Chapter Three

                                    

                                          
Evelyn
After bailing us out and somehow convincing the woman I hit to drop the charges, Dean began driving Anna and me back to our shared apartment. 
Anna was in the back, texting away at her phone, while I sat next to him in the passenger seat. 
I hadn't seen Dean since my high school graduation. It was more than evident that Nick had dragged him along. 
The man barely spared me a glance as he grunted out congratulations to me before disappearing out of my sight. 
Dean Jameson was my brother, Nick's best friend. I was a kid when I first met him, a stupid little kid. I'm pretty sure I was playing with my toys when he walked past me in the living room with Nick. 
I remember just staring at him and thinking how cute he looked. I was ten, playing with my Barbie Dream House, yet I thought he was cute like my Ken doll. 
It wasn't until I got a little older that I started to see Dean as more than cute. Way more than cute. He was always laughing about something, closing his eyes and smacking Nick in the chest as they snickered over their inside jokes. 
He was over so much; you would think he lived with us. My mother told me that Dean was an orphan when he was a kid. 
That he was tossed around the foster system so much until, finally, a lovely elderly couple adopted him. 
Mr. and Mrs. Jameson, may they rest in peace. They had passed away less than a year ago, something my mother informed me of over the phone. 
But looking at the man in the posh black suit, it seemed like Dean was doing pretty well for himself. He fit the suit he was wearing like it was a second skin. 
His arms clung to the sleeves, and you could see how well he wore them. It accentuated his muscles and biceps, and the slacks kissed every inch of his thighs and legs. 
His untamed russet-colored locks were messy and disheveled as always. He could never be bothered to brush his hair, even when he was a teenager. 
I remember hearing him say that he hated it brushed back or styled with gel. But the bedhead looked perfectly imperfect on him. He looked sexy with his hair all chaotic. It made me wonder if that's how his hair looked after a crazy night of sex. 
As nice as his hair was, I think it was those beautiful eyes of his that I truly loved. They were like pools of gold and jade, all swirling together. I think what made me love his eyes were his thick black lashes. 
As nice as his lashes were, the rest of his heart-shaped face was rugged and manly. An oval-shaped nose, a sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and a pair of rough pink lips. His face was clean-shaven, making him look younger without any hair. 
It made me wonder how he looked if he had a mustache and a thick beard covering his face. I wonder if he was an aggressive kisser. 
If he'd force his tongue into my mouth or liked it slower, a teasing stroke of his tongue. Thinking about Dean like this was my norm in high school. 
I had the worst crush on him. It was pathetic since I knew deep down we could never  be together. Nick would probably murder him, and even if Nick approved, I knew Dean didn't see me as anything but a nuisance. 
He was literally blackmailing me right now so I wouldn't get in trouble with my parents. Even though I was attracted to him, my crush on him was long gone. 
I didn't see him as that same sweet guy who used to help my mother out with the dishes after having dinner with us. Or the same guy who would sit with my dad and watch football games with him.