So, in order to help me get back into the swing of CMH, I've opted to start this little side project. These chapter will all be little drabbles, in no particular order, all having to do within the world of CMH. some will be things that happen before the actual story takes place, while others, like this one, will be about what Chloe is doing out in new york. Some may even be scenes or details that I have opted to remove from the story because the didn't further the plot.
Anyways, have a chapter about how Chloe meets Dean!
Chloe Beale couldn't help but look up, squinting her eyes against the sun's reflection off the glass, trying to see the top of the tall buildings. She wished she had thought to wear sun glasses. It was so bright here. And hot, good God, the weather app on her phone had said it would only get up to seventy two degrees today! Josey could swear it felt like it was a hundred degrees. Had she known it would be this fucking hot she would have just called for another cab.
"It just figures that I would get the janky cab," she grumbled. It was just her luck that the cab that she had called to pick her up from the airport would blow a freaking tire seven blocks away from her destination.
Chloe blew out a puff of air and looked around for the zillionth time. "Where the hell am I?" She glanced down at her phone again. Still no reply from Stacie. No texts, no calls, no emails... "What the fuck, Stace? You knew I was coming today..." She tucked the phone into the back pocket of her black denim capris, before walking towards a coffee shop. "Guess I'll just ask for directions." She adjusted the duffle bag and the guitar cases she was lugging around, trying to dislodge her poor braid from under one of the straps.
She looked up again, still marveling at the dizzying height of the buildings, as she drew closer to the door to the coffee shop. She heard a bell jangling. As she lowered her squinting gaze back to the world around her she noticed a man wearing a blue ball cap and navy blue wayfarer sunglasses, sipping a large cup of coffee, just in time to run right into his elbow. Chloe gasped in horror as she watched the coffee in his green Styrofoam cup splash up over the rim…and down the front of the man's powder blue V-neck t-shirt.
"OhmygodImsosorry!" she apologized in a whoosh of breath. She lowered her gaze to the very noticeable stain of black coffee, feeling her cheeks redden, before looking up into the guy's face. She swallowed hard as he pulled his sunglasses off to glare at her. Chloe felt her stomach drop and her breath catch in her chest.
She took in the full lips, the dark stubble on his cheeks and chin, his black hair cut short on the sides and left long enough on top that a fringe fell into the dark green eyes that were glaring at her.
She knew that face. It had stared at her every time she had been in her sister Raquel's room, from the poster on the wall. She had seen it, brooding and serious, on the small television in her step dad's living room every Wednesday night at 8 pm. She had watched Raquel giggle and ogle at pictures of his broad shoulders and muscled torso more times than she could count.
Crap, she sighed inwardly, her shoulders sagging. My first day in New York City, and I just spilled coffee all over Dean Teller. A fucking TV star.
It wouldn't have been such a big deal on any other day. It was just coffee and his apartment had a washer and dryer, and he didn't really have any place to be for the next three hours. But Dean was still jet lagged from the flight back from Phoenix Comic Con, and besides, who doesn't get a little angry when splashed with hot coffee? Taking off his glasses, he turned the full force of his glare to the idiot who...The...girl…who had bumped into him.
She was petite, a good five or six inches shorter than his 5 feet and 11 and a half inches, and shaped like a hourglass. Her tight black capri pants accentuated the curve of her hips and her thighs. She wore a threadbare T shirt with a picture of the band, Bush, on it and her burgundy hair was tied back in a messy braid.
Dean brought his gaze back to her heart shaped face and found himself glaring into the most startling color blue eyes he had ever seen. They were Aquamarine, with tawny flecks around the pupils. He'd never seen eyes like that before. He watched them widen and change from embarrassed to shocked. Dean knew that look. She recognized him. Just great. And now she was going to do the ridiculous fan-girl thing and freak out and/or ask for a picture or autograph.
"This is probably a really bad time to ask, but-" she began to pull out a piece of paper from the pocket of her pants. Dean cocked an eyebrow.
"Are you serious?" He asked incredulously. "You spill coffee all over me and you're gonna ask me for an autograph?" He watched her expression change from recognition to surprise. She shoved the paper back into her pocket, and lifted her hand to tug on a loose piece of hair.
