Neon Dreams: Loving Dallas Part 13

When the b.u.mp-and-grind makes me blush, I finally have to look away.

"You still mad at me?"

The voice is deep, male, and the one that rolls over me like melted caramel.

"No," I tell Dallas, because I'm not. I'm embarra.s.sed that I was so distracted by Katie and Drew that I didn't even notice him sitting there.

"Promise?"

"Do I lie?"

He grins and leans closer, close enough that I can smell that woodsy, now liquor-infused scent.

"You try to. But your face gives you away."

I arch an eyebrow in his direction, having lost interest in my fruity drink. Should have stuck with bourbon. "Oh yeah? What am I thinking now?"

"You're thinking that watching your friends get it on over there on the dance floor got you pretty hot and you're extremely glad that I'm here to handle that five-alarm situation for you."

He winks and I let out a small awkward laugh. Maybe all of my thoughts are being flashed in neon lights above my head. As close as he is to the truth, I am not going to be one of those people who keep repeating the same mistakes.

I'm not, I'm not, I'm not.

"Great show tonight," I say, my pathetic attempt at changing the subject.

"Yeah? Did you catch the new song?"

I focus on the bottles lined up behind the bar. G.o.d how I wish someone would turn them all the right way. "I might've heard a lyric or two."

"What'd you think?"

"It was all right."

I turn around in my seat, so that I can focus on the dance floor. I'm out of things to distract me behind the bar. Drew has his hands on Katie's hips now, holding her body from behind, and the way they're moving together makes me question if they've already gotten it on. Their bodies seem awfully familiar with one another's. I make a mental note to ask her.

"Just all right?" Dallas scoffs, taking mock offense at my lack of enthusiasm.

The truth is it's an amazing song, one girls all over the country will be listening to wis.h.i.+ng their boyfriends or husbands would sing to them. It's about being her rock, her solid pillar of strength or her punching bag, whatever she needs whenever she needs. And I've had my hands all over his body so I know the t.i.tle is true. Dallas Lark is the walking, talking, living, breathing example of tough all over.

"Eh," I say with a shrug.

"You're a terrible liar, sweetheart," Dallas says in my ear, bringing on those d.a.m.n s.e.xy s.h.i.+vers he induces. "You want to get out of here? Or you want to sit on this bar stool and lie to me some more? I'm good with whichever, so long as you're not still mad at me."

"So you'd be just as happy to sit here with me as you would if I let you take me back to your room?"

Who's the bad liar now, Lark?

He takes a long drink of his draft beer and nods. "Yep. Just so long as you're talking to me."

I stare at him, losing myself momentarily in his eyes. The way they're silver on the edges, almost wolflike, and cerulean in the center with a pale sky blue threaded through the irises.

"I almost believe you."

He chuckles, snapping me out of my l.u.s.t-filled fog. "I didn't say I didn't have a preference. But I am truly happy with either."

"Gee, thanks." I nudge him and he uses the contact to deepen the moment, catching my gaze before I can look away.

"I owe you an apology, Robyn. About the way I acted. Not just with Jase, but ever since that summer, when you ended things between us. I was surprised and hurt. I took what I had for granted. Afterward, when you tried to make nice and I acted like an a.s.shole, that was my own stupid bulls.h.i.+t getting in the way and I'm sorry. And I'm sorry I let my macho male c.r.a.p interfere with your job. I'm going to do my best to make sure that doesn't happen again."

I am officially stunned. Dallas Lark doesn't do humility or apologies. Maybe Dallas Walker does. h.e.l.l, now I'm confused.

"Well, um, thank you. Apologies accepted." I smile and he grins back in a way that scrambles my brain.

"Anyway, I think you were right," he tells me. "About boundaries."

No I wasn't. Screw boundaries, I want to say. I sip my fruity waste of a drink and nearly choke. "You do?"

"Yep." His voice is low and husky, raking over my skin as if I'm sitting here naked. "I think our problem is that we haven't communicated what we each want. This isn't a situation where we can afford to get caught up and confused about what's going on. The first boundary should be we only have s.e.x when you want to. I won't initiate our sleepovers anymore. I'll wait for you to tell me what you want."

