Dean wore his not-really-clean jeans, V-neck dark green T-shirt, a jacket, which he kept unzipped, and a cap, to lower the chances of being recognized. But of course all his effort was destined to go to waste, because Renee dressed up very nicely. Her hair could be seen from afar. The short dress wasn't covering much. Dean was aware of the attention that her legs were getting. If only legs . . . The guys basically stared at her ass, too.
"I know what these people are thinking," Dean said with a hearable disdain in his voice. "Why is such a beautiful woman with that homeless guy?"
That brought a smile to Renee's face. At first she thought that Dean wanted her to declare the opposite, that he didn't look that bad, but he went on talking.
"You know, I'm trying to look like a regular person." He rethought what he just said and reshaped that sentence, "I mean, I do my best to not get recognized, and then you put on this."
A funny thought popped up in Renee's head. "Imagine it reversed," she chuckled. "You looking as if you had just performed at Carnegie Hall and I . . . well, I'd wear torn jeans – and not in the fashionable way – and some shirt with stains all over it. And messy hair, yeah, just like you," she joked.
"I thought you liked my style," Dean acted hurt.
Renee laughed. "Right, style."
"Joke all you want," he said in all seriousness, "but I bet those girls over there are talking about coming to me, not you, darling." Dean took off the black sunglasses. He patiently watched the group of three girls, giggling and pretending not to be looking at him.
"You know what? Go talk to them," Renee encouraged Dean, what put him in strange situation. Not only that he was shocked but he wondered if she really meant what she said. No. She had to be kidding. But . . . Anyway, they were just eighteen or nineteen years old. They would probably become speechless if Dean really walked to them.
After some thinking – what made Renee a little worried because she realized what she had said wasn't very clever, and she certainly didn't want Dean to listen to her – Dean chose not to go. He never really wanted to, to start with. "If I wanted to be surrounded by my fangirls, I wouldn't dress this way. But hey, how about this?" He returned to ignoring other people. "I dress up for you."
"What's the occasion?"
"No occasion at all." He walked as he talked, one hand holding the suitcase, the other in his pocket. "That's the point, right? You want me to look representatively. So that you wouldn't be ashamed of me."
Renee sighed. He didn't get it at all. "I'm not ashamed of you."
He ignored her note. "We'll go around the city, looking sharp, as if cut out of a fashion magazine."
"Please don't take this to extremes," Renee pronounced her wish.
"I'm not," he replied, but a vicious smile was forming on his face.
They came to the car. Dean loaded the baggage and sat down. This didn't take long, because he was aware of people noticing him. Once he wanted to stay incognito. But this didn't bother him much.
Renee was already sitting in the car.
When Dean joined her, he asked, "Where do you want to go now?"
"We're going to the hotel."
That's not what I asked, Dean thought to himself when he started the car. He turned left. "I don't think so." He thought, Do I really want to do this? "What the hell," he said as a result, although out loud.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing," he mumbled when he realized she heard him.
"We have a schedule, you know," Renee reminded him. She realized they really weren't going where they should.
"To hell with that."
"Yeah, that's what I thought," she surrendered. She was looking out the window, she pretended she didn't care. She asked absolutely casually, "So where are we going?"
"Shopping."
Now Dean had her attention. She laughed. Did Dean really just say they were going shopping? "You're kidding me, right?"
"No, I'm serious. I don't want you to look at me and ask yourself why are you with me."
"Trust me. If I pose myself that question, it won't have anything to do with your outfit."
"Ok. But look at it from the perspective of the people who don't know us."
"I'd rather not," she mumbled, but she already knew he would continue. She'd wonder why he was even thinking about something so unimportant – he never gave fuck about opinions of other people – but of course he wasn't 100% serious.
"What could be the reason for your dating me? Either I'm rich and you're a gold digger. Or I am good in bed. Or I'm funny. Or you really don't wanna be alone."
"Or I'm getting old, my biological clock is ticking, and I just want to get married and start a family," she added another possible reason.
That comment made Dean a little nervous. He swallowed loudly.
"Infinite number of possibilities." And she continued, she was really enjoying this, "Or I love the challenge of taming you. Or . . ." she made a significant pause, "I'm pregnant."
Dean coughed. Where was all the air when he needed it? "Stop it," he begged. He was watching her more than the road. Fortunately, Renee didn't seem to worry about his reflexes.
