Loving Dallas (17 page)

33 | Dallas

“
B
ABE,
I
’M NOT TRYING TO HATE
ON YOUR COOKING OR ANYTHING,
but I legit have no fucking clue what these are.”

Robyn’s smiling at my ignorance when she comes back into the room with a tray of what I hope is recognizable food.

The tour just wrapped up last week and I have a few days before I leave for Mexico. Robyn blew me off for a while, saying she didn’t want me to catch what she had. As much as I didn’t want to sound like a lovesick idiot, I was twenty-five kinds of relieved when she finally called and invited me over for dinner.

“They’re kale chips, silly. Try one.”

“They’re green and it looks like a plate full of the garnish I usually ignore when it’s sitting next to my steak.”

“How very observant of you. Just eat one. They taste like potato chips. I promise.”

Reluctantly, I lift one to my mouth. “Here goes.”

Robyn watches me, an amused grin playing at her lips.

“Stop smirking at me,” I say once I’ve swallowed. “They’re all right, I guess. Though you do know we have plenty of potatoes here in the great state of Texas, right?”

“Potatoes are full of starch, which turns to sugar.”

I pop another freaky green baked leaf into my mouth. Now that I know when Robyn got so nutritionally conscious, I try to just go with it.

“So what other surprises have you got over there?”

“None. I made the Greek chicken that you like and sautéed some vegetables. Ones you’ll recognize.” She slides the tray of food closer to me. “There’s flour tortillas if you want to make a fajita.”

“Sounds good to me.” I work on assembling my fajita while Robyn grabs me a beer. When she returns I see that she’s drinking plain water.

“No wine tonight? Or good old Midnight Bay bourbon?”

I expect her to toss a throw pillow at me but she just sits down. Across from me instead of next to me, which is just plain disappointing. I’m pretty sure I was invited here for a specific reason, more than just to try kale chips. I have a bad feeling it’s not a reason I’m going to like.

“Nope. Plain old water tonight. I’d never drink bourbon with dinner anyway. It’s more of a dessert drink.”

“Too bad. I’d hoped there’d be a bottle lying around somewhere. I wanted to celebrate.”

Robyn’s eyes widen. “Celebrate?”

“My big news. About the tour. I kind of hoped that’s why you invited me over.”

Part of me thinks she’s messing around and that any minute she’s going to bust out a bottle of champagne. Either she’s developed some hard-core acting skills or she truly has no clue what the hell I’m talking about.

“Your big news,” she says slowly. “News that I should’ve heard about by now.”

“The international leg of the tour.” I press my gaze deeper into hers, trying to figure out if she’s playing dumb or if she really has no idea I’m about to be out of the country for nearly three months.

“The tour,” she repeats, her intonation at the end making it sound like a question.

“The international dates have been confirmed. Mexico, Brazil, Canada, London, and maybe even Australia and Tokyo. We leave Monday morning. Did no one at work mention this to you? It’s huge for my career and for Midnight Bay. So basically it’s huge for both of us. I was kind of hoping you might be coming along.” I take a bite of my fajita, and the slightly spicy chicken with the hint of lemon is the best thing I’ve eaten in forever. My girl is a fantastic cook, even if she does substitute garnish for potato chips. “This chicken is amazing, by the way. It’s still my favorite.”

Robyn is staring dazedly at me so I set my dinner on my plate and push it to the side.

“Robyn?”

Suddenly she shakes her head as if shaking herself out of a daydream. “Yeah, um, I mean no. No, I’m not coming on the international leg of the tour. But wow. That’s . . . big news. Congratulations.”

“I can’t believe no one told you.” This doesn’t make sense. I heard Mandy and a few others talking about it. They mentioned Midnight Bay partnering with similar companies overseas. How do I know this and she doesn’t?

“I knew Jase’s tour contract was extended,” she says slowly. “I was out sick for a bit and must’ve missed the announcement that they’d added you on to that leg of the tour as well.”

“I would’ve asked how you’ve been feeling, but you look like you feel one hundred percent better.” Or she did at least, until I mentioned the international tour dates. Now she’s kind of pale and looking like she might be sick again. “You’ve been with the tour this long, I can’t imagine they’d want to send anyone else.”

