Chapter Five

The amount of snow on the sidewalk made it impossible to leave the room. Dean opened the door even though he knew there was no need. The wind had blown the snow into deep drifts. He whistled, realizing the drifts along the sidewalk of the motel would be well above his knees. If he absolutely had to he could crawl out, but…

"Yeah, we can't go anywhere," he told Elizabeth.

"Wait," she called as he moved to close the door.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw her slide out of bed. He caught a brief glimpse of bare ass before she yanked her shirt down.

"Going to make a snow angel?" he asked.

"Hardly. Here, tuck these in the snow to keep them cold." She gathered the drinks she'd gotten from the vending machine the night before.

Good idea. Squatting, he did so, making sure the caps were visible before closing the door. "And it's still fucking snowing."

"They said on TV that it's going to snow all day." She was crawling back into bed. No, she was getting her sleep pants.

He watched her step into them and pull them up, momentarily hating the shirt that concealed his view. "I'd kill for some coffee," he announced. Not bothering to lock the door, he shuffled over to examine the old coffeemaker on the table in the corner. A notepad lay next to it, with all of two sheets left, and an uncapped pen.

"I've got some in my suitcase." Elizabeth had already pulled it onto the bed and was shaking out a sweater.

"You travel with coffee?" he asked in surprise.

"Most hotels that stock coffee in the rooms don't have my preferred blend." She pulled the sweater over her head, letting it hang awkwardly on her shoulders as she moved things around in her suitcase. Plucking out a large Ziploc bag, she shoved first one arm and then the other into the sleeves.

"You have a preferred blend," he deadpanned.

"Doesn't everyone?"

"Only yuppies," he muttered so she couldn't hear, catching the bag when she tossed it to him. A small pouch of coffee was inside, as well as a measuring spoon and filters. "I don't. Iced coffee in the summer, sure, I'm picky. But just regular coffee for that jolt of caffeine? I could give a fuck what the blend is."

He heard a muffled vibration as he took apart the coffeemaker. Thinking at first that it was her phone, he paid it no attention, handing her the jug so she could rinse it out and fill it water. It wasn't until she gave him a look that he remembered her phone was broken. In fact, unless she'd picked them up, the pieces were still on the floor by the dresser.

"Grab that," he said, taking the jug.

He hated the idea of someone interrupting their time. He knew that eventually they'd have to make contact with the outside world, but he'd hoped they'd at least have the day. Stepping into the bathroom, he turned on the water, glancing through to see her kneeling by the bed to locate his phone.

"It's Seth."

"Fuck," he muttered. "Answer it. He's annoying as shit and will keep calling."

"But it's your phone—"

"Yeah," he interrupted, swirling water in the jug.

She mumbled something but, when he glanced through again, she was putting the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

Dean would have paid good money to see Seth's face when Elizabeth answered. Able to imagine it, he chuckled, giving the jug another rinse.

"It's Elizabeth. …Yeah, we got caught in the storm."

Bless that storm, he thought with a smile.

"Sure. Hang on."

He turned and she was standing in the bathroom door. They switched, he taking the phone and she taking the jug. Leaning in the doorway to watch her, he pushed it against his ear. "Yeah?"

"Dude." Seth was laughing. "How the fuck did you end up caught in the storm with her?"

"Long story."

"Does her husband know?"

"Not yet." Dean lowered his voice. "And he's not going to find out. Is he?"

"My lips are sealed. So what happened?"

"You want the long story or the short?" She was coming back, their to-go cups from the gas station in hand.

"Can you give these a rinse?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," he answered, giving her a reassuring smile.

"Do you like sugar? Cream?"

"A lot of sugar. A little cream." Her eyes met his and he watched her cheeks darken. Smile widening, he slipped the cups from her hand. Pressing the phone to his chest, he whispered, "I know it won't be as sweet as what I had in bed, but it'll have to do."

