Cherry Pie

Chocolate Covered Raisins

[Rayne]

Stupid Rayne. Stupid Rayne. Stupid Rayne.

Those were the only words running through my head as Dean drove us back home. He'd asked me what I was thinking, which was probably the worst thing he could have asked. I would've rather danced on the pool table in front of everyone or sang some awful karaoke song than answer that.

Telling him what I was thinking was sort of impossible seeing as how I didn't even know what I was thinking. I had so many thoughts knocking around in my brain that I couldn't focus on a single one long enough to figure out what it was — even more so whenever Dean was that close to me.

If I could have figured out what my feelings were, maybe I would've told him about them. Maybe. But at the risk of sounding like an idiot, I didn't say a word. As we pulled into my mother's driveway, I exited the Impala, mumbled an awkward goodnight in Dean's general direction, and then escaped upstairs to my room before he could reply. After changing into some old comfy clothes, I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

Standing in front of the mirror, I considered my features. Hazel almond shaped eyes adorned with thick, dark lashes (courtesy of my mom), a straight nose — slightly rounded at the tip — pink lips, the top one marginally fuller than the bottom, and faint freckles scattered across my nose and under my eyes. All of which was framed by long, unruly, light brown hair that turned crimson in just the right light. From afar, it all sort of worked, but up close my vision could all too easily zero in on all the little imperfections. My nose was slightly too small for my face, my lips a bit odd shaped, my skin not as smooth in some areas as I would have liked it.

I always thought it was funny how all the features that I got from my dad could only be seen at close examination; the red hair, the freckles. My mom frequently used to tease my dad that they were lucky I didn't take after him in any of the other departments. He had lanky limbs, a long, crooked nose, and huge ears. It somehow looked good on him, but I doubted I would have been able to pull it off.

Thoughts of my dad and what happened at the bar packed a mean punch that resulted in a sob escaping from chest. I clamped a hand over my lips before I could emit any more sounds and forced myself to take some deep breaths. In through the nose and out through the mouth — repeating this cycle until I had my emotions under control.

No, if I wasn't going to cry over my dad, I sure as heck wasn't about to cry over some other man. Albeit, some gorgeous, intensely caring, and infuriating man. However just because I wasn't going to cry over him didn't mean I couldn't complain about him. Finishing up in the bathroom, I quietly crossed the hallway over to my mother's bedroom. Knocking softly, I pushed the door open to find her lying in bed, reading.

"Mom?"

She looked up at me and smiled. "Rayne! Where did you guys go tonight?"

Shrugging, I climbed in next to her to hide under the covers. "Just a bar. We played pool."

"Did you kick Dean's butt?" she asked, closing the mystery novel and setting it on the bedside table next to her. My mom was the only person I knew who could read practically any and every single book genre under the sun with equal enjoyment.

"The first game I did. The second game he kind of...distracted me," I grumbled.

My mother's light laughter wafted through the room. "And how did he manage to do that, pray tell?"

"He placed a hand on me. Literally! That's all he had to do for me to turn into an incoherent hot mess!"

"So what did he get for winning?"