah,” she answered, putting her phone away because it felt rude to be on it whilst talking to her castmate, even if she didn’t necessarily want to be walking with said castmate. “Look, Rory, I’m not going back to my dorm, though.”
“Oh.” Rory’s brow furrowed. “Then, where are you going? Can I come?”
“Can you—” Allie cut herself off with a slight giggle at the idea of bringing her bright-eyed and bushy-tailed castmate to the Hawks’ locker room. Rory’s smile faded, and she scrambled to cover her tracks. “Sorry, it’s not…you’re very nice, but—”
“Then, why don’t you want to hang out with me?” Rory asked.
“It’s not that, it’s just…” Fuck, this was awkward.
“I heard you broke up with your boyfriend,” he added conversationally, still walking beside her. Allie hadn’t sent her reply to Dean yet, and this exchange was starting to make her uncomfortable. Maybe she shouldn’t walk to the ice rink. Maybe it would be better to just let Rory walk her home, so that rehearsals didn’t get tense.
“I…did.” Allie wondered if she could pocket-dial Dean. Not that she needed his help or anything. “I’m very much enjoying being single, though,” she said, hoping he would get the hint. “And I need to turn off here, so goodnight.” Her words flooded out in a ramble as they reached a fork in the pathways—one stretched out towards the Sports buildings, and the other eventually brought you to on-campus accommodation.
She gave Rory a wave, and set off power-walking in the direction of the hockey rink, stifling a slight laugh at the thought of telling Dean about somebody hitting on her. But, wait…why did she want to tell Dean? They were only casual. Girls flirted with him all the time. He was probably still seeing other people. It wasn’t like they were exclusive or anything. Oh, fuck, maybe she shouldn’t see him tonight. It had only been a week since she’d broken up with Sean, and she’d basically hung out with Dean every single day, in one way or another. But, if she turned back, then it was possible that she’d bump into Rory on her route home, and that would just be awkward and—wait. Who was walking behind her?
Allie dared a slight glimpse over her shoulder, and her heart constricted when she realised that Rory was following her. He wasn’t prowling in a predatory way or anything, and it was possible that this was simply the way he’d been planning on walking but, as she swallowed and crossed over to the other side of the path, he did the same. Quietly. Not speeding up. Just observing where she was going, and tailing her. Shit. Her heart started to hammer in her chest. It was just Rory. She’d been in plays with Rory. She’d never really been friends with Rory, but he was a Drama major; he was an actor in Orlando; he was nice and he was a comfortable scene partner in intimacy coordination. There was no need to panic.
Except, she was. Panicking, that was. Allie was an overthinker at the best of times and, now that she was walking alone down a dark path on campus and one of her castmates who had clearly just tried to ask her out was following her, her anxiety had gone into overload. What was she supposed to do in this situation? It was just Rory. She could probably take him out. Her dad had made her learn self-defence, growing up. Her metal water bottle was in the bottom of her tote, so she could always grab it by the dangling charm and swing it in his direction. Her keys were…somewhere, and the front door key for her dad’s house in Brooklyn was pretty sharp. Maybe he was just going this way. Maybe she was freaking out for no reason.
With trembling hands, Allie fished her phone back out. She was only minutes away from the hockey rink, but what if she got there, and Dean had already left because she hadn’t replied to him? She could barely see the screen because of how badly she was shaking—was he speeding up, or was that her imagination? She deleted her flirty message from earlier, scanning the other texts he’d sent in her silence (mainly just filthy suggestions of how he’d reward her if she brought his jacket to him), and inwardly cursed herself and her so-called independence.
[Allie]
Today at 21:20
Can you meet me outside the rink pls
[Maverick]
Today at 21:20
Everything ok ???
[Allie]
Today at 21:21
No.
Yes.
Idk.
Outside pls.
“Allie!” Rory called, making her jump out of her skin. She hadn’t expected him to speak; hadn’t factored in that part. It was much easier to ignore him when he wasn’t saying anything, but now he was clearly trying to get her attention. “I’m not being weird. I just noticed there was a vibe between us, so I wanted to ask—”
Allie’s phone buzzed in her hand, but she couldn’t look at it—wouldn’t look at it because she was fairly certain that Dean had probably gone home already, and was most likely perturbed by her weird request. Why did she need him, anyway? She was an independent woman. She’d been taught self defence. She could handle Rory alone. Except, when she opened her mouth to respond, she realised just how frightened she was of saying the wrong thing; of aggravating him. She may have thought she knew him, but wasn’t that how most of those true crime documentaries started? I thought he was a good guy, was what they said about the serial killer.
“Allie! Stop ignoring me, please,” Rory actually sounded sad, and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings because she had to work with him in Orlando but, then again, she didn’t feel particularly comfortable turning around to talk to him when they were alone on a dark pathway. Besides, the rink was approaching now, so maybe she could dash inside and one of the other hockey guys would be around to give her a ride home? Hannah was head-over-heels for Garrett, and she’d seen the way he looked after her, so he’d probably step in if Allie needed him.
