I'm in trouble.

Dean and I aren't necessarily the happiest people at the moment. If someone were to get a glimpse of us now, moving speedily down this street of small inner-city stores, clothing boutiques and beauty supply shops, it wouldn't be too difficult to see this wasn't exactly a more favorable moment of the day. Considering the wordless frowns gracing our faces, it seemed like it downright sucked. With nothing more than his gym shorts and sleeveless hoodie, today's frigid fall wind was nipping at Dean's skin, leaving him with an uncomfortable frown. If only that were my problem. I wish that were my problem.

My steps continue in pace slightly behind his, each step, making me wish the pavement would have mercy and swallow me whole.

At certain points in life, people find themselves doing something -feeling something- that makes no sense. Irrational actions fueled by things inside that are just a bit too deep to touch, let alone for one to wrap their head around. Almost as if some creature broke loose and plowed straight through any wall of reasoning. Today, and probably a little bit into my foreseeable future, I was one of those people.

Because dear god almighty, did I have an issue.

Since I've met him, it's always felt like I couldn't think straight around Dean. He drew too many different emotions out of me, too many troublesome thoughts. They always jumbled around inside of me as a confused mess. Yet, I kept coming around him, kept thinking about him. Because I needed him for teaching, I always thought. And still do. I needed him to teach me. I needed his skills to fight my own demons.

But, that wasn't the only truth that tied me to this irritating, sharp-witted hothead.

I liked him.

The words sent another jolt of electricity through my body despite this being, what? The third, fourth....fifth time I've repeated it in my head. God, I can't even count anymore!

I honestly liked Dean Sawyer. I may be brave enough to admit it, but like most irrational urges, I had little control over it. And how this revelation came.....just as unexpectedly. At the gym, he had wanted to get me used to fast footwork, so he put me to work with jump rope drills for agility training. He observed me for a while, studying my form as I bounced up and down like an energized bunny. I was supposed to be keeping a mental count, but instead as always I was preoccupied with his gaze. Those blue eyes had been in trainer mode, watching every exact movement for any need of correction. When I was done, without having to be corrected even once, he nodded with approval and sent me to work on a speed bag, where only minor adjustments were needed.

With most things he taught me, I was a fast learner. And I could tell that some part of him was actually a little pleased with my proficiency. So when I looked up at the satisfied grin gracing his face, the action struck me right to the core, like a dam suddenly breaking lose. For the rest of the time, my eyes kept being drawn to his entirety. The way he moved, the way he spoke, his interactions with others; I just kept finding myself glimpsing in his direction every few moments. And the moment I realized exactly what I was doing everything hit me.

The pieces suddenly fit, and a surge of emotion had twisted my stomach into such a knot that my knees almost gave out from under me.

It wasn't just teenage hormones or random attraction. Dean was good-looking, wickedly attractive. But, this went deeper. It crept into areas it wasn't meant to be in. Did I fully understand why? No. Did I wish it weren't true? Yes. Had I liked other people before? Of course. But this feeling was....different than the others. Instead of a slow, warm process of growing, this was strong and sudden slap in the face. Almost as if it had long been screaming to make it's presence known and now that my formerly deaf ears had finally heard it, it was chiding me for not noticing it's existence earlier. And it wasn't about to be locked up again without a fight.

Am I undeniably screwed?

Oh, yes.

But I couldn't deny it. My inability to keep a level head around him. The blushing. The constant thoughts I always tried to push away. He even brought out my long dormant sharp tongue, and that was a side effect of just being around him.

The ludicrous part was deep down, the screaming voice inside knew I liked it. I liked how he held a presence wherever he went. I liked how he brought out sides of me I'd been forced to bury. I liked how it was obvious he was smarter than most, but the only time he would let you know that was when he read you like a book. I even liked in some ways that he was a fighter. While he was dangerous and horrible for me, and there were a million plus one things I was scared of or hated, there were parts of him I wanted.

It made sense.

But it also didn't.

Yet still it did.

I'm crazy.

