Neon Dreams: Loving Dallas Part 3

He looks different than when I saw him at his grandfather's funeral a couple of months ago. There's just enough dark scruff on his chin and jaw to make me wonder what it would feel like in the palms of my hands, in the valley between my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and Heaven help me, on the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. I would slap some sense into myself if I were alone right now.

Dallas stills completely, the questions clear in his gaze. He has no idea what the h.e.l.l I'm doing here. Tension ripples tight on both sides of his jaw. He probably thinks he's having some kind of nightmare.

"Drew here will get a few shots of both of you with the display." I smile at the freelance photographer that works for Midnight Bay from time to time. "Then he'll take the VIP shots separately. Just smile and act natural."

That's what I'll be trying to do.

Drew's been doing this a lot longer than I have. He already has his camera up and is snapping candids. I can only imagine what the shots of Dallas's face are going to look like.

You're prepared, Robyn. Dallas isn't. Brace yourself for him to possibly behave like an a.s.s in five . . . four . . . three. . .

"Robyn? What are you doing here?"

He doesn't look at all happy to see me. Not that I can blame him.

"Hi, Dallas. It's nice to see you, too. Now if you'll just step over to where Jase is standing we can get a few shots of both of you with the-"

"Is this some kind of joke?" he asks low so that only I can hear. I watch helplessly as he looks around as if he expects a film crew to pop out and tell him he's been Punk'd.

The entire group has turned its attention to us since he hasn't stepped over to where he should be standing. I take a deep breath and school my features so they remain professionally polite. "No joke. I am here working. Same as you." I force a tight smile while making deliberate eye contact. I telepathically send him a harsh "We have a job to do, suck it up, you big baby" message but he narrows his eyes and sends one right back. "We will discuss this later."

He has questions. I'll probably have to answer them. Honestly.

I am so screwed.

But for now, my career is more important than explaining myself. And our exchange is garnering entirely too much attention. So I usher the guys over to where I need them and Drew takes several pictures. Two different women and one man from local radio stations come up and interview each of them briefly before the fans get to come in. Dallas has a few young girls in his line but Jase's is never-ending.

Once the dozen or so young women are satisfied with Dallas's photo and autographs, he walks purposefully over to where I'm hanging back off to the side. His broad shoulders have remained stiff and slightly bowed since the moment he laid eyes on me.

Every inch of my body is alert and aware of just how close he's standing. I can smell the scent of his sharp, clean cologne and beneath that, masculine soap. There's always the hint of wood in the air around him, as if that guitar he's permanently attached to has somehow seeped into his skin.

My mouth waters at the intoxicating aroma that is Dallas so I swallow hard and keep my eyes trained on where Jase is standing smiling with fans, some of whom are crying and others practically groping him. What a strange life these guys lead. I couldn't imagine part of my job being letting people fall all over me.

"Well, I can honestly say you're the last person I expected to see here." His voice is low in my ear, causing a s.h.i.+ver to roll down my spine. "Want to tell me what the h.e.l.l is going on?"

I answer without looking at him. "I'm not stalking you, if that's what you're thinking. I told you. I'm working. I'm an a.s.sistant marketing coordinator and promotional relations specialist for Midnight Bay Bourbon. I was on this tour before you were."

"You just caught me off guard is all." He clears his throat harshly. His hand falls to a spot that used to be familiar to him-the small of my back-and I feel it like fireworks.

It isn't quite as startling as it was when Jase placed his unwelcome hand there. Dallas places his hand on my lower back like it belongs there, and my traitorous body welcomes his touch as if it agrees.

This is ridiculous. I'm twenty-three years old-a grown woman. And when a man who hasn't touched me in years places his hand on my lower back, my bones become blobs of jelly. d.a.m.n him. d.a.m.n bones.

I fist my fingers in an attempt to return my body to a solid ma.s.s. "So you're not gonna call my boss and request they remove me from this tour?"

"Jesus, Robyn. No." As I breathe a sigh of relief, he huffs out a breath that tickles my ear. "I know I wasn't exactly friendly at my grandfather's funeral. And seeing you here certainly is a surprise. But I won't interfere with your job. I'm not a complete a.s.shole. Even if I behave like one from time to time."

My shoulders relax and my body betrays me. It eases backward almost into his arms. His chest brushes my back and I flinch at the contact. This cannot happen.

"You can't help your true nature."

