**Chapter 23: A Night Out** As I stepped into the pulsating heart of the club, a tide of nerves washed over me, churning in my stomach like a whirlpool. How would Beau Maxwell react to me and Dean arriving together? The moment of truth came when Dean, with a nonchalance that left me slightly baffled, introduced me as "G's GF’s BFF." I watched for any flicker of recognition or confusion cross Beau's face, but none came. Instead, he simply grinned, clearly delighted that we had made the effort to come out. Beau's sister, Joanna, added to the jovial atmosphere as she launched herself at Dean, arms wide open. “Di Laurentis! Thank God you're here! You can't imagine how close I've come to losing it with my idiot brother these past few days.” “Come on, Jo,” Beau interjected, flashing a broad smile. “You love your little brother, admit it.” She shot him the finger in playful retort, but the grin that accompanied the gesture betrayed her. Standing tall and striking, with dark hair fashioned into a chic bob and sparkling blue eyes, Joanna seemed every bit the star Dean had described, currently making waves on Broadway. As we entered the club, I couldn't help but ask her about her role, but our conversation quickly took a backseat to the chaos within. The strobe lights sliced through the thick darkness, while the music thundered like a living entity, demanding attention. Joanna and I had to practically scream into each other's ears to be heard over the din. Ahead of us, Dean and Beau vanished into the swirling crowd. “Looks like we lost the boys!” I hollered, straining to catch a glimpse of them. With a knowing shake of her head, Joanna pointed to the spiral staircase to our left. Sure enough, Dean and Beau were midway up, and Dean, spotting us, gestured for us to follow. What awaited us at the top of the stairs was a realm that felt distinctly separate from the madness below—a VIP area filled with allure and opulence. As we approached the bouncer, Dean confidently said, “Dean Heyward. Tony knows me.” The bouncer, who appeared imposing at first, simply nodded as if conjured by the weight of Dean's name, permitting us to saunter past yet another velvet rope. “Dean Heyward?” I teased once we reached a plush nook with a table overlooking the dance floor. “Are we officially retiring the Di Laurentis title?” Dean draped his arm around me, a warm and spicy scent of his aftershave wrapping around me, sending a shiver down my spine. “Di Laurentis works better for country clubs or charity events. The Heyward name? That opens doors here in Manhattan.” And what doors it opened! We settled at a spacious table just in time to hear Joanna lightheartedly ribbing Beau about someone named Sabrina. Beau, however, claimed that relationship was as dead as a doornail, which visibly bothered Joanna. “You're such an idiot,” Joanna chided. “Seriously, Beau-Beau, you needed someone like her to keep you in line.” I felt the subtle tension radiate from Dean as she spoke. I glanced at him, his profile taut and rigid. Curious, I gently squeezed his thigh, seeking to bridge a connection. “You okay?” “Ah, don’t mind him, sweetheart,” Beau chuckled. “He always gets all moody when Sabrina comes up. Still sulking that she snubbed him after their fling.” Dean’s past indiscretion with Sabrina didn’t incite any jealousy in me, surprisingly. Unlike the suffocating jealousy I felt when I saw Penelope pawing him at Malone’s, this time, I felt completely at ease. Maybe it was because they were just shadows from his past, not presences that could intrude upon what we had. Dean rolled his eyes in response to Beau's teasing. “Believe me, I’m perfectly content being snubbed.” “Come on, what’s the story there?” I pressed, poking him in the side. “I want to know about this blood feud you have going on, and don’t think I won't get to the bottom of it.” Beau chimed in, “Yeah, spill it.” Dean waved them off dismissively. “It's just some dumb drama from sophomore year. Not worth it.” “Must be a big deal if it’s still bothering you two years later,” I interjected, raising an eyebrow. Clearly hesitant, he sighed, “Long story short? I excelled in this course, but I was convinced I was failing it. The irony? I was sleeping with my TA.” Beau snickered, “Classic. Love it.” “Yeah, a real genius move,” Dean admitted, his voice tinged with regret. “Sabrina and I ended up paired for the final project. My half was mediocre at best, but we got our grades back, and I ended up