There was nothing Dean loved more than being the center of attention—okay, maybe that was a bit dramatic, but it sure felt that way as you sat on your barstool, watching a group of girls clamor around him. They giggled, flashing their fake lashes at him like they were batting wings, all vying for a piece of his attention. And of course, Dean just grinned, flashing his perfect, too-white teeth, soaking it all up like he was born for this. He was spinning some ridiculous story, the kind you knew was fabricated just to keep them entertained, but it worked. They hung on his every word, enraptured.

And he had the nerve to enjoy it.

You scowled, your eyes narrowing as you watched one girl reach out and touch his spiky brown hair. Your lips pressed into a tight line, eyebrows pulling together in frustration. Boundaries—maybe you should talk to him about that. Then again, wasn’t it obvious? Shouldn’t it be crystal clear to him that this kind of attention from others wasn’t something you should have to tolerate?

Dean, however, seemed blissfully unaware of your rising irritation—until he wasn’t. His grin faltered when he finally caught sight of you from across the bar, his face falling into an exaggerated, almost comically dramatic frown. He tilted his head, that familiar boyish charm softening his expression as he sauntered over, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“What’s up, huh?” he teased, his voice lilting in a playful mockery of concern. “Missin’ all my attention already?”

His words were meant to disarm you, but you weren’t so easily swayed. Still, there was something about the stupid, endearing way he looked at you, like he couldn’t help but enjoy pushing your buttons, that made it harder to stay mad. Dean had a way of doing that—making you want to punch him and laugh all at once.