Loving Dallas (19 page)

There are two men inside of me: one I know well and one I am still getting acquainted with.

One of them tells me that Wade’s life isn’t so bad. Besides, I won’t be stupid enough to get married and have to deal with that brand of hurt. But the other man in me, the one my dad raised to look out for his sister, the one my grandparents taught to believe in the integrity of music and of myself, he’s still stuck on Afton’s declaration. And not just where music is concerned.

Maybe I let Robyn go too easily. Maybe I should’ve fought for her, tried to make it work in a way that we both could handle and be happy with instead of just stepping aside to clear the way for the next guy. I walked away once before and I haven’t stopped regretting it.

Robyn made a comment once, about how it was hard to tell if we were getting a second chance or making the same mistake twice. I voted second chance. She looked dubious. I don’t know how I’m going to keep from making the same mistake twice, but somehow I have to try. One thing is for sure. I owe her an apology for not hearing her out. Not tonight, because I look and feel like shit, but I have to figure out a way to throw my hat in the ring before I leave the damn country.

34 | Robyn

W
HEN
THE KNOCK COMES, MY
HEART NEARLY LEAPS OUT OF MY
chest. Climbing out of the nest I’ve made myself on my couch, I try to work out in my head the words I’m going to say. They’re like a puzzle with a bunch of pieces that don’t fit. There has to be some way to tell him what I need to in a way that will soften the blow.

“
Remember how you mentioned being afraid a groupie would get knocked up on purpose just to trap you and tie herself to you for life? No need to worry about that anymore. I got it covered,
” just doesn’t come off as gently as I would like for it to.

But when I open my door, it isn’t Dallas standing there. It’s his manager.

“Miss Lantram,” I say in greeting. “What can I do for you?”

She gives me a smile that’s more of a smirk and breezes past me into my apartment. The scent of expensive perfume, the kind that smells amazing but if you inhale too hard you choke half to death, wafts in the air behind her. I feel like Ms. Potato Head in her presence. Me with my gray sweatpants from the Pink store and a stained T-shirt from Midnight Bay next to her in black leggings and a leather jacket. Her stilettos are sharp enough to use as a weapon. Judging from the hostility in her stare that might be her intention.

“You could, oh, I don’t know, do your job. That’d be a nice change.”

I narrow my eyes because there are
a lot
of things I’ve done wrong, but my job is not one of them. “I can assure you, I have done my job and will continue to do it to the best of my ability. Maybe if you’d care to elaborate on exactly which aspect of Midnight Bay’s involvement in the tour you’re displeased with then I could—”

“It’s not Midnight Bay’s
involvement
I take issue with. It’s yours. Specifically.”

Hence why she’s in your apartment, Breeland.

Watching her standing there glaring at me, I recall what Dixie said about her. How she’s the one who told Dallas’s sister to sit out the encore at the showcase that landed Dallas his career in a roundabout way. I can’t help but wonder how differently things might have turned out if she hadn’t made her particular suggestions.

“I see,” I say evenly. “Well, I knew Dallas long before you did. So while I can tell that fact is upsetting to you, unfortunately I have yet to discover the formula for time travel. Guess there’s not much we can do about it.”

“Do you know what he did tonight? Where he is right now?”

“I don’t know where he is now, but he came by earlier.”

“And then he came to my room.”

My stomach turns a full somersault at her announcement. “Congratulations. So you got what you wanted then.”
Now kindly get the fuck out.
I hold the door open for her but she ignores my nonverbal parting gesture.

“Not hardly. Jase did get a fist to the face, though. Which he returned. Any ideas as to why Dallas felt the need to attack the headliner of the tour he’s on?”

I’m growing exceptionally tired of her guessing games.

“Much like time travel, mind reading isn’t my forte. How about you just put your big-girl panties on and say whatever it is you came here to say?”

I lean against my door and wait for her to unleash her wrath on me.

“Fine.” She breathes hard through her nose and pins me in place with a glare. “Whatever is going on with you and Dallas and/or you and Jase Wade needs to stop. Effective immediately. This is Dallas’s big shot and the last thing he needs is some high school homecoming queen mucking up his life.”

I arch an eyebrow. Not bad on the guessing. I was homecoming queen, mostly because I campaigned my ass off.

“More importantly,” I begin, meeting the challenge in her eyes with a hard glint of my own, “you want me to get out of your way so you can get in Dallas’s pants the same way you snaked your way into Jase’s. Right?”

Her mouth gapes open and I take a step forward.

“See, I know about you. I know how you pushed Dixie Lark to not play at that showcase so you could get her out of the way and have Dallas all to yourself. I see you so clearly, it’s almost scary. You push other women away because you feel threatened by them. You’re depending on your looks and your sex appeal to make your career successful and so far that’s worked for you. The guys have the talent and you have a client list full of moneymaking, ass-shaking superstars you get to bed down whenever you feel like it. I have to say, kudos to you. As one of very few women in the bourbon business, I can understand using what you felt you had to in order to get where you wanted to be. But as a woman with some integrity and self-respect, I can’t say I would’ve gone the same route.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Mandy Lantram gives new meaning to the worth
seething.
If I keep talking, I can probably make steam shoot straight out of her ears.