"No, I-"
"Just...get out of my way," Dean growled, side stepping around her to move to a trash bin on the side walk. He tossed his nearly empty cup into the bin before dabbing at his shirt with the three thin napkins he had been given along with his drink. It was no use. He was going to have to walk back to his apartment and change his shirt. He shook his head. He looked back over his shoulder to see the girl who had spilled his coffee approach a couple sitting at one of the small round cafe tables just outside the coffee shop. "What the hell is she doing?" He muttered.
"Excuse me, I'm so sorry to bother you, but would you mind helping figure out where I am?" Her voice floated to him and he turned his full attention back to her, taking in the heavy looking duffle bag and the two guitar cases she had slung over her back as well as the case she carried by the handle in her left hand. "I just got to the city and my cab broke down so I decided to walk the rest of the way but I got totally turned around."
"Oh my god, I'm an asshole," Dean groaned. He turned back around and looked over at just in time to see the couple shake their heads. Steeling himself, he walked over to her. "Hey!" He called out to her, biting his cheek in shame when she looked back at him and winced. "Hey, look, I am so sorry for over reacting. It's just been a really long week. I promise, I'm not normally a dick," he apologized as he drew up to her. "Let me help you figure out where you need to go."
The girl stared at him, her expression more guarded now.
"Fine," she huffed, finally. "But only because I'm desperate. But, just so you know, I won't hesitate to brain you with my guitar case." Dean blinked at her. He shifted his gaze to the black case she held in her hand. It was roughly four feet in length with a matte black hard plastic shell. And it looked like it would suck to be hit with.
"Noted," he told her. She huffed again and studied him for a few beats, seeming to weigh his worth.
"I'm looking for 47th street. Between eighth and ninth avenue." Dean's eyes widened before he smiled.
"I live on that block," he told her. "I gotta change my shirt, anyways, so I'll walk you there. Come on." He watched her cheeks flush in embarrassment and her blue green eyes flitted to the drying stain on his shirt.
"I'm really sorry about that," she muttered, shaking her head slowly. Her voice held an accent he couldn't quite place, somewhat of a southern twang but different enough that he couldn't immediately tell where she was from. Dean looked down at the stain as well.
"Meh. It's just a shirt. It's not a very good color on me, anyways."
"Not from where I'm standing," she snorted. Dean cocked an eyebrow and she seemed shocked that she had said the words aloud. She cleared her throat and began to try to adjust the straps digging into her shoulders.
"Lemme help you with some of that," he offered, holding out a hand. She set the black hard case down and began to lift the green strap of the duffle bag up off her shoulder. Dean stepped closer to her, reaching over and taking the strap in his hands and lifting it himself. He watched her sigh in relief and reached up to pull the tail of her braid to lay over her left shoulder.
"Thanks," she said breathlessly, closing her eyes and smiling. "That thing has been pulling on my hair for the last half hour. Dean felt his own cheeks flush.
"It's, uh...it's no problem," he replied. "Do you want me to carry one of your-"
"Nope," she cut him off, smiling. "I can handle these, just fine. Now, lead on!" Dean nodded before turning in the direction they needed to go. She fell into step beside him. He watched her from the corner of his eye as she looked up and around, taking everything in.
"First time in NYC?" He asked conversationally.
"First time in Brooklyn," she replied, looking over at him. "I came to New York once on a class trip, my senior year of high school. But we mostly stuck to the tourist-y places."
"How old are you?" Dean asked, looking over at her. He had guessed she was still in high school, but she spoke as if she was older.
"Twenty seven. Why?" Dean shook his head, chuckling.
"You're so short. I thought you were, like, fifteen," he teased. She shot a look at him that said she was used to hearing that.
"Funny, I assumed you were, like, thirty something," she shot back, teasing him. He grinned.
"Close. Twenty eight." He watched her purse her lips as her eyes met his for a moment. "So, do you know how to play those?" She rolled her eyes, but smiled warmly.
"Yeah...I play."
"So, then...you moved to New York City to get famous?" She looked over at him, weighing him once more. Dean wondered how he was measuring up.