But, she shouldn’t need anyone. Goddamnit, she should be capable of working this out for herself. As she approached the rink on trembling legs, though, and Rory’s footsteps only increased in their eagerness, like he thought it was romantic to chase after a girl, she felt a lump rise in her throat. Dean wasn’t waiting for her outside. She could go inside the rink, but what if Rory followed? What if he found a way to lock her in a room, until she heard him out? What if—
Her vision was suddenly blinded by headlights surging around the corner as a BMW pulled up outside of the rink. Allie jolted, especially when the window rolled down because was this part of Rory’s serial killer plan? Had he orchestrated a chase where his gangsta buddy would now scoop her up, bag over her head, and toss her in the trunk? But then, her panic faded when she saw Dean’s blonde head poke out of the window, a lopsided smirk on his face.
“Allie-Cat,” he murmured. “Need a ride?”
Allie was half-tempted to turn him down because he clearly had no idea what was going on, or how terrified she was. But, the only other option was to confront Rory, so she’d take Dean’s smug smile over the lovestruck sophomore. She didn’t even look back as she climbed into the passenger seat, still shaking a little, and Dean didn’t say another word as he backed out of the space he’d pulled into, arm resting on the back of her seat. She glimpsed Rory in the rearview, jumping out of the way of Dean’s reverse, as the man in question casually went, “Whoops,” in a tone that insinuated he maybe did know what had been happening.
“Dean—”
“One second, babydoll,” he said. “Just trying to work out the best way to knock that motherfucker out whilst making it seem like an accident.”
Allie gaped at him, but he didn’t actually drive towards Rory. He sped off in the opposite direction, skidding onto the main road that ran through campus—he drove like a crazy person, apparently. “You—you knew?”
Dean glanced at her. “The weirdo was trailing you, and you weren’t responding to my texts. I don’t have to be a pre-law student to work that one out. Are you okay?” He reached for her hand over the centre console, and she let him squeeze it for a brief second before she snatched it away, still breathing a little heavily. The fact that Dean had swept to her rescue without nary a question had knocked the oxygen out of her a little, especially because he hadn’t instantly asked her what had happened. He’d just come to her aid, easily as anything.
“Fine,” she insisted, chest a little tight. “I–I didn’t do anything with him, I swear. He just—”
“I know,” Dean said softly. “I never said that you did, I just wanted to know if you were okay.”
“But, aren’t you…” Allie was having trouble getting her head around this. She hadn’t really wanted to ask for Dean’s help because she was certain that he’d think she’d led Rory on or something, or that she’d asked for it by wearing a low-cut top to rehearsal. She’d caved and asked him to meet her, but she’d been prepared for the questions; the accusations. So, now that they weren’t here, she was confused. “Aren’t you going to ask if I did anything wrong?”
“What?” Dean finally slowed down at a pedestrian crossing, whipping his head to look at her. And, whatever he saw—probably Allie’s hands clenched tightly together in her lap or her trembling lip—was enough for him to pull over and turn the engine off. “Why would I ask that? Hey, hey, Allie…” He unbuckled his seatbelt and leant forward the second that Allie, rather embarrassingly, felt tears trickle down her cheeks. He was hugging her to him in an instant, the centre console digging into them, but Allie didn’t care. All she could think about was how scared she had been, and how warm and safe Dean felt.
“It’s okay.” He smoothed his hands over her back. She could hear his own heartbeat thumping from where she’d pressed her head against his chest, crying a little pathetically. “You’re okay. You’re safe. You didn’t do anything wrong, alright? He was being a little creep. I’m—I’m here for you.”
“But why?” Allie sniffled into him, finally looking up through mascara-smeared eyes.
Dean was baffled. “Why what?”
“Why are you here?” she questioned.
His brow furrowed slightly. “Because you asked me to be.”
“Yes, but I shouldn’t have—I should’ve worked it out by myself. You’re not…you’re not my boyfriend. You don’t owe me this, any of this. It was my own stupid fault for not turning Rory down more, or for not relenting and just letting him walk me home. You shouldn’t have to clean up my messes. We’re not…we’re not—”
“Allie,” Dean said firmly, wiping her tears away with two swift strokes of his thumbs. “It doesn’t matter that we’re not…” He swallowed. “...dating, or whatever. That I don’t owe you anything, or that you don’t owe me anything. What matters is that you needed me—”
“I shouldn’t have needed you—”
“But, you did.” His blue eyes were an intense blue, his expression more serious than Allie had ever seen in the casual fun they’d been having. Which was…scary. Dean wasn’t her boyfriend, so she needed to stop acting like he was.
“I could’ve worked it out by myself,” she said quietly.
“I’m sure you could’ve,” he agreed, and he didn’t sound like he was mocking her. It was like he actually believed her. “But, we’re here now.”
“This…this doesn’t change anything, right?” Allie asked him uncertainly. The last thing she wanted was him getting spooked by her emotions, and deciding that they couldn’t keep hooking up. She didn’t want him to think that she was getting the wrong idea—because she wasn’t—and push her away. “Like, I have your jacket. You can still do all the filthy things you promised.”
