“I care, Corabelle. You’re in our wedding party—can’t have you chopped into little pieces and hidden under that guy’s floorboards before the big day.”

I snap my head in his direction, catching the playful smirk on that stupid, handsome face of his. “I hate you.”

“You know I’m just messing with you,” he winks.

“I still hate you.”

Dean’s eyes rove over me, assessing me in some way, as he twists the key in the ignition. The engine howls to life. “You know you’re just opening yourself up to scary dudes when you dress like that,” he says off-handedly, his wrist dangling over the steering wheel as he puts the car into drive.

I snort at the audacity of his claim. “Victim shaming,” I supply. “You really are a catch. My sister is so lucky.” I blink at him, fluttering my long lashes dramatically.

“That’s not what I meant,” he counters. “I’m just saying, when you look like that, guys notice.”

“When I look like what? Are you saying I look slutty?”

“I’m saying you look good.”

Dean issues the strange compliment with such nonchalance, I almost forget who it’s coming from. I fidget with the hem of my dress and cross my legs, unsure of how to reply, but then I remember he was still victim shaming and he’s still an ass. “Yeah, well, you look like a… bonehead.” What?

A rich laugh mingles with the roar of the engine, and I slink back in my seat. “That’s the best you got? The alcohol must be getting to you. Your comebacks are suffering.”

“Shut up.”

Dean scratches at his jaw again, glancing my way every few seconds. “You’re welcome for the ride, by the way. And for saving your life back there.”

I snort again. I didn’t even realize I was a snorter. “All you did was pull up in your macho car, looking like a tool, and imply that you found me revolting.” I smile sweetly at him, placing my hands over my heart. “My hero.”

He sniffs. “That guy was one coquettish look away from stealing your panties for a trophy. I definitely saved your life.”

“Coquettish?”

Dean shrugs, his focus shared between me and the road. “Yeah, so? I got it from the Cora Lawson Handbook. You’re basically a walking dictionary.”

“I wasn’t giving that guy any ‘coquettish’ looks,” I argue, ignoring the jab. “That was me trying not to gag on my own vomit.” Then I raise an eyebrow and clear my throat, adding, “You should be pretty familiar with that look.”

He tries to hide his smile, but I notice. “No wonder I thought you had a thing for me.”

Oh, jeez. I shake my head, forcing back my own smile.

Dean shuffles in his seat, reaching for his cigarettes in the center console. “You know, I was thinking we could squash this little tiff we’ve got going on. A truce or something.”

“Little tiff? You mean the seething hatred I’ve had for you for the past fifteen years?”