The Hierarchy of Needs (The Portland Rebels #2) (14 page)

“Are you actually blushing?”

He exhaled hard. Embarrassed Dean was like a meteor shower—rare and easily missed if you didn’t catch it quickly enough. She nudged him until he lifted his head. His cheek was curved up to one side, the playboy smirk erased by a bashful smile she’d never seen before.

“I’m kind of a reaction junkie,” he said. “The sights and sounds of pleasure…I get off on it.”

“No wonder you were always such a good photographer. You like to watch.”

He grunted. It was a fingernail snagged on something. A caught nerve.

“What?” she asked.

“Watching you. It’s been my longest-running fantasy. Ever since you showed up in detention dressed as an angel.”

An empty ache grew and pulsed inside her. “Really?”

Now it was his turn to lean in close, his grin wicked. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about watching you get yourself off in those sparkly wings. That halo.”

Jamie bit her lip. She wanted him somewhere private. Wanted him securing her wrists above her head and fucking her, hard and fast. Overpowering her. Consuming her.

“It was never about the costume, though,” he said.

She was almost disappointed. “No kinky role-playing for you?”

Dean’s smile gentled. “No. It’s because I saw you that day. The real you. Angel face. Bad kid underneath. Wild. Free.” He kissed her. “You.”

Tears sparked in her eyes. Her heart skipped a beat. He saw her. He’d
always
seen her. Better than anyone else ever had.

They finished their drinks, and he put his arm around her as they made their way down the street. It wasn’t an absent-minded touch, or a movement made out of drunken playfulness. It was purposeful, intentional. One that told everyone who walked past them that she was his.

The sun was starting its descent when they reached the parking lot, the air growing chilly and crisp. Jamie huddled close to him and placed her palm on his chest, a gentle touch above the etched-out stars over his heart.

The meaning of his other tattoos had come to her easily. This one was still a mystery.

“What do the stars mean?”

He covered her hand with his. Blond lashes drifted low. “They were a reminder.”

“Of?”

His eyes met hers. “To stay away from love.”

“With me, or anyone?”

“Both,” he said. “Mostly you.”

She pursed her lips, mouth twisting to the side. Dean pecked her with light kisses until she giggled.

“I put the stars here to remind myself that I couldn’t offer anyone a future. That it was better not to love anyone at all.” He spread her hand out, a light touch to each fingertip. “I didn’t want to need love. Because then I could lose it.”

She shot him a wry grin. “So that’s why you’re such a player.”

A hoarse laugh burst out of him. He played with the tips of her fingers. “Not anymore, I guess?”

It was a question and an offer. Jamie shook her head up at the sky and looked back at him again.

“Dean Trescott, off the market. Women are going to come after me with pitchforks.”

He smiled. “So we’re doing this? For real?”

She looked into those little-boy eyes, thinking of how much they had in common. How long they’d both been hurting, but pretending they were okay. Too scared to admit how they felt, afraid of the toll rejection would bring.

It was time to put that behind them.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed him.

“Yeah,” she said. “We are.”

Chapter Fourteen

Dean hauled another armful of junk into the bin in the parking lot. It landed on top of the pile with a gratifying clatter. It had to have been the thirtieth time he’d done that today—his back ached and his hands were a mess—but every thud of metal against metal made him happier than he’d been in years.

He glanced out at the harbor. The red-brick buildings of downtown were lit with the orange flame of the sinking sun, the waterfront thatched with cloudy pockets of blue, pink and red. It was the kind of early evening that begged to be photographed, but there would be others.

Right now he had a more important task at hand.

He trudged back inside, wiping his brow with a dirty forearm as he stepped through the wide bay door. He’d sweat straight through his shirt, which was crazy considering the fact that it would be November in the morning. It was a good workout, though. A shower was definitely in order, but that was hours off.

Maybe not too many, though, considering the help he had.

Half the guys were over here today, clearing a path through everything stored on the first floor of the warehouse. His father was directing things, and Connor and Mikey had taken the day off work to help too. They’d split the place into sections: the far right was where they’d stacked body parts. Engine pieces in the middle. Boxes of files were up against the left wall, ready to be scanned and shredded.

Dean grinned at the concrete slab, visible for the first time in years. He’d been surprised to see there was actually a floor there, underneath all that stuff. Watching his father sort through things, it occurred to Dean why the old man had been such a packrat. It wasn’t just about saving money. He’d held onto everything he could because he’d lost so much, and was terrified of losing anything else.

It was an emotion Dean could completely identify with.

Now both of them were ready to let go of the past, and a new future was shining out from that cement block, one Dean had never wanted to try for because he’d thought it was impossible.

Maybe reaching for the kind of life he wanted wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

He bent over, gearing up to haul the next pile out to the Dumpster when he was suddenly attacked from behind. Arms and legs wrapped around him as something heavy smacked against his side, knocking the wind out of him.