Her cheeks became even redder. "Dean…"

"I'll rinse out the cups," he murmured, staring at her. Her tongue darted over her lips and she gave a shaky nod.

"Thanks."

He brought the phone back up and stepped into the bathroom again. "Well?" he demanded. "Long story or short?"

"What the fuck was all that mumbling? Jesus… Long story, definitely."

Even though Seth had requested the long version, Dean left out several details. The revelations about Elizabeth's relationship with John. Having to share a bed. The fact that John was definitely fucking his assistant. He finished with the deep snow and the certainty that they were stuck there for at least another day.

"Shit. Does anybody know where she is?"

"Her phone broke." Which was, technically, the truth. "So, no, I guess not."

"What are you not telling me?" Seth asked quietly after a moment.

"A lot. And, yes, I'll tell you later," Dean muttered, tapping the cups against the edge of the sink to shake out the excess water.

"If Cena—"

"He can't do shit."

"So let me get this straight." Seth cleared his throat. "You and Elizabeth shared a rental. The storm got bad so you ended up sharing a room in some hole in the middle of nowhere. Her phone's broken, her husband doesn't know where she is or that she's with you, and after a few hours of sleep you and her are suddenly buddy-buddy?"

"That's about right."

He smelled the coffee as soon as he exited the bathroom. It was a pleasant aroma, reminding him of local coffeehouses he'd visited while traveling. Placing the cups next to the coffeemaker, he saw she'd brought out sugar, a few packets of creamer, and a plastic spoon. He was beginning to think she had everything in her suitcase.

"Did you fuck her?"

Seth's question was so abrupt and unexpected that Dean laughed. "No," he chuckled. Unable to resist, he gave Elizabeth a long look while she pulled more stuff out of her suitcase. "Definitely no."

"Ambrose didn't get lucky even in a blizzard. I'm almost disappointed."

"I resent that, you jackass."

"Well you've got another day or two to wear her down. If she gets desperate even you might start looking good."

Dean shook his head. "It's not like that."

"Okay, okay. You'll have long, heartfelt conversations. You'll share deep secrets about your pasts and bond over some as-yet unknown similarity. Hey, maybe she likes the same shitty music you do. Is your iPod charged?"

"Fuck you," Dean laughed.

"I love you too. Take care of yourself, man. And her, too. Even if I don't like Cena, she's pretty cool."

"Yeah, she is." Elizabeth glanced back at that, and he offered an enigmatic smile. "I'll check in so you know we haven't frozen to death."

"Updates are appreciated. Hey, don't forget, skin-to-skin contact is best to generate heat—"

"Bye, Seth." He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bed.

"It's nice of him to check in on you," she offered, continuing to rummage in her suitcase.

"Yeah. Roman will be calling as soon as Seth lets him know I'm stuck in the snow."

"You're all really close, then?" she asked.

"Almost like brothers. You know, we trained at FCW together. Then came our debut and we've been together ever since. We have a lot in common, which helps. Sometimes we fight over what music to listen to or whose turn it is to drive, but it all works out." He stretched his arms above his head, not muffling his yawn. "What are you looking for?"

"I thought I had some sweats in here." She began placing things back into the suitcase. Each item of clothing, he noted, was precisely folded.

"I've got another pair. They might be a little baggy but you can borrow 'em." He glanced over to his suitcase, which lay open on the floor. His unkempt habits were evident; several shirts lay haphazardly on the floor. A lone sock was draped over the side.

"But won't you need them?"

"Lizzie, I've got a shit-ton of clothes crammed in there. And, go me, they're all clean."

"Really? I pegged you as the type to wear something until it was nasty then just throw it out and buy new." Her smile was teasing. "I'll get them after coffee."

"I'll… Try to find them," he muttered.

"How many sugars?"

"Depends on how strong the coffee is."

"It's almost lethal."

"Start with six." He tried to shuffle through all the things crammed in his suitcase. Giving up, he lifted it and dumped the contents on the bed. "Found 'em!" he called triumphantly, plucking them from the pile. He heard her scoff, then she was returning with his cup. "Thanks."