Dallas chuckles and it warms my blood to a dangerously high temperature. I have to get away from him. Now.

"Look, I know it's not ideal, having to see someone from your past intruding on your s.h.i.+ny new future."

Believe me, I almost add. I'm speaking from experience now because every ounce of confidence I'd mustered about my ability to do my job, to handle this tour, dissipated into thin air the moment I learned that Dallas Walker was the Dallas Lark who had taken my virginity in a pickup truck. Kind of hard to hold on to your sophisticated big-girl dignity around a guy who once helped you search for your underwear on a Chevy floorboard. Okay, more than once.

Dallas gives me a boyish half grin. "We're both adults here. We can handle this, right?"

I turn and let his ice-blue eyes burn into me. My head says, "Yeah, Robyn, we got this. No worries." My heart says, "Run. Quit your job and get as far away from him as you possibly can. Immediately."

I'm so busy listening to my heart and head battle it out that I miss what Dallas says.

"I'm sorry. What?"

I tilt my head and he smiles his s.e.xy half smile that I have no doubt has dropped panties across the nation in epidemic proportions. If it hasn't already, it will. And I'll get to watch from the sidelines.

Fantastic.

"I asked if you wanted to get dinner after the show. You know, food, conversation, maybe a discussion about how we go about dealing with this situation."

My brows lift because I'm confused. This man I've kept buried in the back of my past has risen and is standing in front of me asking me to dinner.

I check my internal decision-making faculties.

Head: Sure. Dinner sounds great. Making peace will be good for you. Yay, closure!

Heart: Run. I said run. Why aren't you running? For f.u.c.k's sakes, run already!

"As nice as that sounds, um, I think the show will probably run late so . . ."

"So I was thinking pancakes," he says, using his secret weapon against me. "There's a diner we pa.s.sed between here and the hotel."

I despise breakfast. In the mornings. Try to show me food before noon and I will gag. Literally. But breakfast for dinner, or even better, in the middle of the night? My one true weakness.

"Wow. Pulling out the big guns, huh? You must really feel bad."

His voice drops even lower, the cadence rolling through me like perfectly aged bourbon. "It's been a while since you've seen the big gun, darlin'. I'll only pull it out if you ask me to."

My eyes widen with shock and my mouth falls open. I feel my face heating so I angle it away from him. I turn just in time to see the angry woman from before striding over to us in heels that put my Ariat boots to shame.

"Dallas," she barks his name like a command. "You're needed onstage."

He nods at her but his eyes flicker back to mine. "Pancakes?" he mouths without sound.

I roll mine, because what the h.e.l.l? Our past is one big fat mess, and our future is even more complicated now that we'll be working together. But yeah, pancakes should definitely straighten all of that out.

I shake my head and mouth "no" back at him.

His lips press together and then his tongue snakes out and licks them. Ever felt your ovaries quiver? No? It's an alarming feeling.

"The diner is open all night. I'll be there. Waiting for you to change your mind."

With that, he lets his lady friend link her arm into his and they walk away leaving me standing there.

"Come on, Superstar," the woman says, making my stomach turn.

Superstar? Really? Ugh.

I'm trying really hard not to gape at his retreating figure. Returning my attention to where Jase is wrapping up his meet-and-greets, I give him the biggest smile I can manage. This is what I'm here for-not to rehash a high school romance gone to h.e.l.l.

Everything in my life is finally coming together. Dallas Lark isn't going to waltz in and tear it all apart.

Besides, he's apparently Dallas Walker now, and who the h.e.l.l that is I haven't a clue.

7 Dallas.

THE UNIVERSE MUST HATE ME. NO, IT MUST DOWNRIGHT f.u.c.kING despise me.

Of all the concerts in all the world, she has to be at mine. In f.u.c.king Denver of all places. Literally the last place in the universe I would expect to see her.

My mind can't stop replaying our exchange. Or how lovingly that dress clung to her mouthwatering curves. Seeing her conjured up memories I keep firmly locked in the box of Robyn that I never open. Ever.

Seeing her unexpectedly reminded me of the first time I ever laid eyes on her and practically transported me back in time.

"G.o.d, I love this song," she'd announced the night we met. "Come dance with me."

She'd grabbed my hand with surprising strength for a pet.i.te redhead who couldn't have weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. She had the kind of raspy voice that instantly made you think of dirty talk. Or maybe that was just me. I had just turned sixteen and was basically a hard-on with a pulse.