I huff out a breath. "Hope you enjoy waiting."

One corner of his mouth lifts. "Sometimes I do. When the reward is worth it."

It's like he speaks the language of my lady parts. Stupid traitorous lady parts.

"Any other boundaries I should know about?"

"I won't interfere with your job anymore, swear it. But that goes both ways. We both have to accept that sometimes our jobs might mean interacting with people that make us uncomfortable or even d.a.m.n near blind with jealousy. But at the end of the day, we both know whose bed we're going to."

"And you think I'm going to yours?" I should not encourage this behavior. I really shouldn't. But his confidence has always been the s.e.xiest thing about him. Besides his eyes. And his hands. And his a.s.s in those d.a.m.n jeans.

"A man can hope," he says softly. "You want to dance, pretty girl?"

He's followed my line of sight back to Drew and Katie.

"I'm fine, thanks."

"The offer is there," he tells me with a noncommittal lift of his shoulder. "Just sayin'."

I have a feeling the "offer" is about a lot more than dancing. I decide to go with that feeling. "If we were going to, um, dance, we'd need more than boundaries. We'd need some hard rules. Ones I'm not sure you can follow."

Dallas grins, clearly feeling victorious since I'm playing along. "Lay 'em on me, darlin'."

"You suck at sticking to boundaries, Dallas. And I'm serious, this gets out or you pull any more of that c.r.a.p on me about Jase, I could lose my job. It could cost us both our place on this tour and I really, really would not be happy about that."

"Me, either," he agrees. "So we agree to be discreet. Keep it casual. And to give each other s.p.a.ce if needed regarding work obligations."

"Except when it comes to your manager," I amend. "I kind of want to cut her every time she comes near you."

Dallas chuckles and the sound rolls through me, ma.s.saging my tense muscles from the inside out. "Stake your claim then, baby. Whatever you need to do."

I glare at him and he throws his hands up.

"Or don't. Totally up to you."

"Dallas . . ." It sounds so simple, but we both know it won't be. I am jealous of Katie and Drew for far more than their s.e.xual chemistry. They can date. They can hook up. They can do whatever they want. Dallas and I have all this . . . messy history in the way.

"Don't back out on me now, sweetheart. The way I see it, this is a win-win. You don't have time to meet new guys right now, and I don't need some groupie throwing herself at me so I can screw up and get her pregnant in a moment of weakness. You think some of those women don't pull that s.h.i.+t on purpose so they can trap guys in my situation in hopes of tying themselves to the money and the fame? I wish that wasn't true but that's my reality. Most of my fans are amazing and loyal and precious to me. But some . . . well, you've met my manager. So tell me what to do to make you see that I mean what I say. I know I've been an a.s.s and I am truly sorry. But we're not kids anymore. We can do this. We should do this. I can behave like an adult. I can."

"Prove it," I tell him, not sure if that's even possible.

"You got it." He dips his head and stands. I'm expecting him to reach for my hand, either to lead me to the dance floor or out the door, but he doesn't. Instead he marches his crazy self directly up to the stage and says something to the band that's playing. The music stops and everyone turns their attention to him.

"Evenin' y'all," he says into the mic as he straps on the guy's guitar. "My name's Dallas Lark, and I have to prove something to my girl tonight. So bear with me, folks."

Katie makes a face at me and I just shake my head. With Dallas, you just never know what to expect. I gave up trying to figure him out long ago. It's more fun to be surprised anyway.

When he plays the opening chords and the band chimes in, I laugh out loud.

Dallas strums and sings, entertaining the crowd like the professional that he is and the entire bar is mesmerized.

His rendition of "I Walk the Line" is a hit and I wonder how many people know that the man on the small stage before them is the same one who played to a sold-out amphitheater a few hours ago.

When he starts toward me with his guitar, I close my eyes.

Fight or flight, Robyn.

This is it. Dallas is on one side of the chasm that's been growing between us for years and I'm on the other. When he reaches me, I know I have to make a choice. Now. Either I can play it safe and walk away, again, or I can jump down a gaping black hole with him.