That incident with his tattoo, it wasn't random. I so desperately did not want to admit it, but that tattoo reminded me of everything deep down I found appealing about Dean. My time riding his motorcycle as well. It was new, terrifying, and it made me feel...alive. Another jolt of electricity surged under my skin.

Dean made me feel alive.

"Remind me again why we left our gym bags in your car," he suddenly remarks, breaking into my tumultuous thoughts. "If we hadn't walked so far, I'd turn around."

We were headed for some diner Dean mentioned earlier. Apparently, it was only two blocks away, but located on a street with horrible parking, so we figured it was better to just go on foot. We hadn't really considered the cold winds, especially since it was relatively calm when we threw our stuff into my car for safe keeping. The temperature drop only became a real problem when we made it a block over. There weren't too many words between us because of it, not that I was mentally capable of full conversation at the moment anyway. The frigid late fall air whipped around us, kicking up leaves and litter, again bullying our uncomfortable bodies. My arms instinctively wrap around my thinly covered upper half in a vain attempt to shield myself. I still don't particularly care, though. Forget missing layers, I'm a crazy person.

"Laziness," I finally responded, hoping to push my thoughts away. It didn't work, that little lovestruck creature inside only assaulted me further. A deep scowl digs into Dean's features.

"Laziness....We're both stupid for this one."

A dry chuckle rises out of me, nodding my head in turn despite him not being able to see me behind. I rub my arms to erase the goosebumps beginning to rise, whether from my thoughts, or the cold, I wasn't ready to dwell on. As if on cue, another gust envelops us, causing Dean to hunch his shoulders and shove both hands into the pockets of his gym shorts. I hug myself tighter, moving closer to his towering form as if it would hide me from the wind.

Realizing what I'm doing, I quickly rip away from him. Dean, who's still having a bit of a tantrum about the temperature, doesn't even notice. "...windiest freaking day of the year...", I catch him grumbling under his breath. I look at the small raised bumps on his arms, left totally unprotected due to his sleeveless hoodie. Despite my intense fighting against the warmth growing inside me, sympathy for him still bled through.

A distraction. That's what I need.

"Someone's grumpy." I grin, looking at the side of his face when he doesn't respond. His brows are scrunched up in annoyance and his mouth is rested in a small frown. Taking a page out of his book, I smile to myself as his discomfort feeds my urge to tease him. I bump his shoulder forcibly causing him to sway to the side. Now he looks at me, irritation quite obvious.

Don't care. I'm preoccupying my mind.

"I'm going to make you very uncomfortable if you do that again." His glare narrows in on me further, but I bite my lip resisting the urge to laugh at his miserable scowl. I'd like to see you try, I think to myself, speeding up to bump him again. Enjoying my playfulness, I go for a third attempt as we round a corner. Unfortunately he twists out of the way just in time, and in a brief second behind me he manages a hard slap to my rear before speeding up and walking ahead, both hands nonchalantly placed inside his pockets again.

"Hey! Uncalled for!" I growl, clenching my fists with my left buttock now stinging. All distractions effectively ruined. Dean actually throws his head back in laughter.

"Literally just warned you, so yeah. Very called for." The troublemaker twists around and walks backwards holding up and shaking the hand responsible. "At least one part of me is warmer now." He smirks before ducking from a small bottle I chuck at his head after I swipe it off the ground. Just as always with him, my cheeks are once again on fire. "Someone's grumpy," he teases before turning and jogging away, chuckling at how miffed I appear. I follow after him, angrily rubbing at my cheeks.

Death. He's going to be the death of my sanity.

It didn't take us much longer before we reached the place Dean had in mind. The aged little green, yellow, and black burger-shaped sign reading "Ital's Paradise" emerged into view. Colorful arrays of spice and seasoning flood my nose as I pull open the barred door, idly taking in the small restaurant. Far at the back of the shop, a middle-aged man with short dreads packed into a hair net works mechanically at a stove far behind the cashier counter. All his movements are fluid, as if he's memorized the flip of every burger, when to throw in the precise amount of seasoning, and where to toss each tool when it's done. Standing near him at the cashier counter is a short, curvy, light-skinned woman, swaying her hips lightly from side to side in unison with the reggae music playing in the shop. The two of them share in happy conversation back and forth in Jamaican dialect. When a bell over the door rings upon our entrance, her eyes lift up to Dean.