Dean hesitated, and her stomach sank. Oh, she’d scared him off. “I think I should probably just drop you off at your dorm, Al.”
“Why?” She unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed onto his lap, reaching underneath him to recline the driver’s seat. “When you could have me right here?” She slowly undid her coat, revealing her low-cut top, and she hoped that her eyes said Please just help me forget because she didn’t want to say something that vulnerable outloud.
Dean’s eyes skimmed over her, a gulp sliding down his throat. “Is that what you want?” he asked hoarsely.
God, she loved how powerful he made her feel. The great Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis, slack-jawed and hungry underneath her. “Of course it’s what I want,” she whispered, breath hot against his ear. Because she had to diminish this weird energy between them immediately. Their dynamic needed to come back, or else she was really going to get the wrong idea, or he was going to be scared off. She had to remind him of what she truly wanted from him. “This is all I want from you, okay? Nothing else. Just sex.”
“I can work with that,” Dean muttered against her mouth, before closing the gap and kissing her.
2.
Stress was eating Allie whole, and she couldn’t escape from its jaws.
The end of the fall semester was approaching, which meant that all of her assignments were due. She had a paper to write on Brecht’s use of verfremdungseffekt within epic theatre, a presentation to complete about Sophie Treadwell’s expressionist play, Machinal, her lines to learn for Orlando plus the blog she had to write about the subject matter because this semester was mainly theory and, after Christmas, it was the performance. And that was just for Drama—she’d completed all of her coursework for Media Studies, but she still had to edit the short film she’d made with her friend, Megan, and she’d handed in her essays for Cognitive Psych, but there was a quiz coming up on Friday, which was followed by a deadline for her Screenwriting class. In summary: she was busy, and immensely frazzled.
She’d only seen Dean once since he’d picked her up in his car, and it had been a quickie in the locker room showers once everyone else had cleared out because he’d had a bad practice, and needed her to “take his mind off it.” Since then, she’d been dashing back and forth between classes and rehearsals and shifts at Malone’s, and she kept forgetting to book her train ticket home for Thanksgiving, but she didn’t have the money for it this week, so maybe it would have to be next week and fuck, the treadmill was getting really steep…maybe she shouldn’t have set the difficulty level up so high, and Dean was texting her that he had a free house, but she really shouldn’t because she had so much work to do and—
“Ow,” Allie muttered, rubbing her tailbone as a shot of agony fizzled through her lower back. She turned the treadmill setting to cooldown, feeling the burn in her calves and wiping the sweat off her brow as she checked her phone, wincing at the pain now making it hard to move her legs, even as the treadmill calmed down. Ira, her agent, had tried to call her. She’d have to call him back after her shower, or on the way to Dean’s…God, she really shouldn’t go to Dean’s. She had so much work to do. But, she’d had three days of stress and he had an empty house, so…
[Allie]
Today at 16:48
YES! 3 days of stress
= coming over right after my workout
Gimme a couple hours, tho.
Dean made her laugh when he asked for her to bring Winston, her pink dildo that he’d discovered she owned when he’d told her to come over a few nights ago, and she informed him that she had no need for him because Winston had already done the job. He’d instantly demanded to know who Winston was, and Allie had cried with laughter into the phone when she’d sent a picture of the dildo and he’d responded with heart eyes, instead of being weird and shifty like Sean had been. Now, he wanted Winston to join the party? Intriguing.
Allie dashed to the shower, breathing a sigh of relief when the hot water hit her back. But, as she walked to Dean’s, she gradually became more and more crippled with pain. Fuck, what was happening right now? She rubbed the small of her back, and nipped into a convenience store on the way so that she could down some Aspirin with her water. And yet, as she called Ira back and bravely made the rest of the route to the hockey house, her tailbone continued to protest, the piercing agony now spreading along all of her back until she was practically limping up Dean’s driveway.
It was probably the stress from all her assignments, and now Ira was talking her ear off about this self-tape that she’d sent in for the Fox pilot he’d put her forward for; the Fox pilot that she wasn’t even sure she wanted because Los Angeles was way too far out. She couldn’t be that much of a distance away from her dad. What if something happened to him, and she was too encumbered by a filming schedule to be at his side? She’d never forgive herself. Even as Dean answered the door with his usually lopsided grin, Allie didn’t feel herself relax until she hung up the call with Ira, complaining about her agent and her sore back, and Dean told her to Get naked before dashing off into the hallway.
Minutes later, he dragged her into the bathroom he shared with Logan and Tucker (Hannah had told her all about Garrett’s en-suite privileges), where he’d filled the bathtub with steaming hot water, some bubbles that smelled faintly of strawberries, and had even gone to the effort of lighting some candles so that the guys’ bathroom didn’t seem as gross as it was. Allie softened, still rubbing her tailbone with a wince, and stared at Dean. “Thank you,” she said, and he shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal—it probably wasn’t, to him. He probably ran baths for all of his hookups. Allie wasn’t special or anything.
