I want to. And I usually get what I want.

Being out in the honeymoon suite afforded Dean the luxury of focus so he could finish the tile-work expertly and then exit inn property so he could re-focus on his evening alone with Lorelai.

Dean wore the blue jeans, a fitted olive t-shirt, and a mocha linen blazer that his ex girlfriend Lindsay insisted he buy. He had almost proposed to her. Why? Lindsay was nice, and she loved him, but he didn't love her back, not enough to marry anyway.

"Dean! Looking good my man. Sharp outfit. Of course, my booty calls don't care how I'm dressed, ya know, because the military angle is all I need."

"Shut up Kyle. I'm not leaving for a booty call. Just dinner with a friend."

"Sure, and that's why you've been getting ready for an hour. Who is she?"

"Nevermind. I'll see you later."

This room looks like the movie Twister. Sexy? Demure? Slutty? Mature? What the hell do I wear to meet Dean for our non-date maybe-date? Ack. No time to shave legs, probably wise so I'm not tempted to be tempted. Sandpaper legs, unsexy. Liquid leggings. The green open-toed heels for Dean, aaaand…

The Sandpiper Inn was half-empty. A man played boozy jazz piano in the bar area, audible in the back corner U-shaped booth by the picture window. Dean arrived 20 minutes ago because he wanted to figure out a game plan for how this dinner would go and he wasn't going to miss Lorelai making an entrance. He parked his Ford close to the door so she would know he was inside.

This is it. I'm here, meeting Dean, for dinner, and I'm nervous. Sookie would flip her lid. Rory would lose it. Christopher would tease me until the day I died, and maybe at my wake and funeral. Must walk through door. This isn't the Gilmore house. The Gilmore's would definitely lose it. WHY am I thinking about my disapproving mother? His car is here, I see the Go-Gos cd case still in the back seat. I'm going in.

His eyes met hers the second she stepped through the door. Dean looked about 15 years older, maybe this new found confidence mixed with his lumberjack Paul Bunyan height, his muscular build, that blazer, the fact that he hadn't shaved in a few days, his wavy thick hair...those eyes, they were downright piercing, he has my number. I can't hide from those eyes.

Oh. My. God. Lorelai was looking at him, smiling, shyly, wearing shiny, wet-looking leather pants clinging to those impossibly long legs accentuated by those sinful green heels, and a gauzy emerald off-the-shoulder blouse. Soft curls fell to her collarbone. She was breathtaking.

"Hello Dean, you look quite debonair."

He stepped to her and whispered letting his lips tickle her ear "Lorelai. You look, my heart is racing." And he placed a gentle kiss on her cheek.

They scrambled into the corner of the brandy colored velvet covered booth so fast that their knees knocked together.

"Well, no nervous energy here. I think it's a tie as to who sat the fastest. Hm."

"Yeah, well I guess we are hungry and eager to order. The menu is rather simple. Remove the salad and there's barely anything there." Dean knew she wouldn't order a salad.

"You know me so well." She was finding it hard to concentrate with him sitting so close, smelling of Irish Spring soap. Good man, no Drakkar, Old Spice, Polo or any nostril assaulting scent. Lorelai was picturing him naked, in the shower, using those muscular hands on his body (on her body) after a hard day's work lifting and sawing things...

I want to know you better. Know what your skin feels like when it's hot, how you taste. I want to forget dinner and take you in my truck, ripping through your translucent blouse and pulling that black strapless bra down with my teeth...

They didn't notice their waiter at first, lost in thoughts about what they'd do to one another, and it wasn't until he politely coughed to signal his presence that they tore their eyes away from one another.

It was slightly awkward when the waiter recommended they try the house merlot with the sirloin (loin, heh heh, not now Beavis, focus), but Dean effortlessly replied, "Not for me thanks, I'm driving. Club soda and lime thanks." Lorelai needed a martini or four because she simply had to calm the hell down. She was out of her depth here. Who was she kidding? His age was his age, even if the waiter didn't realize he wasn't 21. It didn't matter that lots of men had much younger wives and girlfriends. She just read that 50 something Tom Cruise was marrying his 22 year old assistant. Wait, comparing anything in life to Tom Cruise was a bad idea. This felt foolish. She looked foolish. But sitting beside her, Dean looked mature, so handsome, and he was certainly acting more mature than her. Why wasn't he as hyper as she?

We're not saying much, but at least we can look at one another without flinching. The quiet is nice. We have all night to sit here and say nothing. Words will come when we're ready.

"Dean?"

"Yes, Lorelai?"