"Thanks," she echoed, taking the sweatpants. Draping them over her suitcase, she went back to fix her own coffee.

"You know you don't have to fold my shit, right?"

It was the third time he'd asked that since she'd started. What, she wondered, was she supposed to do? Wide awake now that she'd had her coffee, she could hardly flop on the bed and watch TV.

"I mean, I do know how to fold clothes—"

"Dean. I don't mind doing it. As long as they're clean." She nudged one item closer to him. "And as long as you do the underwear."

"They're clean," he insisted.

She attempted to smooth wrinkles from a pair of jeans. "Am I allowed to say that I'm surprised you know how to run a washer?"

He rolled his eyes, but smiled. "I'll have you know I've been doing my own clothes for years. I even know to separate the darks from the lights."

Elizabeth clapped a hand to her chest and gasped. "Next you'll be telling me you know how to use an iron. No, don't," she added faintly before he could speak. "I'm not sure my nerves could take such a shock right now—"

He grabbed her arm, causing her teasing to end in a squeal. Laughing, she dropped the jeans, squealing again when he pulled her onto the bed. She pushed feebly at him, grinning once he'd caught her wrists. Staring up at him, she continued to laugh, though it died away as he covered her body with his.

Thinking of the time they'd spend in bed together that morning, she bit her lip. She knew that, given the opportunity, she would do it all again. And then some. She refused to feel guilty. He'd done what she'd thought was impossible. It hadn't been because he wanted something in return, or just an aside from getting his own pleasure. Or had he lied? Did he want something in return?

"What's got you frowning, Lizzie?"

He still called her Lizzie. Not that she'd asked him not to. It was kind of nice, having someone call her by a nickname. Everyone else in her life called her Elizabeth. "Just thinking."

"Well, you're frowning. So it can't be about me."

"You're so conceited," she groaned. "And it was about you."

"What'd I do?"

She sighed, missing his weight and warmth once he'd moved to lie next to her. "This morning."

"That's what's got you frowning?"

"Why did you do it?"

"Because you needed it." He smirked. "If ever anybody needed to cum, you did. It sure as hell loosened you up."

"Oh."

"Now why are you frowning?"

"You said you were crazy about me." Or had she dreamed that? Sitting up, she rubbed at her temples.

"Lizzie," he sighed. "What's wrong? Are you feeling guilty?"

"No." It was only a little lie. She didn't want to feel guilty. But she was. He said nothing and she finally nodded. "A little."

"Why?"

"I made a vow, Dean. I stood up with him and announced to the world that I would love and honor him. And I have."

"Okay. He made the same vow, didn't he? Or did his have a footnote?" He moved around so she could see his face. "Lizzie. He cheated on you."

"And I'm cheating on him," she whispered. Immediately she thought of her parents. They would be shocked. Dismayed. They would be even more upset when they learned of her plans for divorce.

"So what's the problem? You believe in an eye for an eye, right?"

"In some instances, yes. But I also believe in turning the other cheek."

"You already did. He hit that one, too, didn't he?"

"Don't be an asshole." She climbed off the bed and swiped her hand over her eyes.

"It's what I am, Lizzie. I've never tried to be something I'm not." The bed protested as he sat up. She heard him light a cigarette. "But you weren't worried about cheating this morning."

"I know," she whispered. Needing something to occupy her hands, she crossed to the coffeemaker and emptied the last bit into her cup.

"You think he feels guilty? You think he's sitting wherever the fuck he is worried about what he did last night or this morning?"

"I don't know." She doubted it. "Do you…"

"What?" he pressed softly when she sighed.

"Do you think he ever…" Repulsed by the very idea, she closed her eyes and tried again. "Do you think he ever went from her to…"

He waited a moment until it was obvious she couldn't form the words. "Do I think he fucked and then fucked you?"

She winced at the blunt wording. "Yeah, that."