However, as Dean pulled her into his arms underneath the hot water and started to knead his knuckles against the exact part of her back that was aching, Allie was struck with the realisation that he wasn’t even behaving sexually towards her. She could feel that he was hard, but that was probably just his body’s natural reaction to having a woman’s bare ass snuggled right against his groin, and he hadn’t mentioned it once; hadn’t even insinuated that they could get up to something naughty in here, even though she’d brought Winston with her, as requested.
“Feel better?” Dean murmured against her wet skin, and she shivered.
“Yeah,” she moaned. “That's it. Right there. Oh God, yes.”
“You know, usually, when you’re saying these things, I’m having a lot more fun,” Dean said cheekily, but that was as far as he took it with the sexual comments which was…weird, right?
“Are you not having fun right now?” she countered, trying to ignore the panicked rhythm that her heartbeat had embarked on.
“Well…yes, of course I am. I have a naked woman in my arms. Is that even a question?” He nipped her earlobe, still massaging her back. Allie’s head dropped onto his shoulder, feeling the bliss roll through her stressed body. “You’re really tense. What did you do at the gym?”
“Mostly cardio,” she answered. “I think I’m just all wound-up because of deadline season.”
“Yeah, I feel you,” Dean replied, pushing his knuckles right into a tight bit of muscle that genuinely made her gasp at how good that part felt to be smoothed out. “I’ve got a lot due right now and, with hockey practice beating my ass, I can’t wait for this semester to be over.”
“I feel like you’re the type of guy who can bang out an essay the night before, and still get a perfect score, though,” she mused.
Dean chuckled, the sound reverberating through her body from where his chin was resting on her shoulder. “And what makes you think that, Allie-Cat?”
“I don’t know…”
“Is it because I’m perfect at everything I do?” he asked coyly.
“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” she shot back, and he stopped massaging her abruptly. “Agh, no,” she whined. “Don’t stop.”
“Be nice, then,” he admonished her.
“I will be,” she promised.
“Apologise.”
“I’m sorry.” Allie leant back into him, and puckered her lips up. Dean looked like he was fighting a smile, before he dropped a kiss right onto her awaiting mouth with a smacking noise. She giggled, and he continued massaging her tailbone, asking her where it hurt the most and if she could twist in different directions so that he could really get to the parts that ached. Allie ended up slipping quite a lot against his wet body, which Dean thought was hilarious, swallowing her laughter with eager kisses as he moved her onto her front, hands still spanning her back and kneading gently. She practically curled up on his chest, as one hand massaged her, and the other scratched her scalp gently. She was in Heaven, she was pretty sure. This was the dream.
Jokingly, Dean got out Winston and started using him to massage her back which…surprisingly kind of worked, but it tickled so much that Allie started properly wriggling in his arms, as he exclaimed in delight and made it his mission to find all of the places where she was most ticklish. Then, as they were laughing pretty loudly and splashing around, the sound of the front door slamming downstairs made them freeze. Panic slammed into her, hard and fast.
“I thought you said no one was home,” Allie hissed.
“They weren’t supposed to be,” Dean whispered back, clearly not sharing her urgency.
“Yeah, give me a second!” came Tucker’s voice. “I forgot something in the bathroom! Hold on, hold on.” The doorknob twisted, Allie thrust Winston at Dean with a frantic, hushed Dude, dude, take it, before launching herself under the soapy water. She squeezed her eyes shut, heart pounding as Dean’s hand threaded through her hair, not pushing her down, but simply sharing in some form of solidarity. His conversation with Tucker was muffled, as Allie tried her hardest to hold her breath, lungs starting to burn from the exertion. Finally, the door clicked shut, and she surged upwards with a dramatic gasp of air.
“That was absolutely the last time,” she gritted out, panting and covered in soap spuds. She whipped her wet hair out of her face, eyes stinging, and glared at Dean, who had the decency to look a little afraid of her.
“The last time for what?” he asked.
“You know what,” Allie snapped, starting to prise herself out of the tub.
“Do I?” Dean reached out for her, gently tugging on her wrist so that she dropped back into the water with a splash.
“This.” She waved her hands between them, though she wasn’t sure whether she meant the giggling into each other’s mouths like they’d been together for years, or the gentle massaging he’d been orchestrating for her sore back. Either way, it needed to stop. Because Tucker had just nearly caught them, and Allie couldn’t be caught hooking up with Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis, when Hannah was finally happy and with the guy she’d always deserved. It would ruin everything and what if Sean found out? What if everyone judged her for being a cheap slut and barely waiting for her breakup to go cold before dropping her panties for someone else?
Dean stared at her. “You’re going to have to be a bit clearer than that, baby doll. The baths?”
“No, the sex.”
“We weren’t having sex, though.”
“I—” Allie’s words stuck in her throat because he was right. They’d just been taking a bath together and, even though Dean was still holding Winston (which would be a rather comical image, if she wasn’t so pent up right now), nothing untoward had happened. Which made it even worse. They were supposed to be hooking up, not hanging out. She’d got too used to his company. He’d asked her to come over and she’d been stressed and in pain, so she hadn’t thought twice about it. She’d just wanted to be near him and that…that was dangerous. She was fresh out of a long-term relationship. She couldn’t start acting like Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis—Briar University’s favourite fuckboy—was her next victim of nesting. “That’s even worse.”