with an A while she got a B-minus. Understandably, she flipped out.” His jaw tightened at the memory. “She thought it was unfair and went to complain. The professor dug into all my old assignments—turns out I should have been failing. The TA I was with had pulled strings, left and right, to give me good grades.” Disgust coursed through his tone, and I frowned, surprised by the weight of his admission. Before I met him, I had assumed he was just another privileged kid coasting through life with his charm and wealth. Yet there was a fierce determination in his eyes—he didn't want an easy ride. “I told the professor to fail me. I was fine with retaking the course, but he wouldn’t let me,” Dean seethed. “He was buddies with my dad from law school and decided to overlook the whole situation as a favor. It took some arguing, but I got him to lower my grade to a B-plus. It felt like a slap in the face.” Now, his expression darkened further—this was clearly still a sore point. “I shouldn’t have passed, but the name Di Laurentis paved the way. And Sabrina? She thinks I'm just a rich jerk who doesn’t earn anything.” I could see the hurt beneath the bravado, the weariness of carrying that label with him. The momentary insight into his character deepened my admiration for him. He wasn't just a façade of privilege; he was dynamic, caring, and committed. “Your purse,” Dean broke into my reflective thoughts, nodding at the black clutch sitting between us. I blinked, puzzled. “What about it?” “It’s vibrating,” he replied, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. I dug into my purse and pulled out my phone—it was buzzing like crazy. “Dillon’s here! Can you come with me to get her? I might need your connections to the bouncer again.” He sighed dramatically. “I knew it. You’re just using me for my connections, huh?” “Absolutely,” I grinned, leading the way back to the staircase. As we climbed, a familiar face came into view behind the rope. “They’re with us,” Dean told the bouncer, and moments later, Dillon sprang towards me, a joyful look in her eyes. “Oh my God! It’s so good to see you!” She squealed, instantly enveloping me in a tight embrace. “You never call me!” “It takes two to tango,” I laughed, bouncing on my toes before a shadow fell over us. Dillon pulled away and introduced her boyfriend, Roy. My heart skipped as I did a double take—he was a hulking figure, definitely a football player, towering and built like a tank. “Dude!” Dean exclaimed, eyes wide. “Anyone ever tell you that you look like a young Samuel L. Jackson?” Roy’s expression turned stone-cold in an instant. “Oh, I get it—because all us brothas look the same to you, right?” Surprised, I glanced at Dillon, but instead of hostility, mirth was creeping into Roy’s tone. “What, you gonna say there’s something wrong with me dating this fine white girl?” Dean was undeterred. “Hell yeah, you got me, man. I’m a huge racist.” With an incredulous shake of his head, he continued, “It’s uncanny. You look just like him.” The tension broke like a bubble as Roy burst into laughter, his smile wide and infectious. “Man, I won ten grand last summer impersonating Sam Jackson. Did the speech from Deep Blue Sea!” Dean couldn’t help but laugh, clapping Roy on the back as they bonded over their apparent resemblance. Dillon rolled her eyes at me, linking her arm through mine. “Roy likes to scare people,” she apologized with a grin. “I’m not worried, Dean doesn’t scare easily,” I replied, smirking at my friend. “Dean, huh?” Dillon’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a new boyfriend?” “We don’t,” I protested. “We’re just having fun. Nothing serious.” “Ha! Yeah right, AJ. With you, it’s always serious.” Her teasing faded as we arrived at our table, where Beau and Roy were already deep in conversation about football. The sight of Dean effortlessly taking up the role of the charming boyfriend made me smile as he tugged me into his lap, wrapping his strong arm around my waist. “Sit right here, baby doll,” he insisted, grinning down at me. Glancing around at our motley crew—the quarterback, the hockey player, the linebacker, the actress, the finance major, and the rom-com hopeful—I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were a casting call away from a classic film. As I shared stories with Dillon about our college experiences, I became acutely aware of Dean’s touches—the casual caress of my shoulder, the way he grazed my thigh, or how he nuzzled