The Coolest Chick

"Remind me again why you think this constitutes as a first date?"

Dean smirked at the blonde haired woman sitting across from him in the small, crowded, smoky bar and took off his jacket. "What's wrong with it? This place has style." He gave the room a nodding perusal and looked at her.

Rose pointed to the front door and her blue eyes flashed with aggravated amusement. "There's a twelve point buck hanging by door for a coat rack. Style isn't the word I'd use." She smoothed down her long black dress and tucked a tuft of wayward hair behind her ear. This definitely wasn't the way she'd intended spending an evening alone with Dean Winchester. She fought back a tug of disappointment and coughed a little at the pervasive cigarette smoke in the room.

"See, the fact you even knowthat makes you the coolest chick I've ever met," Dean replied, his eyes tracking her small movements. He tossed his leather coat behind him, a sign for her that he didn't intend to get up and leave. "What's your point?"

"When was the last time you took a real girl on a real date, Dean?" she asked pointedly and cocked an eyebrow.

He was silent for a moment. "Does my high school prom date count?"

"You went to a prom?" Rose snorted and smiled briefly at the bouncy barmaid who brought their beers and food. She watched the leggy blonde make eyes at Dean and rolled her eyes inwardly.

"No. Only got as far as the parking lot." Dean stared at Rose and purposefully didn't notice the Come hitherlook on the waitress's face.

Rose grimaced and sat back in the uncomfortable wooden chair, fingers swirling around the glassrim of beer she'd ordered. "Thanks for that mental picture." She watched his eyes darken with irritation and bit back the urge to smile.

"What's a real date anyway, with all the fake talk and crap?" he protested and slouched in his seat. "Most women want just want a spin in the Impala."

Ugh. Outlook not good. "Please tell me you detail that car regularly," Rose said and shot up straight in her chair.

"That car?"Dean asked, a little incredulous but nonplussed by his double entrendre. Her fluster was enticing. "Sister, she's more than a car. She's my pride and joy!"

"And you were how old when Momma gave birth?"

He tossed his hands up in the air and let out a breath. "God, why are you so literal?"

"Because I like the scowl on your face when you're arguing." Rose didn't know what surprised her more: her casual yet assertive come-on or Dean's flabbergasted reaction. When he didn't say anything, she realized she must have gained brownie points with him, so she shrugged nonchalantly and grinned. "It's sexy. You should scowl more often."

Dean reached across the table and touched her hand, his seductive smirk growing larger by the second. "Then find something else to make me scowl so I can make you scream later."

"My, aren't we full of ourselves?" Rose blushed a little at his assumption, but her breath caught in her throat. She fought the urge to thread her fingers through his and almost gave in. Most guys didn't pay this kind of attention to her, and she wondered how sincere Dean was in his machinations. "In the Impala?" she breathed and pulled her hand away abruptly.

"Maybe." Dean looked confused and moved to his burger.

"In the back seat?"

He waited to speak until he swallowed his food. "Since the front seat's totally off limits... maybe."

"Why?" Rose cocked her head to one side and watched him take another bite of his food. When her question sank in, he tossed the burger down impatiently.

"Oh God, me and Sam sit up there!" He made a disgusted face and speared a French fry with his knife.

"So it's the ew factor." At Dean's perplexed frown, she giggled. "You're scowling again."

Maybe that was because he couldn't pin her down. Dean was awash with confusion over what she'd say next. Maybe it was a deliberate thing on her part, he didn't know. "Who wouldn't? You're putting the wrong damn image in my head," he growled.

"I bet you've never had sex in that car before." Rose picked up a fry, looked at it, and ate it before grabbing her beer.

Dean wasn't about to admit that he hadn't, but she could be left in the dark on that account. One thing he and Sam had agreed on a long time ago: no sex in the Impala. "Wrong image, remember? Years of therapy ringing a bell here?"

"So what should you be thinking?" she challenged and crossed her arms in front of her. Dean immediately zeroed in on her chest and swallowed hard, his mind wandering to places it shouldn't at this point in time.

"You, me, a bottle of tequila maybe --" It's a date, Dean, remember? He lifted his head and looked into her amused blue eyes.

"Whiskey."

"What?"

"I'm a whiskey girl. Straight up, on the rocks. Can't stand the taste of tequila." She shuddered in revulsion and looked down at her plate of food. She picked up the burger and took a small bite.

"Funny, I pictured you as the margarita girl type."

Rose nearly choked on the cold meat and bread. "You've categorized women into booze groups?"

