I Won't Let You Forget...

Chapter Thirteen

-Monica Thompson's POV-

I woke to a knock at my door. My music was still blaring through my speakers but somehow that small knock had managed to break through all of it.

I stumbled to the door managing to pull it open, pressing my forehead into the cool, hard surface of the door frame. I gazed at the person in front of me while tiredly rubbing my eyes, wondering why they were still here. So I voiced my thoughts.

"Why are you still here, isn't it like midnight or something?" I asked Dean as my voice croaked from crying.

"It's only eight thirty on a Friday night." He said almost nervously as he glanced around and fiddling with the styrofoam box in his hands, "I brought you Chinese food. You didn't really eat anything but popcorn earlier..." Dean told me and pushed the small box into my chest, his eyes pleading with me to accept the small gesture.

And I did. It was thoughtful of him, kind. It made me smile to think about him, thinking about me. He took care of me when I didn't, even if it was just for one night, even if it was just Chinese take out.

The smell of orange chicken wafted up to me, fried rice rolled around in the box as I took it gently from his hands and smiled.

"Thanks, Dean." I said looking up at him.

He looked pleased with my reaction to his small act of kindness and his smile beamed back at me with bright eyes, proud of himself for making me smile, "Your welcome."

"Wanna' come in?" I asked him, still leaning against the frame but nudged the door open more with my toes which probably ended up looking more like an awkward stretch.

"Sure." He said stepping into my bedroom, that's when I realized my music was still blasting through the speakers so I dashed towards my entertainment center and turned the volume down from seventeen to seven.

I turned around and saw Dean just standing there looking around my room with his thumbs hooked in his back pockets. Even in the fake lighting he was still handsome. His slightly wavy, dark-brown hair shimmered slightly, accenting some of the reddish tints. His tan and lightly freckled skin glowed, reflecting the joy clearly shown in his smile. His strong facial structure, broad shoulders, and muscles I could slightly make out through the loose yet somehow fitted gray t-shirt. His dark wash jeans proving just how good of a butt he had, and muscular legs showing he didn't have a pair of skinny chicken legs to walk on. My eyes made there way back up to meet his deep oceanic eyes. The eyes that were a dark blue, swirled with small amounts of lighter blue and golden brown flecks.

Then it clicked. He caught me staring at him.

I clear my throat and rubbed my free hand on my jean clad leg then gestured to my desk chair and bed, "You can sit down, if you'd like."

His smile widened, "You were looking at me." He said in more of a statement rather than a question but I treated it as one anyway.

"No, I wasn't." I said not looking at him and made my way to my bed and sat down folding my legs under me, popping open the styrofoam container in my hands.

"Yes you were. You were standing there for like five minutes. The Chinese food was nearly dropping out of your hands." He said and I could see the laughter in his eyes.

"It was not." I said stubbornly going back to my good and holding up the white plastic fork that was in the box.

"Was not what? Five minutes, or dropping?" He asks me through his slight chuckling.

"Both. It wasn't dropping from my grip, nor was it five minutes. It was closer to three." I told him, stabbing a piece of orange chicken.

He laughed, "That's a big difference, Monica."