I don’t think too hard and swerve to the left, heading to the opposite end of town.

For the second night in a row, I’m walking up his cement sidewalk, unable to stay away. Only, this time he’s sitting on the front stoop smoking a cigarette. I halt my steps when our eyes meet and he blows a plume of smoke up towards the stars.

“You’re smoking again,” I note softly, stuffing my hands into my coat pockets.

His jaw sets as he takes a long drag, the embers flickering to life. The last time I saw him smoke was in his Camaro that night, right before Earl shattered my window.

And my soul.

“I need something to take the edge off.”

I duck my head, pressing my lips together. “Am I the edge?”

Dean stares right at me as puffs of smoke trail from his nostrils, then he kicks at a loose stone. “Yeah, Cora. You’re the edge.” He watches carefully as I take a few slow steps towards him. “Why are you here?”

I was really hoping he wouldn’t ask me that question. I offer a shrug in response.

He blinks through another drag. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Can we go inside?”

“No. I’m smoking.”

I quell my defenses and continue to approach him on the stoop. I perch myself between his legs, pushing his knees apart and reaching for his cigarette. I pluck the rolled paper from his loose grip, replacing it with my lips. Dean melts into me for one brief, exquisite moment, before pulling back and standing to his feet.

“I can’t… it’s getting late. You should go home.”

He turns to head inside, not expecting me to follow, but I do. I stomp out the cigarette and trail him through the entryway, closing the door behind us. “I missed you.”

This seems to trigger something in him and he whirls around, storming over to me frozen in the doorway. “Bullshit. You’re here to scratch an itch.”

I jerk back, thrown by that assumption. “You know that’s not true.”

“We both know that is true, otherwise you wouldn’t have skipped out on me this morning. You wouldn’t have ignored my texts all day. You wouldn’t have declined my invitation to talk.” Dean tosses his arms in the air with aggravation. “I won’t be your dirty, little secret, Cora. I won’t be your fuck toy or your goddamn escape.”

Hurt sparks inside me, prickling my skin, but I shove it back down. I unbutton my peacoat and let it fall off my arms as I step out of my boots. I approach him standing there in the middle of his living room, hands set loosely on his hips, chest expanding and deflating with each arduous breath. When I’m only a foot away, I tug my blouse up and over my head. His jaw ticks as he watches, his eyes casing me, darkening and curious. I reach behind my back and unclasp my bra, letting it slip to the floor, my eyes still hooked on his.