Chapter 3

Sam and Dean walked into The Roadhouse. Dean looked around and saw J. She was bent over her work again. Same as when he and Sam had first walked into The Roadhouse. Only this time she wasn't wearing the black shorts and t-shirt she had been earlier. In fact, she was actually wearing nothing but a pair of lace boy short panties and a matching bra. Red.

He did a double-take before he realized it was actually just her in the bar. Even Sam had disappeared, but that did not concern Dean in the slightest. He was too busy eyeing that perfectly round, squeezable, and spankable ass that swayed slightly in front of him.

"Dean Winchester, you naughty boy. Looking at a perfect stranger that way. That's not very nice." J turned to him, with arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes were now on Dean. Entirely on him. What felt like every part of him at once, even though she never dropped her gaze from his.

"Umm, you can read my mind?" Dean asked. His voice cracking did nothing in keeping the appearance of cool, calm, and collected in front of this… this… inhumanly hot… was she even human? She could not be human.

She couldn't be real. Dean thought. Those eyes are NOT human. But they were so inviting. So, tempting. He wanted to lose himself in them. The sweet honey. The deep emerald. Honey covered emeralds. What a color pairing there ever was. Caramel covered apples. Those caramel apple lollipops. His mouth was watering slightly.

Her gaze softened before she said "Don't worry, sweetheart. Most guys think what you were thinking. When they first see me." She dropped her gaze, suddenly shy. "Normally, I can only see flashes of what you concentrate on. I can turn that off if you want. But I don't think you want me to stop."

Then J shifted her weight, dropped her hands, cocked her waist and looked back up at Dean. A new confidence there that was not there before. A flash.

Piercings.

She had nipple piercings. Through the red lace, Dean could make out the jewelry. Not only did she have nipple piercings, but she also had different ones. Left nipple had a straight barbell. Clean and simple. The right had a bullring. Just enough to really get your teeth on. For playing. For pulling. Her breasts were on the smaller side. But perky. They looked so soft. He wanted to touch them to see if he was right. Their eyes met again and hers flashed.

She chuckled and raised an eyebrow.

Now Dean looked up at her face again and really looked this time, deciding to pretend he hadn't heard anything. Aside from The Eyes, she had a very beautiful face. She was pretty. But not overly so.

Her lips were perfect on her, Dean thought as his eyes dropped to her lips. Full, just a tab pouty. Perfect for nibbling on. She wasn't wearing any makeup, and Dean liked it that way. Everyone he usually sexed-up had so much makeup on he often was left wondering how much money was really on their face. And how much they would leave behind… She did have eyeliner on.

Dean had made the mistake of looking back up. Back up into those eyes. It was only barely noticeable. Almost like it had been washed off, but not all the way. Maybe from yesterday?

'If she was dolled up, she'd be drop-dead gorgeous. What did they say online? Goth Girlfriend Goals as fuck?' Dean thought. 'I wouldn't stand a chance.' He dropped his gaze immediately following that particular thought. Imagining those chokers, one of those strappy harnesses, and all.

J giggled this time. "You know, I do have a couple of those."

Dean felt the heat rise in his face. Knowing full well there was no hiding the pink flush that was inevitably there.

She came closer. Dean couldn't help but to look up. His eyes traveled up, along her long, toned legs. They carried her even closer. How her hips moved as she took the last few steps. How she shrugged to cause a cascade of hair to fall forward around her shoulders.

His gaze was stuck on a tattoo that was below her bust, and directly above her navel. The anti-possession symbol the center of extraordinarily intricate designs that fanned out on either side.

Dean was suddenly hyper-aware of how the black lines were actually raised skin. How, if he reached out to touch these black lines, he would be able to feel the design beneath his fingers. Like braille. What kind of tattoo is this?

She reached out and caught his cheek in her hand right as she pushed herself up almost flush again him. Nothing was touching. But Dean could FEEL her there. Could feel the hand on his cheek. The warmth of it. The warmth of her. Her body was so damn close to his. So close.

He knew better than to look up the rest of the way so he continued to stare at the intricate and delicate line work of her tattoo. It was like a filigreed gun barrel. Like the barrel of his favorite gun. Dean did not want to move, for fear of any of this stopping. Whatever what happening.

The hand on his cheek turned to fingers running the length of his scruffy jawline.

"Boy's got a jawline for days." She said lazily as she traced his jawline lightly with her fingertips. Catching his chin with her index finger and raising his eye to meet hers again.

She wasn't short by any means. She looked like she could hold her own against a guy of Dean's size. Even if he was almost a head above her. He noticed how tall she really was when he realized how close her face was to his. There was strength behind that hand. This was insanely attractive.

Dean suddenly had a thought. A very powerful image shot through his brain. He wanted to see if he could overpower her. Physically. Or if she really could hold her own in a wrestling match. In the end, he concluded that he could easily overpower her, but he felt he would receive one hell of a fightback. All consensual, of course.