"I came out here with my band. I have a cousin who lives out here so I'm staying with her. Assuming she's still alive, since she hasn't answered a single text or phone call all day. "
"You're in a band?"
"I don't own three guitars just because I'm an enthusiast." Dean looked over, noticing again the band shirt she wore.
"You a fan of Bush?" He asked, continuing their small talk.
"Not really, I tried it for a while right after high school. I just love cock way too much." Dean felt his toe catch on the flat concrete, his face flushing bright red.
"I didn't mean-um, y-your shirt. I was talking about...your shirt," he stammered. She laughed.
"I know," she admitted. "It was just too good to resist." Dean stared at her in shock before laughing with her.
"What about you? You a fan of Bush?" She raised her eyebrow.
"I prefer shaved," he winked at her
"Hmm, never heard of that band. Are they new?" Dean laughed again. "Now that we've discussed our, ahem, preferences, my name is Dean. Dean Teller."
"Dean Teller. That name sounds familiar," She said, looking at him from the corner of her eyes.
"Yeah...I, uh," Dean paused, looking at her. "You really don't recognize me?" The girl stared at him, shaking her head. "Jesus, I really am an asshole," he muttered. "I, uh, I'm an actor. I play on a TV show."
"Which one?" Dean hesitated. Why did he suddenly feel so embarrassed about it?
"I play Ash Worthington on Mysterious."
"Well, it's nice to meet you, Dean Teller-who plays someone with a ridiculous name on a TV show," she chuckled. Dean found himself smiling despite her teasing tone. "I'm Chloe."
"Chloe," Dean repeated softly. "I like that." Dean watched her cheeks flush as she stared hard at the sidewalk.
"Thanks. It was a birthday gift from my mom." Dean looked up at where they were.
"This is our block, Chloe." Dean watched as her cheeks flushed when her name left his lips. She looked up and around, taking in her surroundings, memorizing them. "Which building does your cousin live in?" Chloe reached a hand into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out the same folded piece of notebook paper from before. She unfolded it one handed with her slender fingers and glanced read it.
"Um-hey!" Dean plucked the paper from her hand. And read the address scrawled messily on it.
"Your cousin lives in my building-this one right here," he told her, pointing across the street. "Follow me, I can get you in." Chloe followed him as he crossed the street. They walked up the steps and he used a key to open the door. "What floor?" He asked. She walked straight for the elevator. Dean felt his heart beat quicken as he stared at the worn metal of the sliding doors. I can do this, he told himself. Don't be a pussy. It's no big deal...
"Uh, fourth."
"Cool. I'm on the third, but I'll take you to your cousin's apartment. Better make sure she's home since she isn't answering her phone."
"Thanks," she said warmly, flashing a wide grin at him that had him feeling like the temperature was rising. The elevator opened with a loud ding. Dean swallowed thickly. He motioned for her to get on first, clearing his throat. He pushed the button for the fourth floor and took a deep breath as the doors slid closed. The elevator shook slightly and he squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling slowly. He tried to ignore the feeling of being boxed in, the walls and ceiling of the elevator all pressing in on him.
"Are you alright?" He nodded, keeping his eyes shut. "Dude...seriously, you look like you're gonna pass out."
"I am just a little claustrophobic."
"Let's get off!" She said quickly and Dean heard her shift. The elevator stopped and Dean opened his eyes as the doors slid open on the second floor. He looked at her in confusion.
"It's fine-" he started, absolutely mortified.
"Fuck that, you look like you're about to puke. I'm a sympathy puker, and I have a strict policy about not throwing up in front of attractive men. The stairs will be fine." She stepped out, flashing him that grin again. Dean followed her, trying not to jump out of the elevator. "My sister is-used to be...um...claustrophobic." Dean watched her as she tugged on the loose lock of hair again. "So we took the stairs all the time." He nodded and walked down the hall to where the corridor to the stair way was. He opened the door for her, stepping through and holding the door for her.
"I can take one of your guitars for you," he told her, trying desperately to ignore the burning embarrassment he felt. She turned her face to stare at him, face serious for a moment, before smiling widely at him.
"No way. I trust my babies with no one."