When We Meet Again

“Why?” she demanded in a whisper that wanted to be a shout.

“I…didn’t want to lose track of you again and she was so enamored at the dinner I arranged for you that I kind of recruited her into telling me if you changed location for any reason.”

Meaghan’s eyes were wide with shock as her brain tried to process the implications of everything Dean was saying to her right now.

“That is an awful lot of trouble to go to,” she said slowly.

“Yes. And it’s even a bit creepy – I get that. I’m finding out that I’m a creepy guy okay. I’ve been with the same chick for ten years and it’s not like I had to make any effort with her. Now there’s you and I don’t know how to go about all this. I’m just winging it here so I hope you can give some room for my learning curve.”

Meaghan didn’t say anything; just cast occasional incredulous glances at him and shook her head. She really needed to inform Bain about this new development. He would know what to think for the best. Still she wasn’t sure how he would feel about her having a drink with Dean when he was still technically in a relationship with someone else. A ten year relationship note. She could actually hear Bain telling her so. But he’d also developed some stalker tendencies on her behalf so she couldn’t exactly dismiss her chances here.

They drew up outside the Hard Rock and Dean alighted and came round to open the door for her. He led her in as if escorting her to a ball. Meaghan looked down at her black jeans and fitted t-shirt, also black coupled with blue heels. Not exactly Cinderella but she didn’t look half bad. The t-shirt clung in all the right places; emphasizing her bre*sts and minimizing her love handles. The jeans emphasized her womanly hips and long fairly shapely legs. Her painted toes peeped from her open toed shoes looking all cute and well tended. If she was betting on herself she’d say she had a better than fair chance even though the competition was apparently a professional model. At least in addition to looks she also had personality…and she was pretty sure Samantha Crawford had never read Lord of the Rings.

They were escorted to a private booth where Dean proceeded to ply her with drinks as they discussed everything from today’s football game to the possibility that Diagon Alley was real. Dean was a sceptic but Meaghan postulated that considering how the same stories seemed to appear in different disguises over centuries; there is the possibility that this happens because they are based on real things which the authors may have glimpsed or were simply inspired to write about thinking that it was their own imagination when it actually wasn’t.

Dean conceded that this made sense however he felt like if there was indeed such a magic alley anywhere in London or even the greater UK, he or one of his friends should have heard of it by now.

“Oh really? Aren’t all of your friends muggles?” Meaghan demanded.

“Well no-one likes to use that term but I guess technically it is correct,” Dean said sipping on his third beer. Meaghan thought vaguely that he should probably switch to water if he was driving.

“So how would you know about it? Muggles don’t go there,” she declared in triumph.

Dean had to give her that one so he nodded slowly but then brightened considerably when another thought occurred to him, “Of course if they weren’t muggles they wouldn’t exactly tell me.” He said.

“Which again, proves my point,” Meaghan said with a self-satisfied smirk. Dean stared at her with a small smile on his face.

“What?” she asked looking away from that look.

“Nothing. I’m…I missed this.” He said.

“This what?” Meaghan asked looking back at him.

“This. Intellectual argument over nothing,” he said.

“We only did that like…twice,” Meaghan protested though she’d missed it too.

Dean gave a one armed shrug. “So what? What is the minimum amount of time we can have intellectual arguments about nothing before they qualify to be missed?” he asked, no demanded.

“Maybe someone should do a paper on that,” Meaghan suggested not entirely seriously.

“Ha,” Dean said.

Meaghan looked at her watch. It was getting on for 2am in the morning. It was time to go home.

“We should go,” Dean said seeing her gesture.

“Yes but I don’t think you’re fit to drive,” Meaghan said.

“Oh I know. I called my driver an hour ago,” Dean said. “He’s waiting outside.”

“Oh”, Meaghan said. Now she felt bad because Dean’s driver had been hanging out outside for an hour waiting for them. She hastened to stand and he came to help her out of her seat. He looked quizzically at her as he saw her change of expression.

“What is it?’ he asked.

“I just…I feel bad keeping your driver waiting outside like that.”

Dean laughed, “It’s his job. Besides he’s perfectly warm and dry in the car.” Meaghan nodded her head but didn’t say anything. They went out and she looked around for the Lamborghini but all she could see was a black Bentley from which a man was emerging. He opened the back door for them and Meaghan realized that this was their ride.

“What about your car?” she asked Dean.

“Oh someone already drove it home,” Dean said.

Meaghan nodded and stepped into the car. The back was bigger than her room and she shifted about the soft leather cradling her like the gentlest luxurious hands in the world. Dean got in after and smiled to see her shifting about.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked.

“Immensely,” she replied and he laughed out loud.

“I’m glad,” he said sitting back in his seat. The car moved off with barely a sound.

“Does the driver know where to take me?” she asked Dean.

“I gave him directions,” he replied. He was staring fixedly at her, eyes darting occasionally to her bre*sts, sometimes lower. His hand was curled on the chair between them, not really doing anything but seeming full of intentions nevertheless. Meaghan tried to look out the window but she could still feel his eyes on her.

“What?” she said at last. Her voice was a bit hoarse.

“I can’t seem to stop thinking about kissing you,” he replied. Meaghan turned her head to look back at him.

“Have you tried?” she asked. His brow furrowed in confusion.

“Have I tried what?” he asked.

“To stop,” she said.

Dean smiled. “How does one do that?” he asked.