Never before had Laura so quickly and enthusiastically taken up the offer of a one-night stand. Once, she'd let someone sway her but it had taken him hours. This time, she'd felt sure. No strings, one goal, one night.
Dean had walked in like he owned the planet. Finally, he'd thought, a bar with a barmaid worth my time. She'd seen his smile from across the room, picked his number instantly, and didn't shy away one bit. The more he talked though, the more of a challenge he presented. His confidence was almost intimidating. He'd laughed at her sassing the other customers, watched her walk around the room, turning on his stool to prove the point. Or to consider his prey maybe? Within a few hours, she'd felt like every conversation she had within earshot was actually with him, if not for him. Likewise, everything he said was with an eye on her. By closing she was well ready to skip any pleasantries between her and this guy's bare skin.
"I'm off," she told her co-worker Brian.
"Laura! It's your turn to close!"
"Don't care," she said, chucking her apron in the bucket.
"Hey, Laura," Brian came in quietly, "He doesn't look safe, you know."
"Yeah," she grinned, "I know," and grabbed her keys.
That first night had ticked a lot of boxes. Backs slammed into doors, smooth heat, teeth on lips, growled demands, wrists pinned, ears nibbled, fingers wet, skin near-broken, gasps, moans, prayers and swearingly good sex.
And then, fortune of fortunes, he'd stayed. Three nights in all. Laura had even called in 'sick'. It was the healthiest she'd ever felt. Dean was the sex of her life.
"So, there's a pile of clothes in front of the machine. You can chuck your stuff in with it if you like," Laura said, bag in hand and halfway out the door.
"Uh huh," Dean replied, scrolling through something on her tablet, still under the covers.
"You know how to work a washing machine?" she checked.
"Yah," he looked up, giving her a stock smile. "All good."
Yeah, right, Laura thought, fat chance in hell. "Alrighty then, see ya."
"See ya babe." She didn't even hope for him to look up.
Work was busy today, but it didn't keep the subplot of her life from playing on her mind. This was the fourth time Dean had turned up, the this time at her doorstep. The second visit had been like the first and served the fantasy very well. Handsome devil-may-care type, experienced, no promises, adventurous and, well, she was pleased to have a few more tricks to teach the next lad she met. Having someone that good-looking watching you work, dropping hints and compliments, and shamelessly flirting had been damn fun. So the second time was downright hot, considering she knew what was coming. No one left disappointed.
But these last two times had been, how would you say, a bit shitty. And now he'd just made himself at home and slumped into sloth-mode in less than a day. The reward was quickly not matching the investment. Upon getting home Laura finds Dean on the couch. Time for the hard talk.
At the least he was dressed, but not in yesterday's bloodied pile that still lay by the bed. And it seems, from the packs on the floor, he's shopped for food, but nothing she actually needs. Nowhere near like what he'd thanklessly scoffed down in previous visits.
"Hey baby," he pops up coming around for something intimate.
"Hey," she smiles, accepting the smoothness, and a kiss that very quickly becomes the right kind of handsy and smothering. He still makes her draw breath, and it is delicious to be that close to him again, but the rest of it is too distracting. Laura's too old for this crap; self-respect prevails. She pulls away for a moment and he senses the disinterest. "So what are your plans for this visit?"
"Plans?" he laughed, "Uh, relaxing, getting laid, enjoying some of that awesome cooking you do." He's clearly not interested in anything so grown up as plans. Over his shoulder, she notices the unmoved pile of laundry.
"Okaydokey, well, what are you gunna do?" she asks, smiling and frank. Not yet showing 'annoyed'.
"Why would I do anything?" he asks, suddenly forgetting her neck and waist and heading back to the kitchen counter. Laura notices fresh blood stains on his shirt. He's gotten into a fight during the day.
"You're staying here enough to owe me something," she says. "I mean, the visits are nice, they're not without perks-" she concedes.
"Damn straight, I do like to visit you," he notes.
"-but you're mooching off of me, Dean. You gotta join in or go."
"Damn, you got your Aunt Flo visiting or somethin'?"
"My Aunt Flo?" Laura repeats, "You're a guest Dean, you pay nothing, do nothing. Don't give me sass. You haven't even been here a day." She cuts across to the kitchen, dumping her stuff and assess the damage, only to find all the bacon cooked and eaten. "Friggen hell."
"Damn, you are on your rags," he mutters, leaning over for a fresh bag of chips. She snatches them away before he makes contact. He glares at her sorely.
"Dammit Dean," she begins, and starts to put away the dishes he's created. "The first few times were exciting, but you're becoming a drag. You rock up here every few weeks, covered in blood and expect me to clean you up. You're forever between my legs, like some magic gigolo, but then you keep scaring nice guys away-"
"Hey, that guy was a douche," Dean says, stuffing a stray chip into him mouth, "and our sex is downright awesome." He grins encouragingly. Laura slams the fridge closed.
"Sure," she agrees, momentarily distracted "it's… excellent, but there are a lot of lovely young men out there who take instruction very well." He's unimpressed at the idea, but she's pretty angry by now.
"Seriously, your boots ruined my sheets, you get me into a shit mood-" slam cupboard "-and I'm mysteriously without food when you go." And then, mid rant, Laura realises: "You know what? The only difference between you and my period is if you don't show up next month… I'm not gunna worry."
She storms to the laundry to begin what Dean shouda done already.
"Wow," he calls out, "you're a real bitch today."
"Yeah, well, I've got my Dean visiting."
Ouch, he thinks, that may be the insult of my life. Death. Whatever. And this just became too much work. But he looks at her leaning over the machine and is just a little sorry to walk away.
She hears his footsteps, and expects them to be followed by the front door slamming. Instead, he pulls her up by your shoulders and turns her around. A deep swooning kiss bends her backwards, she's practically smiling under it.
"You're right," he murmurs, running his fingers over her bones, "I'm being an ass. But," he considers her neck, "I'm not actually much of a nice guys these days." He goes in for the hollow by her collar, mumbling into it, "so I am going to go."
"Okay," she breathes, pushing away the regret she feels between her legs.
"How about a goodbye?" he asks, hands travelling downward.
"Tell you what," she says, picking up his head to look at him, "you can leave in the morning. Let's celebrate"
"Deal," he said, grabbing at her feverishly, roughly, and growls into her ear, "I'm gunna make you miss me."
"I look forward to that feeling," Laura replies, and braces herself for a last excellent night.