"Who knows. Probably."

Elizabeth drained the coffee in a gulp then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. A chill had descended upon the room. As though the outside weather had found a way to creep in. "Have you ever cheated?"

It took him so long to answer that she turned to look at him. After several more moments had passed, he lifted one shoulder in a semblance of a shrug. "They probably thought it was cheating. But no, not really."

"Either you did or you didn't…" She walked back to the bed, fearing the stack of folded clothes would topple. "It's none of my business."

"I guess it depends on your definition of cheating." He rolled his cigarette between his fingers. "Some people think it's cheating only if you actually fuck. Some think it's anything more than flirting. And some probably think flirting is cheating."

"What's your definition?" After placing the folded clothes in his suitcase, she sat on the edge of the bed.

"Depends on the relationship." A smile touched his lips when he groaned. "Seriously. Let's say that you meet someone. You're into them but it's not going anywhere right now. And while you're waiting for something to happen with them, you run into someone you've had some good sex with before. You've got an itch, they know how to scratch it, so you fuck." He shrugged. "To me that's not cheating, because there's no defined relationship with the person you want."

"I guess we agree on that," she murmured.

"Then there's casually dating… Still not cheating. Exclusively dating… Kind of cheating. That's when it gets iffy." He took a drag and offered her the cigarette.

She surprised herself by accepting it and taking a tentative puff. "What about our situation?"

"Our?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow. "We're a thing now?"

"Just say that we are." She refused to define what they were. If they were anything at all.

"Well." He sighed, looking at her. "I'd say you're not quite cheating on him. He's had years to find the key. How you lasted this long without getting someone to pick the lock is a mystery to me. You needed something he couldn't give you."

She almost laughed at his analogy. "But I'm not quite cheating," she mused, taking a full drag off the cigarette. Watching the smoke swirl to the ceiling as she exhaled, she passed it back to him. "What does full-on cheating entail?"

Cigarette between his lips, he watched her. Between drags, he rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb, eyes never leaving hers. He crushed the cigarette in the ashtray, his steady gaze unnerving her. "Full-on cheating…"

Anxious to hear his definition, she turned on the bed, one foot resting on the floor.

"I guess that would be you going back for more."

She didn't notice his hand moving until his fingers traced the top of her foot. "I see," she murmured. "So, going to get my lock picked after being given the key would be cheating?"

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, pretty much. But, you know, if you need me to show you how to use that key a few more times…" His tongue darted over his lips. "I don't think that would be full-on cheating. Trying out a different key would."

Elizabeth smiled at their continued use of analogies. It eased the tension of the discussion. "I understand now. Thank you."

He groaned when she pulled her foot away and got to her feet. "So what are you going to do?"

"Right now I'm going to finish folding your clothes. Then I'm going to take a shower. After that I might borrow your phone to call my boss. I should let them know where I am. Unless it hits eighty tomorrow, we won't be leaving here." Picking up the nearest piece of his clothing, she shook it out.

"That's not what I meant. But okay." He leaned down to get the remote. "I'll check the weather. While you're in the shower I'll call in. Then we should see about getting some real food."

"They're going to realize we're together." She chewed on her bottom lip, worried about what their coworkers would think. "A lot of people saw us leaving in the same car—"

"They don't have to know we're in the same room, Lizzie. Fuck, I can keep a secret, alright? We'll just say we're at a motel."

She nodded, continuing to chew on her lip. She would use the room's phone. That way there wouldn't be questions about why she was calling from Dean's number. To be sure, they would notice that. "But Seth—"

"Knows to keep his fucking mouth shut, too." He gently rubbed her arm. "Relax."

Relax, Lizzie. I won't stop.

Releasing her bottom lip, she drew in a slow breath and focused on folding the shirt in her hand. She could still taste the cigarette on her tongue. It only reminded her of his kiss. And, though she knew she would anyway, she tried not to think of how badly she wanted to try out that different key.