Seventeen

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"I don't know about you, but I came to find a book to read." She said, grabbing the book she intended on reading from his hand. He watched her take back the hard cover and flip through several pages, her eyes scanning various paragraphs. "Stop looking at me like that."

He laughed, shoulders falling as he tried looking away but couldn't.

It just felt so normal suddenly after their talk. He felt like it was a much needed awareness the two of them needed to get off their chests and express. Part of him was a little embarrassed for saying how he felt and he liked she hadn't laughed at him, and instead helped him out. Dean was thankful for that or else he wouldn't of stayed around to hear how she truly felt either.

"I can't." He laughed.

She shook her head, smiling as her cheeks heated up, turning a bright red. She turned away to find one of the beanbag chairs to sit on in a different area of the library. Plopping down, she bent both knees to the sit in order to avoid flashing anyone, even Dean, what was below her skirt. Hair fell behind her shoulder as she fixed her book and heard the other beanbag screech as he'd thrown himself down on it.

Evangeline watched him with a raised brow. 

He grabbed the sides of the squishy chair and jumped, trying to flatten it one way as it kept sinking the other way. He struggled to lift the back up and lower the front, each time it failed miserably. The rubbery leather wasn't soft and stuck to bare skin, no matter if one was sweaty or not.

Dean finally huffed. "These fucking things suck." He grunted, slamming his hand down on the side of it.

She laughed quietly, lifting the book to her mouth. "Operator error." She whispered.

"Haha." He laughed back, hearing the pellets and beads inside the chair squish and shuffle below his butt. "What's that cheesy book even about?" He points.

She was definitely surprised he stayed after their conversation instead of running off to shoot pucks or annoy his friends. She didn't really know what he did on his free time and part of her didn't want to know. Dean was really opening up into someone she didn't believe could be below his rough, cold exterior. The layers were peeling back like an onion, only smelling a lot dreamier than a veggie that often made her cry.

Evangeline had already settled into the bean bag chair, fixing her skirt over her knee and the sweater around her shoulders. "It's a timeless tale, almost every reader has read it." She began to explain.

"Is it worth opening the first page?" He spat, not being rude about it to her.

"I think so." She nods.

"Why?"

"Why don't you read it?" She furrowed her brows, staring the few feet away where he sat, still trying to figure out the chair.

Dean shrugged, lying back and stretched his legs out toward her. "Is it like a boat or something?"

"No," She laughed. "A self made millionaire pursuits the love of his life from childhood, a wealthy woman in the Jazz Age of New York." She noticed he didn't seem intrigued by it. "I can tell by that face you're making it sounds boring."

He clapped his hands together, lifting his arms into the air above his head. "Bing, bing, bing." He cheered sarcastically. She reminded him of an embarrassing sport dad who took every opportunity to be cringy; something she was thankful she didn't have.

Shaking her head, she placed her finger inside the book. "Try finding a book, maybe one will inspire you."

"Yeah, to shut the book and toss it away." He retorted with a sheepish laugh.

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