The woman's face immediately grows into a sunny smile as she shouts out his name in happy greetings. The cook behind her does the same.

"Long time, no see, you guys." He happily walks up to the counter before lazily resting both elbows down on it. Dana reaches and smacks his shoulder with a disapproving scowl.

"Wah mek havent yuh cum to fi mi shop inna suh long?"

My feet remain frozen at the door, totally lost as to what she's just said. To my surprise however, Dean responds immediately. "It's been a busy month, Dana." I observe as the three converse with familiarity, Dean being the center of interest in the group. The cook, still at his station, laughs here and there while the woman spear-heads the banter. Only at certain times, do they speak slower with more clarity, specifically when Dean's brows knitted together, telling them to say whatever was previously said again. Another blow reaches my chest as I realize I'm impressed. With how fast they are speaking and how heavy their accents are, he seems quite adept when it comes to comprehension. Between the two of them, I can only process some of it, while other words are lost.

Dana eventually notices the darkened patterns reaching across Dean's skin. "Yuh went an gat youself inked boy?!" She exclaims, studying the shoulder with wide eyed interest. "How yuh gonna find ah nice gyal if yuh body inked up lacka harlem subway? She gonna run for de hills!"

He laughs and raises off the counter, jutting a thumb in my direction. "Patience here happened to like it just fine." There he goes again about the tattoo.

Dana turns to me, her eyes shinning with some type of realization. "Ooh! Missy, I'm sorry I didn't even notice yuh!" She looks between me and Dean, who is looking at me sideways. Most likely wondering why I'm still planted at the entrance. I walk over to the counter with a friendly smile, and once I'm close enough Dana's hand goes out to shake mine. "Such ah pretty gyal! Yuh name is Patience, yuh say? Interesting." That same beaming smile graces her features again, now with a slight tilt of the head.

I don't even bother to repair Dean's allegations. "My mother's big on descriptive names. Plus I was super premature, so I guess it suited me," I give a half shrug and hear a single huff of both agreement and amusement to my left. I know there's a crooked smile in his face. "....in a weird ironic way", I add knowingly, ready to jab Dean in the side. A slight furrow of confusion touches Dana's features, and her welcoming smile loses some of its magic as she gazes between Dean and I. For once today, my eyes don't glance over to the male form beside me, instead I simply resisted the urge to roll them.

Some training sessions ago, Dean remarked on how my name was, in his wording, "absolute bullcrap" after I only did half of a set of stretches he had assigned me....with cringeworthy results. It had been a bad day prior to the gym and I had been eager to just get to the point where I could punch something, so I stopped halfway through and just rushed into a few bench dips. Long story short, I ended up slightly pulling a muscle and won top humiliating prize for accurately imitating a hunched over old woman whining in pain. Oh, he did he get a kick out of that! Him and a few other men at the gym. Ever since then, he seems to gain enjoyment whenever my impulsive tendencies are mentioned. Yet another stick he relishes in continuously poking me with.

I have a feeling the tattoo thing will be another.

We seat ourselves at a table near the shop window, and I pick up the order menu. One look and I immediately feel the urge to stick my head into a hole in the ground.

Ackee and saltfish?

A bizarre mix of curiosity and unease seeps in. I scanned down the list, noting familiar choices like corned beef, jerk chicken, curry chicken, pork chops, and stew beef. But, the other choices were too loud to ignore. Brown stew fish? Cow foot and broad beans?! Steadily as I progressed through the list, the meals started to sound a bit safer. Spiced bun, coco bread, Ital stew. Then came Red peas soup, Pumpkin soup, and gungo peas soup. All better to the ear than the earlier stuff.

Dean had praised this place as "hardcore Jamaican", which meant absolutely nothing to me seeing how I didn't even have an in-depth knowledge of what fake Jamaican food tasted like. Ever since a very painful little incident where Joy and I stupidly dared each other to sniff an entire spoonful of jerk seasoning for two dollars, out of limited knowledge and horrible judgment it became a subconscious habit to stay very far away from the stuff.

