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Allie Hayes was the kind of person who collected good days without even trying. Good coffee? Good day. Finding five dollars in her winter coat pocket? Good day. A professor canceling class? Incredible day. She laughed easily, smiled often, and somehow managed to find excitement in things Dean Di Laurentis normally considered painfully ordinary. Dean, meanwhile, had discovered something deeply unfortunate about himself. His entire mood depended on whether or not Allie looked at him. Which was pathetic. Utterly pathetic.
———
Dean is in a terrible mood. Not that anybody can tell. That’s the thing about him, he’s spent years perfecting the art of pretending everything is fine. Actually, scratch that. Not fine. Fantastic. So even after Coach spends all afternoon ripping into the team, even after practice turns into two straight hours of punishment drills, Dean still walks into the hockey house grinning like he personally had the best day of his life.
“Ladies,” he announces to the room, tossing his gym bag onto the floor. “Try not to cry too hard, but I’m officially the hottest athlete at Briar.”
Garrett barely glances up from the couch. “You smell like feet.”
“Jealousy is ugly on you, Graham.”
Logan snorts from the kitchen. Dean keeps going because that’s what he does. He chirps Garrett. Steals Tucker’s fries. Makes a joke about Coach’s blood pressure. Everybody laughs. Dean laughs too. And underneath it all, his head still feels tight and heavy and annoyingly restless. It’s one of those days where nothing settles right. An hour later, they end up at Malone’s. Because apparently the solution to everything in life is cheap beer and loud music. Dean’s not complaining. Okay, maybe he is internally. The place is packed, the floor sticky, and some guy near the dartboards keeps screaming every time his team scores on TV. Deans leans against the bar beside Garrett while Logan argues with some brunette about hockey stats.
“Bro,” Garrett says, horrified, “you cannot flirt by explaining defensive formations.”
“I’m educating her,” Logan fires back.
“The panties are practically flying off.” Dean snorts into his beer. The laugh feels automatic. Everything tonight feels automatic, like he’s moving through muscle memory, a smile here. A joke there, ignore the lingering irritation sitting low in his chest. The bartender slides another round toward them. Dean reaches for his drink- then pauses. Because Allie just walked in. She’s with Hannah and a couple girls from dance, bundled into a dark green sweater that slips slightly off one shoulder. Her hair’s loose tonight, falling in soft waves that catch the dim bar lighting when she laughs at something Hannah says. Dean watches her for half a second too long. Allie’s scanning the room now, probably looking for Hannah’s boyfriend. Then her eyes land on Dean. And there it is. That tiny change in her expression. Small enough nobody else would notice. Her mouth softens at the corners, it’s not a full smile. But it’s something and it’s just for him. Dean feels something in his chest loosen so quickly it almost pisses him off. Because seriously? That’s all it takes? One look? Allie lifts her beer slightly in greeting before turning back to her friends. Garrett studies him with narrowed eyes.
“You’re smiling again.”
Dean takes a sip of beer. “Maybe I just like the atmosphere.”
Garrett looks deeply unconvinced. Dean decides he hates everybody. Except Allie. Obviously.