Chapter 6

6

DELIA

I look at the spread of Thanksgiving food I've been working on since the night before and can't help but grin. Oh, man. I think I've done good. I know I've done good. But I just want to impress Dean so freaking badly that I keep second-guessing myself.

Is the turkey too dry? Are the potatoes too lumpy? No. I'm a professional cook for goodness sake. I can make a Thanksgiving meal.

Dean left early, having to handle yet another issue down at the police station. While putting on his uniform, he explained that the night before Thanksgiving is usually the busiest bar night of the year and that they had quite a few people sobering up in the holding cell he had to deal with. So much for taking the holiday off...but he promised me he'd be home as soon as it was all straightened out.

But I'm beginning to get a little nervous because the turkey has been out for the past half hour, and it's just waiting for him.

And then, just like magic, the door opens. Dean is there in his uniform, his badge gleaming on his chest. God, he looks hot. My entire body tenses at the sight of him, and my core feels suddenly warm and wet.

"Princess?" His brow furrows as he glances around the house.

"In here!" I call, giddy.

"Oh, thank god," he breathes. I watch as his entire body relaxes. "I was afraid you had done something stupid and left."

Does he really think I would leave when he was gone, like a thief in the night? It makes my heart ache to even consider it. "Nope. I'm right here."

"I see that." His mouth twitches.

"I made you dinner. A real, full, traditional Thanksgiving meal just like I promised." I grin, gesturing towards the table. "Come on."

He takes a few steps into the dining room and stops short, looking at the feast laid out. He doesn't say anything, and my smile falters. "Dean?"

"Oh, princess, this looks delicious. But I still don't get why you would go to all the trouble...?"

I frown, feeling confused. "I wanted to thank you. You've given me so much, and you've treated me like a queen. This is the least I can do."

He turns towards me, and for the first time, I see him really smile. The look on his face is so tender that my heart aches, and I feel a blush creeping into my cheeks. "Thank you."

A lump forms in my throat, but there's no time for crying. Not if we want to eat while the food is hot. "Come on, let's eat."

We sit down at the table, and I can't help but notice the way he looks at me. There's something in his eyes, something different than usual. And when he smiles at me, it's a soft, almost wistful expression.

"You're making me nervous," I admit, laughing self-consciously.

"Just thinking about how I don't deserve this or you. But I'm damned glad you're mine, Delia."

His words cause warmth to pool in my belly and a smile to break out across my face. Something flutters in my stomach, and I have the sudden urge to jump on his lap and ride him right here at the table. Instead, I reach across the table, and he takes my hand in his, squeezing tightly.

"I am," I whisper. It's a reckless, crazy thing to say. But I don't care.

We start to eat, the turkey melting on my tongue, and the stuffing and mashed potatoes warming me from the inside. I was right—I killed it.

"I hope you're hungry." I laugh. "You're going to have leftovers for weeks."

He's between bites, but when he swallows, he says, "That's fine with me. You know, I don't usually give a fuck about Thanksgiving, but…" Dean takes a drink of his sangria, and his stormy eyes lock onto mine. "I'm pretty damned thankful that I met you, princess."

Oh, this man. Demanding, controlling, but with a streak of genuine affection that touches my soul. "I feel the same. I'm glad I met you too."

I take a sip of my own sangria, the alcohol sweet and spicy. God, I am so happy I met him. And now I don't want to be without him. I don't want to lose what we have.

Of course, I know this is all insane. We only met three days ago, and I'm his son's ex-girlfriend! But when I look at Dean, when he touches me, all of that fades away. It feels like I've known him for years. No one has ever made me so comfortable or feel so cherished.

I watch him as he eats—the way his jaw moves and the flex of his muscles under the dress shirt. My mind starts to drift. Before I can stop myself, I'm picturing him taking me right there on the table—his mouth on mine and his cock inside me.

"What is it, princess?" His voice breaks into my thoughts.

I flush and take a deep breath. "I was just...thinking about things."

"What kind of things?" he asks, pretending to be more interested in his plate than my words. But I know better.

I bite my lip, wondering if I should be honest or not. "I'll tell you later, but let's just eat right now. I don't want anything to go to waste..." Grinning, I point my fork at him. "I worked really hard on all of this, you know."

"I'll try and appreciate it more then."

I wrinkle my nose at him. "You better."

Dean laughs and shakes his head. "You really outdid yourself, Delia. This is great."

The rest of the meal is a comfortable silence, and I can't help but notice that there's a change in the air. Something about him is different. I don't know what it is, but I like it.