Dean’s eyebrows pulled together. “How is that worse?”
“Because…” Allie stepped out of the bathtub, grabbing the towel he’d laid out for her and wrapping it around her furiously. “Because we’re not….we shouldn’t be…this was supposed to be a one-time thing.”
“So you’ve said,” he grumbled.
“We’re casual,” she reminded him, but she was really reminding herself. She was sure that Dean, the king of meaningless hookups, was well aware of that fact. He was probably annoyed because she kept getting her wires crossed, and he didn’t want the lines between them to become blurred.
“I’m aware.” There was an edge to his voice, as he also stepped out of the bathtub, pulling the plug and grabbing a towel from the heated rack. “I still don’t see the problem, Allie.”
She bit her lip, tightening her towel around herself because she suddenly felt so vulnerable and exposed, even though Dean had literally seen all of her, in various lights and settings. “Casual hookups don’t take baths together,” she said slowly.
Dean didn’t look at her as he blew the candles out. “Don’t they?” he asked offhandedly because of course. She’d been wrong to overthink it, and she’d been right when she’d thought that he probably ran baths for all of his hookups. This was probably just part of Dean’s arrangements, which was why he didn’t get her freaking out about it; why he was so visibly frustrated.
“Ah,” she murmured, feeling something warm that had bubbled in the bath suddenly slide down the drain. “I see.”
“See what?” Dean’s tone still had that jarringly calm feel to it because God, he didn’t care, did he? She was losing her mind, and he just saw her as another hookup. All the more reason to stop what they were doing, because she didn’t think she’d be able to handle the heartbreak of falling for a playboy like him.
“This is just part of the Dean package,” she said, gesturing to the slowly emptying tub and the smoke drifting through the air from the extinguished candles. “I’m curious, though. Was fucking in the shower my free trial? Have I been upgraded to bubble baths now that I've subscribed to the premium deal?”
His eyes flashed, jaw tightening. “Allie, don’t do this.”
“Do what?” She laughed, but there was absolutely no humour in it. “Label this as exactly what it actually is?”
Dean met her gaze, expressionless and expectant. “Go on. What is this?” he asked dully, as if he was already sick of her shit. Good. That would make it easier to end things, just as she should’ve done properly after the first time they fucked. Now, it was worse, though. Because Allie felt more exposed right now than she had when he’d literally been inside of her.
“Just another meaningless hookup,” she replied.
And, instead of denying it, Dean shrugged. “I thought that was what you wanted,” he said, before cutting past her to exit the bathroom.
Allie pressed her lips together, savouring the sting of his words. Because he was right. It was what she’d wanted; what she’d explicitly asked for, even. So, why did it hurt so much?
3.
Allie placed her script down on the table, the spine completely broken as colourful tabs poked out at every angle. She cleared her throat. “...would warmth ever reach those depths again, people asked each other. The court was at Greenwich, and the King directed that the ice be swept and decorated for a pleasure-ground. There was a silken rope, I remember, to keep the common people out; fireworks; great salted bonfires that burnt green and orange and purple…there were torches. Dances. Lovers. The—argh!” She’d been doing so well. She’d nearly memorised this part. She glanced at the script, then turned it back over again. “There were torches. Dances. Lovers. The ice never melted. The ice stayed hard as steel. And then, on January the seventh…”
Okay. She’d nailed that part. Onto the next scene, which she knew quite well because she’d had to rehearse her meeting with Sasha—played by Rory, who had avoided her gaze in all the rehearsals since he’d scared her the other week—quite a lot, due to the intimacy coordination. She paced the practice room that she’d booked, wishing that Mallory hadn’t bailed on her for line-running because rehearsing dialogue was so much easier when there was someone on-book, reciting her monologue about seeing Sasha for the first time, trying to feel exactly what Orlando was feeling when falling in love with the Russian figure skater. Her professor, Katherine, who was running the module (Steven was just the student director) had told her to envision the sensation of love at first sight, and Allie was a hopeless romantic so she’d thought it would be easy, but apparently Katherine disagreed with her interpretation.
“You’re not feeling the words you’re saying,” she’d told her, in their rehearsal today. “I need to believe that you have fallen, head-over-heels, for Sasha. And, for me to believe it, you need to feel it. If you believe in it, then we will, too.”
“They were skating - in a kind of short fur jacket - and at first I thought it was a boy, because…women don’t skate that fast, and also because of the way he was using his…his legs,” Allie said, before letting out a groan of frustration. Her brain had gone blank. “Because of the way he was using his legs,” she repeated, in the hopes that the rest of the line would unspool from her mind. “The way he was using his…”
The door slammed open, and she trailed off. “Yeah, thanks, Beau. I’ll see you Tuesday. I’m just—” Dean cut himself off as he locked eyes with her. “I’ll call you back.” He pocketed his phone and stared at her. “What are you doing here?”