Gavin had raised his eyebrows and smirked as she dragged me closer to the truck blaring the music. She shook her s.e.xy a.s.s and sang at the top of her lungs, off key, but proudly off key. I couldn't take my eyes or my hands off her. For several years.

That d.a.m.n song was on some bootleg CD someone had from a random folk concert they'd gone to. Just to torture me, the same d.a.m.n song hit it big, spending a f.u.c.k-ton of weeks at number one on the mainstream Billboard charts around the time Robyn and I ended things. That was some weird poetic full-circle bulls.h.i.+t I still couldn't wrap my head around.

f.u.c.king Lumineers.

I can't let myself get distracted right now, can't afford a pointless trip down messed-up memory lane trying to figure out what happened with the one that got away. I need to focus.

The biggest break of my career is right around the corner-literally-and I have to leave everything I have out on the stage. I don't have time to get caught up in memories that don't matter. No matter how d.a.m.n beautiful they are.

I have no idea what's gotten into me. Except the overwhelming desire to be alone with her, to feed her pancakes and then . . . I really can't go there right now. And yet, here I am.

"So the redhead from Midnight Bay. You're acquainted with her?" Mandy's words snap my attention back to the present. Her question is innocent enough-but the images it conjures aren't.

I have been buried deep inside Robyn Breeland's body while she came around my c.o.c.k. I've felt the pulsating waves of ecstasy radiating from the writhing figure that fit perfectly in my arms. I was her first. And her second and third and we lost count after a year.

"Yeah. She's from Amarillo. You could say we're acquainted." To put it mildly.

"Well, relax on mooning around after the liquor girl when fans are around. We're promoting you as a single guy looking for the right girl. Fans don't want to see you tripping over yourself for some scrawny n.o.body."

There is venom in her voice. I frown at her as I tune my guitar. "She's not n.o.body. She's a girl I dated in high school. She's a friend." She's a C-cup, too, so I'd hardly call her scrawny, but whatever.

Mandy's eyes practically bug out of her head. "Are you kidding me?" Before I answer she mumbles something under her breath about "the f.u.c.king odds."

"No. I'm not. It's not that big of a deal. So she works for the tour sponsor." I shrug to convince her I believe this. Or maybe to convince myself. At this point I'm not sure.

"Well, that's just great, Dallas. Go enjoy your show." She throws a hand out toward the stage. "It'll probably be your last one on this tour."

Wait. What? I tell myself I must've misunderstood her.

"Why? Is there some rule about fraternization among sponsors and artists?"

She glares at me like I'm the biggest moron on the planet.

"No," she answers slowly. "There is an unspoken understanding about Jase Wade getting what he wants."

"You lost me."

Mandy nods. "That girl is only on this tour because Wade wants her to be. You think she's earned enough respect at her company to head up the marketing campaign for a tour this size?"

I open my mouth to defend Robyn because she really is driven and hardworking and a pretty incredible girl. But before I get a word out in her defense, Mandy continues.

"She's on this tour for one reason and one reason only." My manager goes back to texting after gesturing with manicured fingernails at Robyn blus.h.i.+ng beside the stage where Jase Wade is whispering something in her ear. "She's here because he requested her."

Motherf.u.c.ker.

Jase Wade either has bra.s.s b.a.l.l.s or is just a complete and total arrogant a.s.shole. Maybe both. I heard him telling half a dozen groupies he'd show them his tour bus after the show. I'm pretty sure that's not all he plans to show them. I can't help but wonder if he's in so tight with Midnight Bay that he could honestly just request Robyn to be sent to him like a high-priced escort.

"Lose the hat," Mandy commands, interrupting my internal temper tantrum.

"Excuse me?"

Mandy flicks her hand beside her forehead. "That hat. Lose it. You can't wear it for the show."

I stare at her for several seconds in an attempt to determine if she's serious. She is.

"And why's that?"

Huffing out an impatient breath as if I'm the one making ridiculous requests, she s.n.a.t.c.hes my hat off my head.

"What the-"

"Because. Jase Wade wears a cowboy hat. It's his thing. He throws it to a fan at the end of the show and it's a huge deal. Here. Just throw on one of the ball caps from the sponsor. They sent a box of them over."

She tosses my hat onto a stack of empty crates and retrieves a black Midnight Bay trucker hat with neon blue writing on it. I frown when she hands it to me.