his lips to my neck. At one point, he feathered a kiss on my cheek, prompting a loud hoot from Beau. “Jesus, Bella!” He laughed, eyes widening. “What kind of spell did you cast on my man Dean? I’ve never seen him like this!” “My name’s Allie,” I corrected, but Beau only laughed harder. Dean leaned in, his voice low and tantalizing. “Want to dance?” “Depends… Are you a good dancer?” I quizzed. “Every man is a good dancer,” he declared confidently. I snorted, recalling my own memories of high school embarrassment. “The broken toe I got in high school begs to differ.” “Okay, maybe every man is capable of being a good dancer. There’s just one move you need to know,” he said, taking my hand as we descended the staircase. “What’s the move?” I asked, intrigued. “STAG,” he declared loudly to cut through the music. “What’s that?” I leaned in closer, my eagerness spilling over. He flashed a grin. “Stand there and grind.” Laughter erupted, and as I twirled into his arms, suddenly it felt like the whole world fell away. He lifted me, my legs wrapping around his waist, and we made our way to the dance floor. With the seductive rhythm pulsing through us, I let go of inhibitions, dancing against him, our bodies moving in unison. I let the music takeover, tossing my hair and exploring the defined planes of his chest with my hands. For what felt like hours, we danced, losing ourselves. I twirled with Beau, who wasn’t shy about grabbing me. I battled for space with Roy, whose moves were surprisingly nimble for his size; then sandwiched between Dillon and Joanna, I blended into the rhythm of the night. But it was the moments with Dean that felt electric—his grinding against me, moving in sync, igniting a delightful heat that enveloped me. We celebrated with shots at the bar, but I found I was merely buzzing, while the others seemed headed down a path of inebriation. As the clock neared eleven-thirty, Joanna excused herself, her upcoming rehearsal in the morning a responsibility she couldn’t ignore. Dillon followed suit not long after, her slurring speech prompting Roy to whisk her away, proving to be a responsible boyfriend despite his intimidating persona. Dean, glancing at Beau who was looking decidedly worse for the wear, announced it was time for us to leave. “Where’s your friend?” I asked Beau, scanning the floor for the redhead he had been so enamored with earlier. “She went home to her husband,” he replied, his voice dangerously unsteady. I couldn't hide my laughter at Dean, who was supporting Beau like a human crutch. Stepping outside, the frigid night air was a chill contrast to the heat of the club. With Joanna gone, I felt a sudden wave of concern wash over me about Beau getting home. “He should share a cab with us,” I suggested to Dean. “You should go upstairs with him,” I insisted to Dean. “Make sure he gets all the way to his door.” Miraculously, a cab appeared, and as I climbed in, I felt Beau slump beside me, his head landing on my shoulder, instantly snoring. Dean hopped in and relayed Beau’s address to the driver. He looked between Beau and me, a question lingering in his gaze. “His parents are home, right?” I asked slowly, caution creeping into my tone. “Will they freak out if they see him like this?” “Maybe,” Dean sighed, glancing back at the sleeping Beau. “He went to all-boys Catholic school, his parents are kinda strict.” Biting my lip, I turned to Dean. “Perhaps we shouldn’t take him home, then.” “Good point.” He leaned forward, tapping the driver’s seat. “Forget the first address. Just take us to Heyward Plaza, please.” Fifteen minutes later, the grandeur of the hotel lobby greeted us as we stepped out of the elevator. I shook my head in awe, still grappling with the fact that Dean resided in such a lavish location. Beau stumbled, his eyes wide in disbelieving wonder as he ambled toward a massive armchair and collapsed in it, sound asleep within seconds. Dean’s arms enveloped me from behind, kissing my neck softly. “Bedtime?” he asked quietly. I twisted in his embrace, meeting his eyes. “I’m not tired,” I replied cheekily. “How about we watch a movie?” “Actually, I have something even better. Go change into something comfy. I’ll get it set up,” he urged, his brows wiggling in a way that heightened my curiosity. What could it be? I dashed upstairs, changing into cotton boxers and a tank before hurrying back down. To my surprise, I found Dean sprawled on the couch, remote in hand, utterly