Allie swallowed. She hadn’t seen him since she’d stormed out of his house, hair still dripping from the bath he’d drawn for her bad back. “I’m running lines. Mallory ditched me, but the show must go on.” She managed a weak smile. God, why was her heart pounding at a million miles per hour? She needed to get a grip, but she hadn’t seen him in a little while and the canvas white shirt he was wearing hugged every muscle snugly.
Dean’s mouth twisted. “I booked this study room,” he said delicately.
“No, I did.”
“Oh yeah? For how long?”
“From two till…” Allie glanced at her phone for the time, and scowled when she realised it had just crept past four o’clock. “Shit.”
“Shit,” Dean echoed, dumping his bag onto the desk she’d propped her Orlando script on, sending it flying to the floor.
“I was just starting to get my mouth around the words,” she protested. “Can’t you find a different room?”
“No can do.” Dean was definitely amused by this situation, which erased any remorse from her body for how she’d spoken to him in his bathroom. Clearly, he didn’t care less. He was probably still getting laid, whereas she was shamefully thinking of him whilst putting Winston to use underneath the covers. “I booked this room,” he said sweetly. “Can’t you find a different room?”
“All the practice rooms in the Drama building are taken,” she told him. “I snagged this study pod in the library at the last second.”
“But, only for two hours,” he countered.
“Can’t we just share the room? There’s plenty of space.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I don’t think that sharing study spaces is a part of the Premium deal. You’ll have to subscribe to another package for that kind of treatment.”
Okaaaay. So, maybe he was pissed about what she’d said. “I’m sorry,” Allie mumbled.
Dean clucked his tongue. “For stealing my room?”
“No, for insinuating that you were a cheap lay,” she replied.
Dean scoffed. “I didn’t realise that that was what you were implying. I thought you’d been upgraded to the Premium package, sweetheart.”
The pet name made Allie press her thighs together, and she was pretty sure he noticed, if the ghost of his usual smirk floating across his lips was anything to go by. “I’m sorry,” she said, again. “I shouldn’t have said any of it. I was just…I was scared that maybe I’d let the lines become blurred, and that we nearly got caught and I—it’s not an excuse, just an explanation. I’m just sorry. So sorry. I–I miss y…hooking up with you.”
Dean’s expression softened, and he smirked properly at her now. “Damn, Allie-Cat, it’s only been a few days. How horny are you?”
She flushed. “It’s—it’s not that,” she insisted. I miss hanging out with you. I miss phoning you to tell you about my day. I know I shouldn’t miss this about us because we’re only casual; because we have to be casual for the sake of my sanity, but I’m holding onto even the threads of that.
“Of course it isn’t,” Dean said smoothly. “And you’re definitely not apologising to me because you want the room, right?” His tone was teasing, and she relaxed. They were so back.
“That may be a small reason,” she quipped.
He grinned. “You sneaky minx.”
“What do you even need the room for?” she questioned, propping herself onto the table so that her legs swung down. “I thought you’d handed most of your assignments in.”
“Memorising my deadlines now, are we?” Dean lifted a brow.
“No! I just—”
“Relax, Allie-Cat. I’m joking,” he chuckled. “I actually have a test to cram for, but I’m sure that I’ll pass it anyway. I just wanted to do some extra studying without any…distractions.” His eyes lingered on her face, before suggestively roaming down her body, and Allie felt hot all over, her skin thrumming in satisfaction.
“Well, I might be a little distracting. I’m rehearsing lines by myself because Mallory ghosted me, so I, um, have to repeat them a lot out-loud to try and memorise them.”
“Why don’t I just test you?” Dean offered, already reaching for her play on the floor.
“You have studying to do,” she reminded him.
He waved a careless hand, already skimming the highlighted pages in front of him. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. It’s only worth ten percent of my grade, and I’ve already aced the other segments. Damn…you’ve got a lot of lines to learn. Have you got a deadline for this?”
“Opening night isn’t until February 21st,” she told him. “It’s a two-parter module that takes place over two semesters. I’m just getting a head start on my lines because I’m the lead.”
“The titular character,” he corrected her.
“You’re just saying that word because it has tit in it.”
“Guilty.” His tongue caught between his teeth in a grin, and Allie smiled. “Okay, babydoll, what do you need help with? The scene you’ve got open?”
“Please.”
“Okay, so this is clearly about me,” Dean said, beginning to read the lines. “He skated right past me - I mean, as close as my hand - and I tell you, no boy ever had a mouth like that. Eyes, like they’d been fished from the bottom of the sea. He was so close, I could taste him. And I thought: who am I now?” He gestured dramatically in the air, and she laughed, snatching the script out of his hand.
“You’re supposed to test me, not perform it yourself,” she scolded.
“But why should I deprive the world of my talent?” Dean’s eyes were sparkling.
Allie thumbed through the pages. “I actually already know a lot of Scene Four, as it’s my one with Rory so we’ve rehearsed it a lot—”
“Rory the creepy, weird stalker sophomore?”