I'm cutting the pumpkin pie, feeling all glowy and excited thinking about what the rest of the night will hold, when I hear something that makes my blood run cold. It's the front door opening and the sound of my ex-boyfriend calling through the house.

"I came for dinner. I assume you still want to do that at least. Right, Pops?"

Dean is on his feet, but Brody struts into the dining room like he owns the place. His face goes slack in shock as he sees me, and his steps stumble.

"Delia, what the hell? Why are you still here?"

"Because you left me here!" I huff. "I haven't seen you since the day we arrived, and you have a lot of nerve showing up right now looking for a free meal."

His expression is confused, and then furious. "I thought Dad would have sent you home in a cab or something. I didn't believe Trevor when he said he saw you two at the pumpkin trail, but now I'm starting to think he was telling the truth. Are you really fucking my dad, Delia?"

Dean clears his throat, and Brody's eyes land on him. "You will speak to her with respect in my home, Brody. Delia is my guest now since you fucked off to party all weekend."

I'm panicking inside, hands shaking as I set down the pie knife. Brody looks like he's scared to talk back to Dean, which is a wise decision, but when he glances at me again, he puffs out his meager chest to continue complaining.

"Guest or fuck buddy?" Brody snaps.

Dean's expression goes thunderous. Oh no, this is a side of him I haven't seen before. He's going to kill Brody.

"You're on thin ice, son."

"Don't call me your son while you're messing around with my girlfriend."

Dean takes a step forward, and Brody steps back, his expression nervous. He's not nearly as large as his father, and there's no way he could ever take him in a fight. "I didn't ask for a smart-ass response."

Brody looks at me for some kind of help. Too bad I have none for him."Delia, are you serious?"

I swallow hard. The last thing I expected was for him to even ask that question. "We broke up, Brody. Remember?"

"No. I remember you bitching at me, though." He scoffs, but there's sweat beading on his brow. Dean has gone silent, but that silence speaks words. I can't believe Brody is still arguing back...it must be all the adrenaline making him stupid. "I didn't think it was a real breakup."

"It was! It was real back in Providence, and it's real now because you ditched me, and even before that, it was obvious we weren't good together. Why do you even care if I'm here or not?"

"Because, Delia..." He waves his hands in the air, at a loss. "Because you're supposed to be my date."

Dean has been silent through all of this, and as I glance at him, his hands are balled into fists. He's holding himself back.

"This is your last chance to leave, Brody." Dean's voice is deceptively calm, hiding the storm brewing underneath. "After this, I'm going to make you leave."

Brody scoffs. "You wouldn't dare."

"Don't test me. I'm not the man you grew up with. I'm the man you never wanted to meet."

Brody swallows hard, and his eyes move to mine. "Do you know how old he is?"

"It doesn't matter," I snap, meaning every word of it.

"Yes, it does, Delia. Jesus, he's 40! Don't tell me you've lost your fucking mind."

Dean's eyes narrow. "Get the fuck out of my house."

Brody doesn't move, but the expression on his face tells me he wants to. He doesn't dare. "Delia, I want an answer."

Crossing my arms, I tilt my chin up. I'm freaking out inside, but I won't let Brody see. I refuse. "And I'm not giving one."

Dean takes a step forward. He towers over Brody, who isn't small by any means, and the difference between them is like a wolf standing next to a poodle. "I won't tell you again."

"I'm not going anywhere. This is my house too, and I have as much right to be here as Delia."

Dean reaches out, wrapping his large, rough hand around the back of Brody's neck. The young man gasps, trying to jerk back, but his father holds him still.

"Dad, let go."

"Get. The. Fuck. Out." Dean's grip tightens, and Brody yelps. "This is my house, Brody. Mine. And Delia is staying because I told her to."

"What the fuck? Are you crazy? You're like twice her age. It's sick."

"Shut up, Brody," I snap, but the older man shakes his head, not looking at me.

Dean shoves Brody back, and the younger man stumbles, almost falling. The tension in the room reaches a fever pitch, but finally, Brody breaks. Shoulders slumping, he looks away.

"Fine. I'll go stay where I'm wanted." He turns and leaves the room, and after a second, the front door opens and slams closed.

As soon as he's gone, Dean collapses into the chair, letting out a deep breath. "Dammit. I'm sorry, princess."

That was awful, and I'm still quivering....but it feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. It's over. Brody knows, and there's nothing left to hide.

"It's okay." I reach across the table and take his hand in mine, squeezing tightly. "Everything is fine."

Dean's thumbs sweep across my knuckles. "I never want to make you feel uncomfortable, Delia. But I wasn't going to let that little fucker talk to you like that."

My smile is soft and genuine. "I know, Dean. Thank you."