Yet despite all that, there I went nodding like an idiot. In my defense though, I wasn't exactly in a frame of mind to think or care about where on Main street I wanted to have lunch.

"Someone needs help." I looked up from the plethora of strange choices to meet blue eyes studying me. He nodded to my menu. "Stare any harder and it'll burst into flames." I didn't respond, only returned my attention to the unfamiliar choices. My attention was divided again when a loud sigh came from behind the endless lines of ink and Dean's fingers pried it out of my hand, dropping the menu atop his own unopened one.

"Ask me nicely, and I'll order for you. Otherwise, you'll be here all day staring at this menu like it's written in greek."

Disapproval is painted on my face as I reach out to grab my menu back, only for him to hold both of them far away with one of his ridiculously long arms.

"You always have to bully me don't you?" I huff impatiently. A proud smirk cuts across his face.

Leaning back in my seat and crossing my arms, I turn silent and stare out the window, creating the absolute picture of refusal. I know he is still observing me, though. No doubt waiting for me to get irritated and feed his amusement. The slight creaking of wood reaches my ears, serving as indication that he's leaned back in his chair as well. I was just keeping up this game of silent denials when my traitorous stomach growls in protest to it's emptiness. Dang it!

Shut up, my eyes clearly say to him as they narrow into a glare at him. That infuriating smirk only grows wider, steadily revealing a row of bright white teeth. Electricity courses straight down to my toes at the sight of them.

He finally shakes his head with a sigh. "You're no fun, Snips. Dana," he calls out and she looks up ready for an order. "Can she have some beef patties?"

I do my best to fight the tugging sensation at the corner of my mouth. Does that count as a win for me? He conceded first.

Dana approaches the table watching our interchange with mirth in her eyes, one hand balancing a plate of food near her shoulder. "We already had ah fresh batch ready," she explains setting the plate down in front of me. Before walking away, she turns a motherly eye on Dean, telling him to stop teasing me or she'll charge him extra on the bill. This time I give in to my urge to smile. He may be rolling his eyes, but she got him to shut up.

"So how do you know Dana and....George, was it?"

"They're the aunt and uncle of a friend of mine." He watches me as I bite into my first patty, blowing first to allow it to cool. "They're pretty close, but my friend avoids coming in here too often cause those they have a bad habit of never letting people they know leave. Give Dana five minutes, and you'll walk out an hour later without even realizing it. When we're both in here at the same time we usually have to fight our way out." A thread of humor is laced between his words.

"Your best friend then?" I tease, and he snorts in response. The gleam in his eye is a twin -albeit a heavily sedated one- to the emotions smeared on my face around Faye half the time. Days ago in the parking lot, I had asked him if he had a best friend and his usual glare softened somewhat. I didn't like lying to my best friend's face, and I saw -just a peek- that he wouldn't either. It seems Dean has at least one person in his corner that means something to him. But, what's the friend like?

"Something like that."

"What's his name?"

"What makes you think it's a he?"

That answer stills me with a silent pang in my chest. I peer out the window, away from him, mentally berating myself for the sudden odd sensation. Silence.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you looked jealous, Patience."

No, no. I'm not going to light that fire.

"As if!" I snap back at him. "I was just wondering how she stands to be around you all the time. There's only so much irritating know-it-all a girl can take."

"You seem to handle just fine."

"I have you in small doses. 24/7 might kill me."

Half true, half not.

When I do look at him, the two of us simply stare at each other. Me, with a newly formed grimace on my face, and he, with that same old infuriating crocked smile. What am I getting so worked up about? "Whatever," I concede, looking down and taking a bite out of my second patty. "I hope your best friend is willing to whack that smirk off your face whenever you piss her off. Cause lord knows, I'm about to."

A full on smile breaks and laughter emerges. "Easy..." Dean holds his hands up in innocence, still laughing. "Trey is very willing to try taking me down a peg. Even, if he knows he won't exactly win. Reminds me of someone else I know." My eyes