I should just say it. I should just come right out and tell her the truth. I don’t want to go to all of these new places where I’m going to be a fish out of water without her. The memory of the night in New Orleans is burned into my memory—and not just because of the sex—though, good Lord, I think records were broken and laws of gravity were defied. But the city came alive for me because of her. I want her with me. Always.

The startling realization leaves me sitting there stunned.

“We have marketing associates who specialize in those areas—speak the languages and know the trends—much better than I ever could. I could ask, but they wouldn’t send me. If they did, I’d just be in the way.”

“You’re never in the way, babe.” I try to catch her gaze, but it’s focused on some point past my left shoulder. I glance in that direction but all I see is her spare bedroom door and it’s closed. “You all right?”

“Yeah, um, yes. I’m fine,” she answers too quickly. But then she returns her attention to her food and we eat in awkward silence. Or I do at least. She barely touches her chicken.

“You all done?” she asks once I’ve cleaned my plate. “I’m kind of beat. Being sick took a lot out of me.”

I nearly get whiplash from the sudden turn of events. “I thought you invited me over here to tell me something. If it wasn’t congratulations on the extended tour, what was it?”

Robyn pulls back and glances at the door. She’s either ready for me to vacate the premises or anticipating that I will bolt after she tells me whatever she needs to.

“Dallas,” she says softly. “I do need to tell you something and you might not like it.”

“Okay.” I stand in case it is something that makes me want to leave, but now I feel like I’m looming over her, intimidating her. Being sick did take a lot out of her. Looking closer, I can see that she’s lost at least five or ten pounds. Crouching into her personal space, I lower myself onto the wooden pallets she’s refurbished into a coffee table and place my hands on her hips, pulling her to me. “What is it? Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Her body is rigid in my arms, which is so completely unusual it causes me to take my hands off her.

“It’s this,” Robyn says, gesturing between us. “I can’t do this anymore. Not with you.”

Before my brain catches up, I have a physical reaction that I have very little control over. My heart pounds harder, my hands tighten on her waist before I release her. My mouth is dry and my brain empties of all coherent thoughts.

“I don’t know that I understand exactly.”

But I can see it in her eyes. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, she’s quitting on us. Quitting on me.

Again.

“Robyn?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, turning her head a second too late. I already saw the tears. “It’s not because I don’t care about you, Dallas. You know that I do. It’s just—”

“Is your mom all right? Don’t mess with me, Robyn. Don’t do this shit to us again. If she’s sick, you can tell me.”

She shakes her head quickly. “No. It’s not my mom. She’s fine. Promise.”

Well, that’s a relief. But there’s still something.

“Is there someone else?” Maybe I shouldn’t ask, because truth be told, I really don’t want to hear the fucking answer. But at the same time, I need to. She and Wade have been awful cozy at the past few shows and at the party in Nashville. If she’s decided to take the clean slate over the guy she has history with, I have some news for her about the cleanliness of that particular slate.

“No. Not exactly. There’s just—” Robyn stops midsentence, her eyes widening, and I’d give my favorite guitar to know what’s going on in her beautiful head. “You’re right. There is someone else. Someone whose needs I have to put before my own. I’m sorry.”

Fuck his fucking needs is what I want to say. But I don’t. Because what the hell can I say? Hey, Robyn, could you do me a favor and hold off on moving on until this tour is over so we can keep fucking? You’re my muse. How about you let me squeeze a few more songs out of this?

I stand up because her apartment suddenly feels tiny even though it isn’t. I need some distance. With her intoxicating floral and honey scent infiltrating my brain, I want to beg. My primal urges tell me to fight for her, to make promises I can’t keep. But I won’t do that to her.

“Dallas,” she begins but I can’t listen to her tell me about her new guy. How he’s great and he wants the same things she does and didn’t we say this was casual anyway?

“It’s fine. Thanks for letting me know. I was supposed to check in with Mandy about some possible shows I might be doing on my own in smaller venues after this tour ends and I completely forgot to touch base with her. I’ll call you later.”