shirtless, looking like a delicious distraction. My heart raced at the sight of his enticing V shape that dipped into his low-slung pants. “What are we watching?” I asked, striding toward him. “See for yourself.” He hit play, and my gasp echoed in the room as the opening credits of *Solange* flashed across the massive wall screen. “How did you get this?” I exclaimed, incredulous. “I called ahead and asked the concierge to track down season two for us,” he replied nonchalantly, as if it were the most mundane task in the world. I was dumbfounded. This show, an obscure French soap opera I’d stumbled upon, was nearly impossible to get in America. “Seriously? One phone call and you got your hands on it?” I asked, staring at him, astonished. “Told ya. The Life of Dean is truly glorious,” he said, a grin stretching across his face as he beckoned me closer. Without hesitation, I nestled beside him, resting my head against his bare shoulder. His warmth surrounded me, enveloping me in a sense of safety and comfort. We fell into the world of the show, absorbed in the drama unfolding on screen. “You know,” Dean mused, “if Marc had half a brain, he’d ditch Christine and go for Monique.” “I like Christine!” I protested, trying to defend her innocence. “She’s playing him, babe. No one’s that sweet all the time.” A playful glimmer lit his eyes, and I feigned a hurt expression. “Do you really think that?” I asked quietly. “Of course not,” he soothed, a hand caressing my spine. “You’re a hundred percent sweet.” He chuckled, and we resumed watching, the tension thickening in the air as Dean absentmindedly trailed his fingers along my side, inadvertently sending jolts of heat racing through me. As I became engrossed in the unfolding plot, Dean’s caresses moved lower, his fingers inching toward my waistline, stirring awareness within me. “Dean,” I murmured as his thumb brushed where it shouldn’t. “Stop doing that,” I warned, though my voice lacked the necessary sternness. His expression shifted to mock innocence. “Oh? Was I doing that?” I propped myself up, gazing at his face, a teasing glint sparkling in his eyes. “You know exactly what you’re doing,” I chided, despite the growing heat between us. His lips curled into a devilish smirk. “Why? Is it driving you wild?” “Yes,” I admitted, breathless. With a wicked smile, he rolled us over, and as we faced each other, his hand found its way to my breast, fingers gently squeezing and teasing, drawing gasps from my lips. “Beau’s right there,” I hissed, glancing nervously toward the armchair where Beau had settled into a deep sleep. “He’s asleep,” Dean replied, his intentions teasingly clear as his fingers slipped beneath my waistband. And suddenly, I was lost in the sensations—his finger inside me, the pressure building, the world contracting to just us, the weight of school and expectations slipping away. His voice, low and husky, brushed against my ear. “You’re so close. Come on, baby.” With my body trembling, I let go, surrendering to the waves of pleasure washing over me. Panting softly, I nestled against him, riding the final echoes of bliss. Then Beau’s voice pierced through the post-euphoria haze. “You guys know I’m awake, right?” What followed was an intoxicating mix of mortification and hilarity. I buried my face against Dean's chest, my cheeks aflame. “And now I’m hard as a rock,” Beau chimed in, sounding far too amused. “So, how about a threesome?” My indignation resurfaced, but before I could respond, I noticed that Dean seemed entertained by the idea, the glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “No way,” I demanded, pointing a finger at him. “That’s not happening.” “Come on, Allie,” Beau smirked. “Let’s be reasonable. It’s called having fun.” “Fun, or scandalous?” I countered, determined. “With all respect, I’d rather not be the headline that comes out a decade from now,” I declared. “'Celebrity Debauchery Exposed: Allie Hayes, College Threesome Queen!'” Beau quirked an eyebrow playfully. “Super Bowl champ Beau Maxwell quoted as saying, ‘Best night of my life.’” I sighed, shaking my head, glancing at Dean who's trying desperately to contain his laughter. “Goodnight, Beau,” Dean finally said, his voice brimming with mock solemnity. The night had turned chaotic and hilarious, a whirlwind of adrenaline and laughter, leaving me breathless and undeniably closer to the man beside me. Little did I know, the rest of this evening would only promise more surprises to come.