“He’s been fine since,” she told him. “I think I just overreacted.”
“I don’t think so,” Dean said darkly.
“Can you test me on Scene Eight?”
“That’s quite the skip,” Dean noted. “So, what’s happened? What are the—what did you say they were called again?—given circumstances?”
Allie blinked at him, surprised. “I didn’t think you’d remember that.”
“I remember everything you tell me, Allie-Cat,” Dean said in a faux-seductive voice, and she shoved him playfully. “Anyway, catch me up. What’s happening in this scene?”
“Orlando is on a ship headed for London Bridge, and she’s—”
“She?” Dean asked. “I thought Orlando was a he.”
“Oh yes, we’ve skipped over that part,” she giggled. “In the scene before this, Orlando passes out after some raucous partying—”
“Sounds like me,” he mumbled.
“—and wakes up as a woman. She’s on a ship, barely dressed, and the Captain and Naval Officer are having an, um, problem…if you catch my drift…with it.”
“Why? Surely a nearly-naked woman would be any sailor’s dream,” he commented.
She rolled her eyes. “Well, no, Dean. Because this is the seventeenth century, where women had to cover themselves up. But, Orlando used to be a man, so she just finds their discomfort annoying because she doesn’t see a problem with how ‘indecent’ she is. It’s social commentary on the double standards between men and women, because Orlando faces barriers as a woman that she bypassed when she was a man.”
Dean hummed in interest, and she was surprised that he actually seemed to care. He chuckled as he read the stage directions. “It says here that the Captain holds himself rigidly erect (so to speak). That’s hilarious. She’s going to torture him, isn’t she?”
“Something like that,” Allie answered airily. “Now, action.”
“Yes, director,” Dean murmured, before clearing his throat and putting on a rather affected, quite terrible attempt at a British accent: “I thought you might like to know that we’re just passing the northern coast of Kent, ma’am, and shall be docking at London Bridge in about—Sweet Jesus on a bike.”
“Sorry?” Allie asked, fully in character. Dean grinned, clearly entertained.
“And so you might, ma’am, like to consider getting yourself de–de-de—”
“Dressed?”
“Exactly.”
“You know, Captain, when one has been a man for thirty years - not to mention an ambassador - one doesn’t really give a flying thank you for being instructed on one’s appearance. However…however….however…shit, line?”
Dean didn’t miss a beat. “When I am dressed - and forgive me for seeming inquisitive, Captain, but—” he prompted, and Allie took over:
“But, you see, up until this moment, I’ve never given my sex a thought…when I am dressed…”
They continued in this vein for a little while, with Dean definitely enjoying the role of the aroused Captain a little too much. He was great at coming in with the cues, trying out a whole variety of accents and funny voices for Mrs G and the Virginias, and Allie found herself learning her lines much easier with someone to bounce words off. They did the scene a few times, until she was convinced that she knew it all, but Dean didn’t stop there. He flicked onto Act Two, where Orlando was coming to terms with the fact that she would have to marry, now that she wasn’t a free man of the world, and decided that her suitors—imaginatively named Wit One and Wit Two (Dean read the names like a deranged owl)—were fuckboys. He even got up and demonstrated how he thought Wit Two would swagger onto the stage, rucking up his trousers with an Elvis-adjacent noise, which sent Allie into stitches.
“Like, c’mon, Al,” he sniggered, as the sky outside turned purple. “Stap me, madam, if the world will not applaud is such a player line.”
“Perhaps you should play him,” she suggested, still giggling.
Dean waggled his eyebrows. “I could see myself on that stage. I’d put Garrett to shame.”
“If you’re playing Wit Two, maybe it’s fitting that Orlando rejects him, then.”
Dean’s grin faded slightly. “Why, because you reject me constantly?”
“I do not reject you constantly,” she shot back, before the reality of their situation dawned on her slightly. Dean had just spent hours on end, helping her learn her lines for her play even though he probably had better things to do with his evening; tests to study for; games to practice.
“Whatever. You wound my heart.”
“Wound your cock more like.”
“I hold greater value than my penis, Allison,” he retorted, mock-offended.
“Sure,” she snickered, trying not to overthink it. He was just being a good friend. “Speaking of, do you want to—” Have sex, the way we’re supposed to? Stop acting like we’re something more than we actually are?
Dean grinned, stepping closer to her. “Ah, so clearly someone thinks my value is simply my dick. I’ll take that. If that someone is you.” He reached to play with her hair, but Allie swerved him, grabbing her handbag and shoving her script into it.
“I need to go home. Hannah’s at yours tonight, so you’re welcome to come over,” she said.
Dean bit his lip. “Do you want to rehearse the sex scene?”
“There’s a lot of sex scenes. The whole premise of the play is exploring who Orlando loves.”
“And who does Orlando love?”
Allie shrugged. “You’ll have to come and see the play.”
“Do you not have more lines to learn?” Dean wondered, his hair adorably mussed from all of the play-acting they’d been doing. Allie hated to admit it, but she really was struggling to just think of casual sex when it came to him, and it was scaring her.