Dean fell forward and caught himself on the wall. “What the hell, Matthews?”

Jamie dug her chin into his shoulder. “How’d you know it was me?”

“The chlorine smell. Gives you away every time.”

She’d complained about constantly smelling like pool chemicals, but the scent didn’t bother him. If anything, it reminded him how recently Jamie had been naked.

She stuck out her tongue, then nuzzled his cheek. “Sorry my bag hit you.”

So that was what had careened into him. “What the hell do you have in there, anyway? A brick?”

“The November issue of
Vogue
.”

He huffed out an amused breath through his nose. “You and your fashion obsession.”

It wasn’t an obsession anymore—it was the career she was trying for—but teasing her was his sole privilege, now that they were officially dating. He shifted her weight on his back.

“You know, if you weren’t my favorite girl, I’d have dropped you on your ass by now.”

Jamie giggled. “If you did that, then you wouldn’t have anyone to go the Halloween party with tonight.” She kissed his cheek, then hopped to the ground and pulled out a pamphlet. “I grabbed this for you today.”

He glanced at what she was holding out, then held up his dirty hands and shook his head.

“Take it upstairs. I’ll look at it later.”

She grinned, that fantastic Jamie smile that was all his. A glittering hair band held back her wild curls. Curls he’d wrapped around his fist that morning when she’d woken him up with her mouth.

She’d slept in his bed nearly every night in the two weeks since their talk at the coffee shop. It had meant Mikey hadn’t been taking up his usual place on his couch. Dean felt badly about it, but had a feeling his buddy understood. He and Jamie needed to make up for lost time.

They’d done more than make up for it, their nights filled with crazy nonstop sex. Several mornings too. They’d both been late for work more than a few times. He couldn’t get enough. Against the wall in the living room. In the hallway. On the kitchen counter.

In the back of his truck under some blankets by the beach, because yeah, that needed to happen.

The life he’d been afraid wouldn’t be good enough for her—nights at home and meals that subsisted mostly of PB and J and cereal—didn’t seem to bother her either. She actually had a thing for junk food, although the hours she spent swimming and getting sweaty with him more than took care of burning off the calories. He was keeping the pounds off himself, now that he was working out daily and scaling back on the beer.

He didn’t seem to need the booze anymore. Not when he was coming home to Jamie every night. She’d filled his world with life in so little time, and he was surprised how quickly he was ready to offer her what he’d never given anyone before.

It went beyond wanting to give her a key to his apartment, though. He was ready to let her decorate the place, to move in and make her energy a part of his world.

To let the world know he was taken.

Jamie tucked the information on the Maine College of Art’s photography program into her bag and walked backwards to the door.

“See you up there when you’re done,” she said. “And don’t forget to let me know when you’re coming up. I don’t want you to see the costumes until they’re done.”

“You’re not finished with them yet?”

She’d been working on their Halloween outfits as a trial-run project, to see if she could sew something decent on her own. She’d been pretty hush-hush about them too, hiding them in a box she stashed in her car whenever he came home.

“Almost. Just be glad I still have all my fingers,” she said merrily.

Oh, he was glad all right. He wanted every single one of those fingers clasping his when he made her come later tonight.

Dean went back to work, a big stupid grin on his face. He didn’t care. Jamie was upstairs waiting for him, in the mini studio he’d created for her in an empty corner. He’d surprised her one morning by setting up a table in the space where the most light filtered in and telling her it was hers. Now that table was littered with dozens of charcoal pencils, her magazines in haphazard piles. She’d brought over an easel and propped a new sketchpad on it. The most recent additions were a mannequin torso she’d found at Goodwill and an antique sewing machine she’d bought off Craigslist.

She was happier than he’d ever seen her. It made him stand up tall, knowing he’d helped make that happen.

She was encouraging him to find his way back to the arts too, but Dean wasn’t there yet. It was enough that she was putting together a new portfolio and applying to that fashion design program. She had no idea if it was going to work out, but she was taking a risk, and Dean was taking one with her.

Coming up with a plan on how to make the restoration thing a reality had been a challenge, but it was one he was more than ready for. He’d shown his father the photographs he’d taken at the fair, ready to prove that what he had in mind would cost them some in the beginning, but would be worth it in the end.

There’d been some grumbles, some doubts, even an argument or two, but they were on the same side now. Partners, for once.

He’d had Connor update the business website to say that Trescott Auto Body would be offering classic car refurbishment soon. The calls they’d already gotten seemed to have been enough to get his father fired up over the idea. Dean caught him looking at that old photo of his grandfather, saying the most senior Trescott had always talked about fixing up an old Model T, and maybe they could do that someday.

They’d even played around with the idea of leasing a company vehicle down the line, so Dean could bring his truck up to show quality.

He was getting to call more of the shots in the garage too, and had finally gotten a glimpse at how hard this must’ve been for the old man all these years. Running a small local shop in a world of chains was no easy task.