"How long have you had that Go-Gos cd in your truck?"

"I picked it up at the used record store the day I started working at the inn. Was looking for new music, saw that at the front of a bin, thought of you, and I bought it. I like it. The songs are catchy. 'Still haven't gotten over you yet'."

Wow. Incredibly sweet. He WAS thinking of me.

Impulsively, Lorelai leaned over and kissed Dean.

Intuitively, Dean embraced her and when the kiss ended, they rested their heads together, sensing the smiles on the other person's face.

Surreal. He was sitting with the woman who haunted his dreams. This was not a scenario he ever thought possible. Dean had to touch her. His hand found her thigh and assuredly he rested his hand there.

Um, what is happening here? What does this mean, his hand on my thigh? Why is he ahead of me, surprising me? His hand is now traveling up and down my thigh. Are those strong fingers going to find their way between my thighs? How am I not in control yet again? I'm feeling the hair on my legs. If the restaurant were deserted right now, I think I'd regret not shaving my legs. I wish I shaved my legs. He has turned me on and I have no idea what is going to turn me off at this point.

His hand enjoyed massaging her toned thigh but the waiter approached with dinner so this would resume later. He hoped.

They managed light conversation, laughter, and it felt natural that they would be here, eating, talking, kissing. The dynamic had changed and they were both thinking to themselves that limbs entwined naked would be natural too.

"Follow me." Dean left his seat and pulled Lorelai to her feet. They were heading to the piano. He whispered something into the pianist's ear, then walked back to Lorelai and folded her hand into his while his other hand settled on her hip as It Had to be You danced off the keys.

Smooth. Song from Casablanca. The leap from the uncomfortable movie house night to here in his arms, dancing, was impossible to believe. They were practically glued together, in this almost empty place, and it felt right.

Lorelai glanced up at Dean. "You think you're pretty suave, don't you?"

"I think I'm lucky. I think that dancing with you in my arms is amazing." His fingers trailed around to her back, and Lorelai's knees weakened as his fingers perched atop her ass. Her fingernails dug into his shoulder at this new sensation.

When that song ended, the notes to Wonderwall drifted over them. Lorelai loved this song. Basically, a piano "mixtape" with words that weren't sung, but they were words Lorelai knew and she was sure Dean picked these because of the lyrics.

I think I'm in love with Lorelai Gilmore. Her hair feels & smells so good. Her body pressed against me is melting my brain. I want the people to disappear, our clothes to disappear, I want to be with her.

A hand steadied her face and Dean kissed her with a strength she wasn't sure she could handle. His hand dropped down her face, past her collarbone, pausing to press into the side of her breast, then down around to the small of her back and he dipped her, supporting most of her weight in one arm. The piano guy was getting an eyeful. When he brought her back up, Lorelai led him back to their booth.

"Dean, it's getting late, and this evening was really special, but I…"

"The bill is paid, I'll walk you to your car."

Oh, this wasn't what she expected. She grabbed her purse and headed for the exit, with Dean right behind her.

"Here I am, good ol Jeep. Goodnight Dean." Yes, this is good. Whatever this is it can end here, now.

"Lorelai, you've had a few martinis. I think you should get in the truck with me."

Aha! He has a plan. I'm not falling for it. This was magical, and I won't push my luck, I'm fine to drive home.

"I'm fine to drive. Know the roads like the back of my hand."

"I don't think so. It's a far drive. Kyle and I will come here later and bring your Jeep back before sunrise."

Confused. So he really is done with the night. Okay then, I guess this makes sense.

"Let's go then."

Dean opened the door for her, but not before catching her waist in his hands so he could kiss her again, and this time, his hands slid down her legs and circled back, squeezing her ass, make that, squeezing her ass into him, and there was no mistaking what was happening down there.

Shit, he is hard, for me, and I'm damp, and quivering...Lorelai's tongue shot into his mouth, and she hungrily sucked on his lip and gripped his imposing shoulders to steady herself.

Tongues separated, Dean's mouth breathed hot air into her ear, exhaling the words, "Just for the record, I'm not happy that our night is ending."

Anvil, on head. Yep. Lorelai's body was afire, and she had no words. She climbed into her seat in stunned silence.

THAT felt good. Her ass tight but juicy, and she didn't knee me in the groin. She wants this too, that breathless sound she made, but the ball is in her court. I won't be the one who forces this to happen.

Dean turned on the radio. It was Vic Mensa's Orange Soda. He couldn't stop smiling.

Make you Love it Make you Want it

Cause baby you aaaaare, so a-ma-zing.