The Hierarchy of Needs (The Portland Rebels #2) Read Free Page A

flames.
    Dean leaned over and murmured in Jamie’s ear, “Dork love.”
    His breath was hot, his mouth close. A shudder coursed down her spine.
    It’s just how he is.
    It doesn’t mean anything.
    Connor’s phone rang, breaking the spell. One look at his face and it was obvious who was calling.
    “Wifey’s on the line,” Dean teased.
    Connor gave him the finger and stepped away. “Hey baby,” he said into the phone.
    Jamie smiled. She’d been the one who set him up with her friend Gabriella back in June. A summer-time visitor who’d spent her vacations with her late grandmother, Gabriella was like the sister Jamie never had. She’d returned to M.I.T. to finish her last semester of grad school, but she and Connor were bridging the distance. He was no longer the angry, rebellious kid Jamie had grown up with, doing the nine-to-five at a local web development firm and smiling all the time now.
    It was a testament to Jamie’s matchmaking skills. Too bad she hadn’t been so successful with herself.
    Dean drained what was left in his bottle and reached for another, throwing an arm around her when he sat back. It wasn’t a big surprise—he got touchy-feely when he drank—but his sudden nearness made her shiver.
    “Cold?” he asked.
    “A little.”
    The lie didn’t bother her as much once he’d pulled her more tightly against him. Dean was thick, stocky. Six feet of muscle with a bit of cushion on top, like a giant teddy bear with the arms of a rugby player.
    She settled into his warmth, ignoring the quiet mayday that shouted from her mind. Getting comfortable wasn’t a good idea. She’d seen him casually wrap an arm around plenty of other girls in the exact same way, but whatever. It felt too good to be like this. Sand. Beer. Fire. Dean.
    Connor returned, his phone still pressed to his ear. “I’ll hop on Skype as soon as I get home. Ten minutes.” He turned away and uttered a soft “Love you.”
    Dean covered his mouth with a fist. The word whipped came out around a cough.
    Connor gave him the finger again, but wore a grin the size of China when he waved goodnight and trudged back to where his motorcycle was parked by the dunes. Dean nudged Jamie’s shoulder and jutted his chin toward Mikey and Krissy, who’d started whispering across from them.
    “You two need some privacy?” he asked.
    Krissy threw Jamie an uncertain glance. “We were going to go for a walk.”
    Jamie twisted her lips to the side in hesitation. She was supposed to be entertaining Krissy, but that didn’t mean babysitting her. The girl lived in Manhattan, after all. And Mikey was about as dangerous as a kitten.
    “Sure. You remember how to get back to the house?” When she nodded, Jamie waved her on. “Go ahead. I’ll meet you there later.”
    They unfolded themselves from the sand. Mikey crossed his arms over his stomach, then shoved his hands into his back pockets as they walked off toward the shoreline.
    Then it was just Jamie and Dean, alone.

Chapter Two
    “How’s work going?” she asked.
    Conversation. It was a good thing to focus on, and not how good he felt next to her. Or his arm draped loosely over her shoulder, and the tattoo covering every inch of it.
    Jamie never had a thing for ink, but she’d always liked Dean’s. His were more like art, different from the ugly, garish markings she’d seen on other guys. He’d added to the simple tribal band he’d had drawn around his bicep in high school. Now the length of his arm was adorned with a pattern of swirling lines and jagged edges, all enmeshed with a thin strand of barbed wire. It posed a sharp contrast to his fair skin, lit up like gold from the flames.
    He had more tattoos under his clothes—Jamie had seen snippets of them over the years, but never up close. She wanted to drag up the edges of his shirt and study them. To see if the artist she’d once known was still there, hiding on the canvas of his skin.
    “Work is the same as it always is. Trying to