Chapter Text
"Perfect!"
With a smirk, Erin examined herself in the mirror. The little black dress she'd chosen clung to her body, falling down well north of her knees. Black leather boots with high heels climbed up her calves. She shook her silky blonde hair, amazed by it. Fancy name brand eyeliner and mascara made her ocean blue eyes pop. The fire engine red lipstick may have been a bit much, but she took a chance on it anyway.
Tonight was the night. Of that, she had no doubt. As a finishing touch, she draped a chain from her neck that drew extra attention to her chest. In all of her existence, she'd never felt so desirable, so powerful.
Tonight, all of this would work to her advantage, her new found confidence and sex appeal. She could not wait to get started. Time seemed to be standing still.
Just as she had expected, the black '67 Impala was parked right outside the bar. Erin paid the cab driver and exited the vehicle. The excitement of it all made her downright silly, and she took deep breaths to calm herself. The butterflies remained in her stomach, but a pina colada would fix that right up.
When she got inside, Erin took a seat at the bar and ordered a drink. As the bartender poured, she scoured the area, searching for her target. Sure enough, she found him. A smirk spread across her pretty little face.
Dean Winchester leaned over the pool table, striking the white cue ball with his stick. He looked just the same as she'd remembered, handsome as God ever made them. Those beautiful green eyes like jades, the dimpled smile, the spiky brown locks: she would never forget the face of Dean Winchester.
Sipping on her colada, Erin watched with interest as Dean Winchester played pool 🎱 with a burly biker dude with a long black beard. He was quite good, knocking most of his balls out in one turn. The biker dude didn't stand much of a chance. A few more minutes, and down went the eight ball 🎱. Swearing, the biker handed Dean a wad of money and stormed away like a spoiled child.
Showtime!
With dramatic shakes of her tiny hips when she walked, Erin approached Dean Winchester. Swallowing her truest emotions, she pasted on a charming smile. He returned her smile with a bashful one of his own.
"Good game, Stud," Erin stated, reaching for another stick.
"Thank you," Dean whispered.
"What do you say we make things interesting?" Erin suggested, racking the balls back up. Dean listened, seemingly fascinated by her. "If you win, the next round is on me."
Dean nodded. "Okay, and if you happen to win?" Erin just grinned and broke.
With each shot that she took, Erin bent her entire body over the table. Her breasts bulged against the velvet, almost bursting out of her dress. She licked her lips when she aimed. Of course, she always checked to make sure that Dean was watching, and he always was.
Dean Winchester was a professional pool hustler, and everyone in Kansas knew it. So, Erin had been practicing every chance she got in order to impress him. All of her hard work paid off when she smacked the eight ball 🎱 right into the corner pocket.
At first, Dean Winchester frowned his pouty lips. But that only lasted a moment. Then, he offered her a hand to shake in congratulations.
"Not bad," Dean said.
"Same to you, Stud."
"Stud works, but they call me Dean," Dean Winchester told her. As if she did not know.
"They call me Erin."
"Well, Erin, I think it's time I pay up. What do you have in mind?"
Erin grinned.
An hour later, Erin and Dean Winchester sat at the bar, downing yet another shot of whiskey. Even though her tolerance for alcohol had grown, she was getting a little tipsy. If she didn't slow down, things could spin out of control way too fast. She could not let that happen.
Erin mentioned how she'd kill for a double cheeseburger with curly fries. Then, off they were, to the diner up the street. Dean ordered them greasy and delicious burgers and fries. The only downside was that Erin's new teenie stomach filled up long before she'd satisfied her old appetite.
Over dinner, they engaged in a deep conversation that droned everything else out around them. Almost against her stubborn will, Erin found herself enjoying their discussion. They talked about their shared taste for classic rock, their mutual disdain for veganism and their preference for road trips over flights.
In different circumstances, this would have been the best first date in Erin's life. She was having fun. Dean Winchester seemed to like her. His wry sense of humor matched hers, and he made her laugh with his tales of drunken fights and jail breaks. It was a shame indeed.
Before Erin could register how much time had passed, the diner manager announced that they were closing up shop. For a second, Erin cursed them for spoiling her good time. But then she reminded herself that the best was yet to come.
As they strolled out of the restaurant, brushing against each other's arms with each step, Erin sighed, "I guess I'd better call a cab."
Dean pointed to the Impala. "I'll give you a ride home." Erin's face lit up.
Like a true gentleman, Dean opened the Impala's door for her. "Your car is amazing! 1967 Chevy with 600 horsepower, 454 block engine?"
Dean's eyes widened in amazement. All chicks loved his Baby. How could they not? It was a beautiful classic. But none of them actually knew anything about it.
"You're into cars?" Dean asked as he buckled his seat belt.
"My daddy is a mechanic on specialty muscle cars," Erin replied with pride. "I learned a thing or two from him."
"Awesome!"
The Impala purred to life. Erin gave Dean directions to her house, and he took off. Supertramp played on the radio, and Erin couldn't help but bob her head along with the music.
Dean parked the Impala in the driveway in front of Erin's house. It was a quaint little stone cottage with baby blue shutters and a baby blue door. White and pink pansies lined a red brick pathway. Erin thought with delight that the cottage belonged in a Thomas Kincaid painting. This was never truer than Christmastime, when snow blanketed the yard and Christmas lights dangled from the gutters.
The interior of Erin's home was just as picturesque as the outside. She had shiny hardwood floors, robin's egg blue walls and lots of elegant windows with enough room on the sills to sit and look out at the world. The house seemed so grown up and idyllic that Dean felt like he didn't quite belong there.
The living room, however, was a paradise for Dean. A huge couch equipped with recliners and cup holders circled around a sixty inch flat screen TV. Attached to the TV was a video game console and blu-ray player. Against another wall, she had a record player and an incredible collection of dozens of classic vinyl albums and hundreds of CDs.
"Make yourself at home." Erin gestured to the couch. "Can I get you some coffee?"
"Yeah! Thanks!"
On her way to the kitchen, Erin dropped the needle on the record. The edgy sounds of the Beatles masterpiece Revolver filled the room. Dean was bopping his head to Erin's favorite album, and that was a great sign.
A few minutes later, Erin reappeared. She set down a mug of coffee and a plate of strawberry pie in front of Dean. Dean could not contain his grateful grin as she covered the pie in whipped cream. Together, they indulged and giggled, enjoying the giddiness of their newfound attraction.