The Score (Off-Campus #3)(8)

A laugh flies out. “Dream on.”

But in the back of my mind, I’m considering the suggestion. A rebound isn’t a terrible idea, actually. It’s like falling off a horse—people always advise you to immediately get back on, right? Maybe that’s what I should do, hop right back in the saddle. If anything, it’ll be a good distraction from the ache in my heart.

I definitely won’t be doing it with Dean, though. Nope, I’d rather find a saddle that hasn’t already been ridden by every girl at Briar.

“We’ll put a pin in it,” he decides.

“If by that you mean sticking a pin in this stupid idea balloon and deflating it, then sure, let’s put a pin in it.”

Dean stops at the door and turns, his green eyes doing a seductive sweep from my head down to my toes. “Actually, the more I think about it, the more I like the idea of rebounding you.” His gaze lingers on my chest. “I like the idea a lot.”

I stifle a groan. “Garrett promised that you wouldn’t hit on me this weekend.”

“G knows better than to make promises on my behalf,” Dean answers with a grin. Then he beckons me. “So are we watching this movie or what?”

I follow him inside. My mind feels foggy from the weed, but in a good way, and when Dean stops in the hall to hike up the sweatpants that are about to fall off his trim hips, for some reason I start giggling as if it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.

My humor fades when we settle on the couch, because Dean flops down directly beside me, slings one muscular arm around my shoulders, and tugs me close. As if it’s totally normal.

I frown at him. “Why is your arm around me?”

His expression is all innocence. “This is how I watch movies.”

“Really? So you put your arm around Garrett when you watch movies with him?”

“Absolutely. And if he’s nice to me, sometimes I slide my hand down his pants.” Dean’s other hand skims down to the waistband of my leggings. “Be nice to me, and I promise I’ll be even nicer in return.”

“Ha. Not happening.” I shove his hand away, but not before a spark of heat ignites between my legs. His bare chest is glorious, and it’s taunting me, begging my fingers to stroke all those roped muscles. And he smells really good. Like the ocean. No, like coconut. I’m feeling way too loopy to pinpoint the scent, but not loopy enough that I don’t register how my * is still tingling like crazy.

Oh, for crying out loud. My sex life must have really gone to the shitter if I’m getting all tingly in the presence of Dean Di Laurentis.

“What else do we have to do?” he counters.

I point to the TV. “Watch a movie.”

“I’d rather be watching you.” He waggles his eyebrows. “You know, when you’re shouting my name while I make you come.”

This time there aren’t any tingles. Just a lot of laughter that pours out of my mouth in uncontrollable waves.

“Jesus. You’re really bad for a man’s ego.” He looks insulted.

I suck in a gulp of air between giggles. Yep, I’m high and relaxed and in possession of no filters whatsoever, which means I can make fun of Dean all I want and blame the weed later. “I’m sorry, but you’re too f*cking much sometimes.” I can’t stop laughing. “Do girls really fall for these lines?”

He makes an unflattering noise under his breath. “Put on the damn movie already.”

“Gladly.” I click the remote and shift all the way to the other side of the couch, leaving three feet of distance between us.

To Dean’s credit, he doesn’t say a word for nearly thirty minutes. His gaze stays focused on the screen, but from the corner of my eye, I don’t miss all the fidgeting he’s doing. Tapping his long fingers on his thighs. Raking a hand through his hair. Heaving a sigh as we watch the main character prepare an omelet in real time.

When she sits at the counter and starts eating the omelet—in real time—Dean erupts like a dormant volcano.

“This movie blows!” He groans. Loudly. “There. I said it. This goddamn movie goddamn blows.”

“I think it’s good.” I’m lying. Enduring this film is the equivalent of watching paint dry. Not even the pot we just smoked can make this experience even the slightest bit enjoyable, but I don’t want to admit that I’d made the wrong choice. You can’t give a guy like Dean the win. Ever. He’ll lord it over me until the end of time.

“There’s no way you like this movie,” he challenges.

“I do,” I insist.

He stares me down for several seconds, but my acting skills come in handy, allowing me to convey pure innocence.

“Well, I don’t. This is a whole new level of brutal.”

I offer a helpful suggestion. “Why don’t you go upstairs and jerk off again?”

Shit. Wrong thing to say. His green eyes instantly take on a seductive glint.

With a lazy grin, he leans toward me and drawls, “How about you do it for me?”

This guy is incorrigible. “Are we back to this? Do you ever take no for an answer?”

“I’m not familiar with that word. Nobody’s ever said it to me before.” He moves closer again, resting his palm on the cushion between us and giving the fabric a slow stroke. “Come on, let’s make this party more interesting. We’re home alone…we’re both good-looking…”