Robyn follows me to her door. I want to scream at her, ask her why she looks so damn sad if this is what she wants? She found someone else and no longer has to settle for the pathetic parts of a relationship I’m able to give. She should be happy.

“Wait, please,” she says, her green eyes filling with tears. “At least let me—”

“There’s no need.” I give her the best smile I can manage. “Come on, babe. We both knew this was coming sooner or later. This was casual, right? Temporary. I’m glad you found someone willing to be a permanent part of your life. I’m sorry I couldn’t be.”

Her mouth drops open and pain ripples across her pretty face, a quick flash that hit just when I said the word
temporary
. It thunders into my chest at the same time, the jagged knife of the lie I tell in my tone. Like I don’t care. Like it’s not killing me where I stand to think of another man—any other man—touching her. Holding her. Calling her his.

“
No matter how many guitars you own, you’ll always have a favorite,
” my granddad used to say. “
It probably won’t be the most expensive one, or the one with the richest sound. Likely it’ll be the one with all the scratches and the nicks in the wood. It’ll be the one that’s been with you the longest, the one you know inside and out because you’ve put it through the most hell.
”

He was right, and not just about guitars.

I have to get out of here before I hit something and Robyn owns a lot of fancy breakable shit. Most of which I suspect she created herself.

Because she is amazing like that. And I am losing her. Again.

No. I’m letting her go. Because it’s the right thing to do and because I’m leaving the country. I’m not exactly ideal boyfriend material.

“Goodbye, Robyn,” I tell her, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek even though my body begs for more.

I don’t look into her eyes as I leave. I can’t. Seeing even the tiniest hint of regret in them would break me. I’d lift her sexy ass off the ground and carry her back to her bedroom like a caveman. What I’d do to her body would make it impossible for her to even think of another man touching it ever again.

My fists are clenched so hard I’m losing feeling in my hands so I decide to walk around for a while before going back to my cold, empty hotel room.

I want to fight.

I want to fuck.

And most of all, I want someone else to hurt as badly as I do.

My phone rings and it feels like the universe has sent me an answer.

“Hey, Mandy. I was just about to call you.”

M
andy’s room is only a few down from mine. I pace the hallway twice before knocking on her door.

This is stupid.

She’s my manager.

But she has made it abundantly clear what she wants so maybe I should give it to her. This is all I’m ever going to get, right? Meaningless fucks and empty orgasms. Plus, at least I know she won’t go to the media. My career is just as important to her as her own.

Once I’ve made my mind up and worked myself up good by imagining bending her tight, bare ass over her bed and fucking her hard and fast, I rap hard on her door.

“It’s me,” I say.

“Well, hello there, me,” a man’s voice says when the door opens. Jase Wade smirks at me. He’s naked except a pair of black boxer shorts.

The image of him with Robyn in Nashville, side by side, heads bent together in intimate conversation, fills my mind until I see bright blinding red.

He’s got to be the someone else. He’s the only other man I’ve ever seen her so much as speak to. I’ve seen him whispering things to her that made her blush. And here he is fucking my manager on the side.

I swing before deciding to, connecting with the left side of his face, and he staggers back before coming at me full force.

He can bring it. I’m ready for the impact. Hell, I’m craving it.

The crack of his fist into my jaw is welcome relief from the pain I’d felt when Robyn told me she had someone else. I shove hard in hopes of backing him up enough to give me room to swing, but the motherfucker wraps me in a bear hug and slams me against the wall.

He hits me again and I laugh when I taste the blood.

“The fuck is wrong with you, man?”

He’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have.

“Dallas? Jesus Christ!” Mandy calls out, stepping out of her room in a black silk negligée that barely covers anything. “What in the world are you doing?”

“You’re a fucking piece of shit,” I say to Jase Wade. “Do you just fuck everyone in your damn path?” I shake my head in disgust, which makes me feel slightly dizzy.

“I never knew you cared so much,” Mandy says, stepping around him.

I spit out a mouthful of blood, causing her to jump back. “I don’t.”

“You need to get out of here. There’s paparazzi up my ass everywhere I go,” Wade tells me. The concern in his voice is genuine. And confusing. “Go get cleaned up and meet me down in the bar in ten.”