"You started it," she reminded him.
He looked ahead again, but he had to ask. "You're not pregnant, are you?"
"As a matter of fact," she started. But then she smiled. "No. Now you can breathe again." The taming process was not finished. His reaction made that clear. Renee changed the topic – or returned to the original one, "So you want people to see us as two equals. Are you insecure?" she expressed her suspicion.
"No," he refused the accusation. Maybe a little too forcefully.
"You are," she teased him. The teasing was only short-lived. "You want to know why I'm with you?"
Dean nodded hesitantly. It was like, yeah, lie and make me feel better. Or, come up with something clever. But if she was to answer in a serious manner, he could imagine her saying "because I love you" – the universal answer.
That wasn't what she was meant to say, though. "Because you are funny and you are great in bed. But I love seeing that you can be serious, too. And that you get insecure at times, even though at first glance nobody would guess that was possible."
"You're talking nonsense."
"You like hearing that nonsense." She knew him. "And I love that you're willing to go shopping to make me like you even more."
He put the hands off the wheel. They were waiting for the green light. It would take some time so he had a chance to finally look at her. Pay her all the attention. Even stroke her thigh. His hand stayed there only for a short moment though. The mirror that he glanced at reminded him that he had his baseball cap still on. He took it off and ran his hand through his hair. It really was messy. Maybe he could use a comb. "You have a comb or something?"
Renee burst into laughter. "You're joking, right?" Then she proceeded to kiss him on the cheek. "You look good enough," she whispered, just when Dean was pressing the gas pedal. "Actually," Renee continued, "you look pretty fuckable."
"Did you just say that?" Dean asked, shocked. No, he was amazed actually. Again, the attention was taken of the road. His sparkling eyes were directed as his girlfriend. His tongue found the way out of the mouth to lick his lips, then it returned inside, just to get marked with Dean's teeth. And then – who cared that somebody was pressing a car horn because the pace of Dean's car was too slow – the tongue that was getting really impatient finally thrust into Renee's mouth.
The kiss couldn't last long; Dean had to pay attention to driving. But he glanced at Renee and demanded, "Say that word again."
"Fuckable," Renee repeated, very seductively. Sure, it was unlike her to say something like that, but only Dean was there to hear her, and he was evidently turned on by it.
"I love you," he said in a daze before connecting his lips with hers again.
Another honking directed at his driving came. "All right," Dean exclaimed, angry that he had to break the passionate kiss.
"Now you can change the direction."
"Oh, I'm not changing anything. I said we were going to a shopping center."
"But, why?" Renee was smiling. She had just told him that she liked him the way he was, that he didn't have to change for her.
"It can be fun," he said, surprising Renee.
"Fun?"
"Yeah, you know, you pick clothes for me, I pick clothes for you, and then we meet up in the changing room and have sex."
It somehow didn't sound like a joke to Renee's ear. On the hand, if this was Dean's idea of shopping, she could understand why he would do it, even be excited about it.
The radio had been silent until now. Suddenly Renee felt like listening to some music. Who knew how long they'd be stuck on the road? Well, she hoped Dean knew where they were going. Shopping center, ok, but where? How far? And sure, Dean didn't give a damn, but they had a schedule they had to follow.
"We'll be late," Renee said.
"I agree with that."
"But it doesn't bother you."
"Look, the worst is when you're the only one that's late. Then you worry. But hey, when it's you and me, when it's us –"
"Get to the point."
"We'll enjoy this."
He let nothing show. He kept driving. He did his best to keep his face in the same expression. Renee was looking ahead of her, and so was he. But that melody . . . The song. Careless Whisper. Don't, break, the self, control, random yet meaningful words were popping up in his mind. That night, he remembered. That song. The karaoke. The duet. Cassie. The ginger girl with never-ceasing smile on her face. The one he had left behind. If what you did to her you did to Renee, you would never forgive yourself. How can you forgive yourself now?
Renee reached to change the station – not because she'd notice Dean's reaction to the song; she had no idea – but Dean stopped her. "Please."
"I didn't know you like that kind of music," she admitted. She let the song play.
Dean sat back again. "I don't. . . . It reminds me of something," he said to prevent looking suspicious to Renee.
"That's nice."
Beautiful, Dean thought sarcastically and smiled. "We're here," he announced to Renee and parked the car. Then he turned the radio off.