For a moment, his breath hitched in his throat at the thought. He continued to imagine what kind of fight she would give back. If she knew any hand to hand. The thought of this cause another wave of blood to flood Dean's skin.

Then, J smiled a smile that should have been illegal to use on anyone. A knowing smile. A mischievous smile. Dean knew that J had just seen the exact same image he had seen in his mind. There was no doubt this time.

He was positive that knew she saw him, if not felt him, flush completely again at the thought. He wanted a fight. He wanted a challenge. He wanted this to not be easy. Did he want her to have the advantage of mind-reading?

He licked his lips. His mouth was dry. What exactly of this can she hear anyway? How much is he fucking himself over by letting his mind and eyes run free. He dropped his eyes to the tattoo again.

This was neutral territory, right?

J just kept standing there. Way too close. Waiting. But what was she waiting for?

He shyly looked up again, only enough to notice a slight sprinkling of freckles, just barely visible on her nose. It had a small divot down the center that he wanted to reach out and touch. While his hand was there, he wanted to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear and run his hand through it.

It was not in its confines of earlier. It was a special shade of dark chocolate brown, with natural red undertones. It was down and hanging around her shoulders. And longer than Dean had expected. It fell in many ringlets that reached down to her elbows.

He wondered how it would feel in his hands. Wrapped around his fingers. If she wanted, she could easily have hidden herself completely in that hair, covered herself. But she stood proud. Watching Dean's assessment. His every look. Once again Dean wondered what she could read from him.

"Tell me what you're thinking, Dean." Asked J.

"What do you already know?" Dean asked, mouth extremely dry.

"I know you are in a right state looking at me. I know that you're staring at my tattoo. Anyone could tell that by your little friend down there."

Dean looked down and saw the massive tent he was pitching. Great. Does it always have to be that obvious? When he looked up, she was so close he could smell her shampoo. Woodsy. Nutty. Sweet notes. Warm. He had smelled this aroma before and he found it intoxicating. He could not remember where he had smelled this before.

"Please tell me what you're thinking, Dean." J almost whined softly.

"Honey covered emeralds." She continued in a whisper. Right next to his ear. Shivers ran down his spine.

Something was making noise somewhere in the distance. What was that sound, exactly?

"I want to know." She pleaded. "I want you to tell me. I can read you, but I need you to tell me, Dean." Her voice beginning to be drowned out completely by another noise entirely.

Who the hell was running a coffee grinder?!

Dean sat up on the creaky mattress of the motel room him and Sam were staying. Since Ellen and Jo were hosting J, they did not have any extra room at their place for two big guys.

He took a moment to gather his thoughts. He had just had a dream. A very sexy and extremely confusing dream. About the new girl. J. The one who can 'read minds.' And now he had massive morning wood to show for it. 'My subconscious throwing me for a doozy again. Wouldn't be the first time.' Dean thought to himself as he grabbed his stuff and hastily darted into the bathroom. Nothing a cold shower won't fix. Dean Winchester is the master of his domain and will remain so. Even with an extremely hot psychic in the mix. He could handle this. No problem.

When Dean came out of the shower Sam was heading out the door to grab coffee and breakfast. After Sam left Dean grabbed his computer and booted her up. Time to find a job to work.

Sam came back a short while later with coffee and bagels. They ate in silence as Sam had grabbed his computer to start doing research of his own.

As they sat at their computers looking at news sites for anything that looked remotely close to like a job, Sam noticed Dean's focus kept slipping and he would catch him looking off into space. Sometimes for minutes at a time. He wasn't used to Dean's focus slipping when it came to job hunting. Sam almost had to snap his fingers in Dean's face to get him to snap out of wherever his mind was at one point. Sam wondered what was up but ultimately chalked it up to poor sleep on a crappy motel mattress. Ellen's couch was more comfortable, even he had to admit.

No matter what he tried, Dean's mind kept slipping. Back into the dream. Back to The Roadhouse last night. Back to J. No matter how hard he tried to sit still and get some work done, he found he just could not. He would lose himself in the memories. Finding that he was studying them, rather than just playing them over and over in his head. He was analyzing everything. Sometimes he would catch himself and forced himself to remain focused on the task of finding a job. Sometimes Sam would be the one to notice.

At one point, Sam even waved his hand in front of his face to get his attention because he was so zoned out. His laptop was half dead and he had barely even begun to really delve into any new site for clues when Sam closed his.

"I think we should head to The Roadhouse. I'm finding Jack on anything local. Maybe Ellen will have something for us to look into. And you cannot seem to concentrate on this right now."

Dean ignored the last comment and agreed about visiting The Roadhouse. It was lunchtime anyway. They could stop somewhere on the way and grab a bite to eat. Dean was ravenous. For food. And for more information about J. The latter would have to wait. If he was too forward someone would notice. If he concentrated too much on it, J could possibly pick up on it. He knew he shouldn't. He knew it would be best left alone. Easier. But damn if that dream didn't get him thinking. He wanted the challenge. Dean could not lie to himself.

And J was all sorts of a challenge, he would come to realize.