I chew my lip as he serenades me in a crowded bar, am contemplating, weighing my options, and pitting the pros against the cons. They stack up pretty evenly. This tour will end and I'll either have some scandalous memories of being young and reckless that will leave another scar on my already wounded heart or a list of regrets that come from playing it safe.

I glance around and see the carefree smiles of the bar's unsuspecting patrons. To them I just look like a lucky girl a s.e.xy singer is flirting with. And d.a.m.n it, I want to be that girl-the one who gets to have an impulsive fling, even though I know it can't last and I'll eventually have to go back to being me.

G.o.d help this man. G.o.d help me.

I let my protective s.h.i.+eld fall to the ground and shatter at my feet as I meet Dallas's intense stare and give him an almost imperceptible nod. He smiles and the relief in his eyes. .h.i.ts me in all the weak places I've left exposed.

Yes, I think so loudly it's a wonder he doesn't hear my thoughts over the music. I'm going to risk a world of hurt for experiences that might become painful memories. Because I'm pretty sure it will be worth the pain.

I add one more thought in case he really can read them. Be careful with me, please.

For better or worse, I am his, and he is mine-even if only for a little while longer.

21 Robyn.

"WHERE IN THE WORLD ARE WE GOING?"

Dallas showed up at my hotel room right at lunchtime and said we were going out to dinner and that I didn't need to bring anything except myself. We never made any official plans for today so I'm a little surprised to see him. He apparently wasn't kidding about waiting for me to initiate the s.e.x in our new arrangement because he walked me to my room last night and left me without so much as a good-night kiss.

We're supposed to be heading to New Orleans tomorrow morning. I'd spent the afternoon getting some work done in my room so I'd have time for sightseeing in New Orleans.

"You'll see," he says, tugging me by the hand to the hotel lobby. He's still holding my hand when we exit the hotel. He waves the driver off and holds my door open.

Tossing him a questioning glance of apprehension over my shoulder, I slide into the backseat.

"Do I at least get a hint?" The car pulls into traffic once Dallas is all the way inside.

He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Remember that trip the honor society took in high school? The one that included Italy and Spain that you didn't get to go on?"

I nod. I do remember. I didn't get to go because my dad had died.

"You said you were really just upset because you were excited about the food."

I smile. "This is true. But what does this have to do with where we're going?" Surely he realizes we don't have time to hit Italy or Spain before tomorrow morning.

"We're going to get the food."

Blue Restaurant and Bar is exactly what Dallas promised.

The menu is divided into locales and there are even more countries on the menu than there were on the National Honor Society trip. I don't even know how he remembered that. We order dishes from all around the world. Some of them are amazing and some are, well, kind of gross. But we try it all and we laugh a lot. It's the best date I've had in . . . forever. And I'm not even sure it's a date.

I stare at the table full of half-eaten food. "I can't eat any more. I'm so full it hurts. The dessert menu is tempting, but I can barely breathe." Dishes with names I can hardly p.r.o.nounce fill the table. Foie gras, a fish that's pan seared, and soup referred to as bisque. It was amazing.

"That's okay. We're going to do a little walking, then I have other plans for dessert," Dallas informs me.

"Oh do you?" I sincerely hope his dessert plans include s.e.x, though I might need a nap first after all the rich food.

He pays the tab, then stands to help me up from the table. "I do."

"Since when did you become such a planner?"

He makes a low satisfied noise in my ear. "Since now."

After a gallery crawl in the North Davidson arts district, I am delighted when we stop in front of a French bakery I've wanted to visit since I saw it on Food Network.

It's gotten late and I didn't expect much of anything to still be open. But Amelie's is open twenty-four hours a day.

"I've always wanted to come here," I tell Dallas, squeezing his arm as we step inside. The menu is a giant chalkboard and the vibe is trendy and upbeat despite the late hour. "How did you know?"

"Seemed like a Robyn-type place," he tells me with a self-congratulatory grin. "So I did good?"

I feel like a little kid at Christmas. "So good," I gush, barely managing to tear my eyes from the display cases full of sugary confections.

Once we've ordered, we both descend on our coffees and sweets. Mostly I do a lot of inappropriate moaning, stopping just short of having a When Harry Met Sally moment.