“Do you want to fuck me or not?”
He blew out a breath. “What a question. Someone sounds a little eager.”
“Don’t act like I’m the only one,” she replied. “Make sure you leave, like, five minutes after me so that no one knows we were in here together.”
Dean winced, but saluted her. By the time she got back to her dorm, she was expecting a stream of flirty texts from him. But, he didn’t message her anything and, when he finally snuck through her window, he seemed much more subdued than he had been in the rehearsal room. That didn’t stop him from pressing her into the bed and fucking her into oblivion, which was relieving because Allie had truly wondered whether she’d screwed everything up by crossing their wires. When he asked her if she’d booked her train ticket, though, and proceeded to offer her a ride from Beau, she felt the drumbeats of doom creep in at the edges again, like unwanted shadows. She told herself it didn’t mean anything; that he’d offer all of his hookups a ride to New York, and that it wasn’t like it would just be the two of them—Beau would be there, too.
And yet, as Dean caught her eye in the rearview mirror and texted for her to come over when she was at her aunt’s, Allie felt her self-control slipping out of her grip. She handed him a chocolate turkey, and he dropped the act of red wine and indulgent tours just for her, engaging her in a sexually-charged game of chess, that ended with them on his bed, bringing each other to the edge again and again, until she was all worn-out from the countless rounds of sex.
She rolled onto her side as he took a call from the hockey boys, and the realisation hit her, fast and sharp, as suddenly as Orlando’s heartbreak after Sasha abandoned him, post-coital. It was there all right, the ensemble of Virginia Woolf said in the play, Far out on the horizon. But, he was going the wrong way. He walked into the waves. She’d gone against her heart’s true desire in the wake of her heartbreak; in her desperation to get as far away from the girl that Sean had turned her into. She’d crashed to the bottom of the ocean without a care; without a complaint, and now she was drowning in her guilt of what she’d ruptured; of the iceberg she’d collided with by getting entangled with Dean, Garrett’s best friend.
It was meant to be a one-time thing. But, now, Allie was listening to the sounds of her happy best friend on a FaceTime call, unable to face up to the shame of sneaking around with Dean so closely after breaking up with Sean; unable to look her best friend in the eye because she’d been lying to Hannah all along. She’d been caught by Dean, hook-line-and-sinker, and she needed to shake herself free of the line before he managed to reel her in any more; before he dug his claws into her so deeply that she feared she’d never be rid of the scars. Fuck. What was she doing? This wasn’t her—this seeking of casual sex, and lack of emotional connection. It wasn’t her. It was Dean’s cup of tea, which was probably why he wasn’t as scalded as her, but she couldn’t let them go on any longer. She had to nip this in the bud before their actions hurt other people; before she hurt herself by getting too invested in something; someone that wasn’t going to last.
She told herself it was for the better, when she looked Dean in the eye and left his apartment.
She told herself it was for the better, when she snuck into the photobooth and caved to him, again, but not without making sure he knew that what they had could not be a relationship. It had to have no strings, or else she’d choke as they wrapped around her neck. It had to just be sex—none of this giggling in study rooms or intimate conversations over chess. Just sex, in its raw and primal form. But, even then…even when she took great care to remind Dean that it was just sex, the self-loathing slammed into her like a tsunami wave when it was Sean at her door; Sean saying We just broke up, Al with that heartbroken look in his eyes.
So, then, she knew it was for the better, when she aired his text messages in favour of leaving pleading voicemails for Sean. She knew it was for the better when she actively ignored him, even as he tried his best to seek her out; when she went to a bar with Joanna Maxwell and she sent her in the direction of a hot guy at the bar apparently called Carter St. James (yeah right). She knew it was for the better when she kissed Carter St. James and tried desperately not to imagine blonde tufts of hair underneath her palms because they’d never even dated; when she told Dean that they needed to sleep with other people; when she left rehearsal to the sight of her phone lighting up with a call from Maverick, probably to tell her that he’d completed the assignment; when she woke up in Carter St. James’ bed after sex that was finally hot and meaningless, and didn’t mean anything, not in the way that Dean’s intense stare and lingering kisses had started to crack away at her walls. It was all for the better.
Until Dean looked her in the eye and said I like you, I like us, and Allie realised that she’d thought she’d been going the wrong way when she’d got too attached to Dean, but clearly she hadn’t been alone on that route—there had been headlights around the corner all along. She hadn’t been going the wrong way, after all. He’d been going that way, too. But, now, she’d ruined everything. She’d completed the assignment. She’d slept with somebody else; somebody else who then proceeded to walk through the door of Malone’s, as if the universe had handed her a portal to the eye of the hurricane; into the raging, roaring wall of water rushing towards her as Dean exclaimed Him? and Beau grimly said That…is Hunter Davenport whilst the entire Hawks starting line descended into chaos.
Because, right there in the middle of the storm, Allie realised it wasn’t for the better after all.
She’d walked right into the waves, and they had engulfed her whole.