That was another reason Dean was putting off the photography thing. He wanted it to be part of his life, but the idea of going back to school for a degree in business was a lot more exciting. He didn’t know how soon, but that was okay. What mattered now was that doing
more
suddenly felt possible.

Photography was something he could do in his downtime, and he’d started taking pictures whenever the moment struck him. The skyline outside his window at sunrise. Portland’s downtown sidewalk at dusk, alive with people.

Racy ones of Jamie.

The memory made him want to abandon everything he was doing, go upstairs and tackle her, right the fuck now. But she wasn’t going anywhere. The fears and worries about her moving on had all been him, a reflection of his upbringing, and that was a conversation he’d had to tackle too.

He’d needed to talk to his mother.

Calling her shouldn’t have taken as much effort as it did. After all, she tried to show she still cared through her elaborate gifts. If it weren’t for that camera, Dean wouldn’t be where he was today. But there were things that needed to be said, so he’d gotten her on the phone for a heart-to-heart.

The conversation had been strained at first, because how exactly did you start things out with small talk before explaining to the woman who gave birth to you that her actions turned him into a man who was terrified of commitment?

He’d finally ripped the Band-Aid off and asked, point blank:

“Why didn’t you stick around? Didn’t you love Dad?”

“Didn’t you love me?”

She took it all in, and was so quiet for a few moments Dean was sure she’d hung up on him, severing their ties for good. She finally answered that love wasn’t the problem. Of course she loved him, and was sorry he even had to ask. She’d left because it was time, and she thought Dean had been old enough to handle it, and if she hadn’t loved his father, she wouldn’t have fought it out with him for so long. They simply grew apart, like so many people who fell for their best friend from high school and needed to move on.

He hung up, knowing nothing had actually changed between them, but that hadn’t been the reason for his call. He’d needed to face head-on the reason he’d pushed Jamie away all these years: the idea that he’d play out his parents’ lives, and by virtue of that, ruin hers.

He knew it was possible the same thing could happen for him and Jamie. They might eventually grow apart, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him anymore. He couldn’t, because the fact that he loved her was something he’d etched onto his skin years ago.

He’d punched black stars out over his heart as a reminder not to fall in love, but it had been about her all along. Stars shine in darkness, giving hope of a new, better path. Her star was imprinted on him because he’d been drawn to her, to the way she sparkled.

Jamie was the North Star missing from his compass.

It was long past sunset by the time he and the guys finished for the day. Dean thanked everyone for coming, got a good, firm handshake from his father and some fist bumps from Connor and Mikey. He took the stairs two at a time to the second floor, forgetting to text Jamie in his eagerness to be near her.

“Hey!” She shut off the sewing machine and stood in front of it. White, frilly fabric peeked out from behind her. “You were supposed to let me know you were on your way up.”

He threw his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry.”

“You should be.” The pout on her face was ridiculously adorable. He wanted to kiss it off her.

“Can I least have a preview of what I’ll be wearing tonight?” he asked.

She scampered toward him and retrieved her phone from her pocket. “Fine. I’ll show you the photo I got the inspiration from.”

Dean looked at her instead of the screen, at the liveliness radiating from her. She’d shocked him last week by saying she was interested in getting a tattoo, and they’d stayed up late looking at pictures. She got all excited over one of a phoenix—a black body with wings the color of flame. She liked the idea of putting it on her lower back, saying the design symbolized her rising up from her own ashes. Starting over again.

He liked the idea of it being on a place on her body only he would see.

“Here.” She held up a photo of a girl in a tutu and a tiara kissing a guy dressed as—

“Is he supposed to be the Tooth Fairy?”

She giggled. Dean shook his head.

“Oh no. You’re not parading me around in a giant pillow and a crown. I’m not doing it.”

She had him pretty damn whipped, but he had to draw the line somewhere.

Jamie rolled her eyes. “Relax. I said it was my inspiration. Not what I actually made.”

The eye roll was almost as cute as her pout. He moved to put his arms around her, but she scurried back and pointed in the direction of the bathroom.

“Don’t even think of touching me until you’ve showered.”

Dean chuckled and did as he was told. He enjoyed her bossy side, and had gotten to see it in full force when he’d watched her coach one night. She was a fireball out there, and Dean had a feeling her renewed enthusiasm was a direct result of her turning down that promotion. She’d become more passionate in her pep talks, and the kids responded to her, taking longer strides in the water at her encouragement, attacking the water more vigorously when she clapped and shouted.

She seemed to have finally found some meaning in what she was doing—fulfillment in propelling her students toward exciting futures of their own.

He’d asked her to put the swimsuit and whistle back on when he’d gotten her home that night, and let her bark out some commands for him. It was a night he’d been glad to live in a commercial district, any neighbors too far away to hear them.

She was no longer in the living room when Dean reemerged in a towel, the day’s grime washed away.

“I’m in the bedroom,” she called out. “My costume’s finished.”