"Yeah, I have." Dean shrugged and looked back at a couple slender brunettes hanging by the bar, obviously checking him out, evidenced by the seductive grins on their faces. "Want me to show you what I'm talking about?"

Rose rolled her eyes. "Not really, no. Not if it means you leaving with another girl." Date or no date, she wanted to see if Dean would stick around long enough to end it. However it was going to end.

He waggled his eyebrows at her response. "So you like whiskey, huh? I knew you were my kind of girl."

"Never said I'd be your girl." Even if she wanted to be, Rose wasn't sure that was a good idea. Hearts got broken that way.

Dean gave her a look and finished off his burger quickly. She was a little awed at how much he apparently loved to eat: he had sucked up the meal like a Hoover vacuum cleaner. She briefly wondered if she'd had a brother if he would've eaten like that. Rose mentally winced and shoved the thought back into her mind.

He saw the pained expression cross her face. "But you're having drinks and dinner with me," he pointed out when he was finished and nearly licked his fingers clean. He chose the napkin instead.

Rose was impressed by his show. "In a bar."

That argument again. He frowned, a little dismayed. "Yeah. So?"

"I've eaten cow tongue with more flavor than this burger."

Dean deliberately scowled this time. "Okay, not touching that with a ten foot pole." He watched the color on Rose's face rise to a beautiful blush and smirked. It was true: she liked his scowl. It'd certainly be a first for him.

"Point is, Dean, I bet you were lookin' to score tonight. Isn't that why people go to bars?" It was Rose's turn to look dismayed. She glanced down at her clothing and realized she wasn't dressed for a bar. She hadn't thought to ask where he was going to take her when he's asked her out. A long black, slim fitting dress seemed like a good idea at the time. She wished she could read minds so she could've dressed the part of a floozy. Might have made his night.

"No, there's also betting, drinking, and hustling pool." All of which he was very good at, he thought. And usually by now, a girl would be buying his act. So why wasn't she?

"Don't forget the 'all you can ogle' meat market," Rose pointed out and shot an absurdly pleasant smile at the two scantily clad women still watching Dean like a hawk stalking prey. She had no doubt that if she hadn't been around, he'd have hooked up with both of them by now. Figures, she thought. Should have known this kind of guy was only trouble.

"Whatever. Not a beautiful girl here except you." Dean crossed his arms on the table and looked at her, hazel eyes roaming over her face and neck like she was a mystery to be solved. He realized that wasn't just a pick-up line: he'd meant it. Clearly, though, she didn't, because the sarcastic smirk on her lips told all.

"Aww," she crooned, "you're just saying that because I dressed for the occasion." She leaned in to give him a look at the slightly revealing neckline of her dress.

Dean's eyes dropped to their intended target and practically bulged. "God, do I ever," he muttered incoherently and nearly salivated on his empty plate.

"What was that?" she asked innocently, a little more than dismayed over Dean's inability to see her as anything other than said piece of market woman. She might as well be standing next to the two brunettes for all the genuine attention he seemed to be giving her.

"Uh, nothing, Rose," he muttered and glanced down at his fingers. "You're dressed just fine for this place." He secretly admitted he should have taken her someplace nicer, since she obviously deserved better. That thought made him wonder why she wanted to go out with him in the first place.

"I dressed for the occasion. A real date, remember?" Rose's lips softened to a real smile designed to dazzle.

He picked up his beer and took a long dreg, though he watched her out of the corner of his eye. "But I thought we were going out because you wanted to pump me for information?" he said after a moment.

"What else would I want to pump you for?" She blushed suddenly as her heroine's favorite words slipped quietly out of her mouth. And like Buffy, she really couldn't believe she had just said that. She glanced down into her lap for a moment, her shyness setting in.

Dean smirked and sat back in his seat again, but this time he studied her for a moment. The lovely blush across her cheeks, the tilt of her neck as she looked down, the way loose strands of hair had fallen from that thing holding her hair back. Rose Sullivan was a beautiful woman, and he wondered if she really knew that. "What was that?"

"Nevermind," she replied and looked at him directly, all traces of embarrassment gone. "We're here, the food's cold, and I'm up for a game of Twenty Questions."

Dean laughed and moved his empty food plate aside so he could lean on it. "Sure, Rose. Pump away." To his everlasting amazement, she blushed again, her face so red he was almost positive she felt it all the way to her toes. He made a mental note to keep her number and call her again. She was a challenge he was more than ready to meet head-on.