“Don’t I? Then tell me, what was Jase Wade doing in your room tonight? And why was Dallas heading there?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Speaking of which, I’m sure your boss would
love
to know how his company is being represented right now. Or the trouble his associate is causing between two of the hottest acts in country music and the tour that is very likely putting his company on the map.”

She has me there. I don’t know who she reports to or if they’d even care if she sleeps with her clients. But Midnight Bay is a family company with family values, one of the most heavily emphasized ones being that you don’t put your own hedonistic desires above the company’s bottom line.

“So what are you saying? You want me to quit the tour? Isn’t it pretty much over anyway?”

“Not the international leg. Which is why I’m here. I want you to sit this one out, no matter what Dallas or your boss or anyone else says.”

“Done,” I say, because I already wasn’t planning to go.

“In addition to that,” she continues, “until this tour is completely over, I want you to leave Dallas alone. He risked his career tonight. One word and Jase can replace him as his opening act for the international leg of the tour in a heartbeat. Is that what you want? To keep him here and cost him his dream? Because I can assure you, if that happens, he will resent you for the rest of his life.”

I’d already thought of that so her threat is empty. I can only imagine how insanely freaked-out she’d be if she knew I was pregnant. But I’m ready for her to leave so I nod as if we’re in agreement. “Got it. If that’s all, have a good night, Miss Lantram.” I wave my arm toward my still-open door.

“Glad we could handle this like adults,” she says with a self-congratulatory smile that makes me want to slap her. “I’d say see you around, but I’m sincerely hoping I won’t.”

The feeling is completely mutual.

“Don’t let the door hit you where the good Lord split you, Lantram.” Those are my final muttered words before I slam the door behind her.

Once she’s gone and my apartment is free of her cloying scent and negative energy, I grab my cell phone off the charger on the kitchen counter and take it to the couch.

There’s a missed call and a text from Dallas.

Call me, please.

I stare at it for several minutes before making up my mind. Once I’ve located the number I was looking for, I press call and hold the phone to my ear.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey,” I say on a sigh, thankful for the familiar voice. “Can you meet me? Say lunch tomorrow?”

“T
hanks for coming, Dixie,” I say when I sit down across the table from the lunch date.

“I love this place,” she says, eyeing the Mediterranean restaurant appreciatively. “They have the best hummus dip.”

I glance at the menu when our waiter arrives. He’s cute. Tall, dark, and giving my Dixie some serious sex eyes.

“I’ll have the grilled chicken wrap and a side of pasta salad,” I say, practically nudging him with my menu. “And an ice water with lemon, please.”

“Same,” Dixie says, oblivious to the drool forming as he checks out the intricate tattoo that swirls around her delicate wrist. “Plus a side of hummus dip and pita chips, please.”

“Of course. I’ll get that right out to you. Nice ink,” he says, nodding at her before he leaves.

“Um, thanks.” Dixie meets my amused gaze with a perplexed one in her eyes.

“I bet if you leave your number our meal will be free,” I tell her. “Dude was smitten.”

She laughs like I’m joking. “Yeah, right.”

“Uh, hello. Pretty sure he almost asked for your hand in marriage instead of what you wanted to eat.”

She shakes her head, and then widens her eyes at me in a shut-up signal when he returns with our waters. He winks when he sets hers down and I have to stifle a giggle.

Once he’s gone, I burst out laughing at her stiff posture.

“For goodness sakes, Lark. Do you imitate a corpse every time a guy flirts with you?”

She shrugs and sips her water. “He’s not my type.”

I glance over my shoulder and give him another once-over as he waits on a table a few rows over. The ladies at that table are clearly appreciating his obvious assets more than my lunch date is. “Ah, yes. Tall, broad-shouldered, square jaw, crystal-clear smoke-colored eyes and a chin dimple. It’s like
GQ
custom ordered him. I can see how you’d struggle to find him attractive.”

Dixie’s cheeks redden and I feel bad about teasing her.

“I didn’t say I didn’t find him attractive. He just isn’t my type, that’s all.”

I snort out loud because he’s exactly her type—he’s everyone with ovaries’ type for that matter—minus the fact that he isn’t Gavin Garrison.

“Speaking of Gavin,” I begin, but Dixie cuts me off.

“We weren’t. Speaking of him, I mean.”

“Well, we should be. I’ve been a crappy friend lately due to my job and everything with Dallas. So give me the scoop. What the heck happened?”

“Did you invite me to lunch just to gossip?”

I nod. “Mostly. I have some news, too, but once I tell you mine everything else will pale in comparison, so let’s talk about you first.”

Dixie makes a face that can only be described as a grimace. Her features are so pretty, though, she’s still attractive even with her face all twisted up.

“Jesus. That bad? What did he do? Rob a bank? Kick a puppy? Kill some nuns?”

“He didn’t call me.”

Okay, that was anticlimactic.

“He didn’t call you? Like after sex you mean?”

She sighs and leans forward, her bracelets jangling against the table. Even her jewelry is musical. “No. I mean yeah. Sort of. He just didn’t contact me. Like at all.”

I nod encouragingly, hoping she’ll explain further.

“His last words to me were ‘Wait for me.’ ” She huffs out a breath as if becoming increasingly angry. “Wait for me, he said. So I did. For the most part. I mean, I drove my grandparents’ RV around the country for a few weeks, but it wasn’t like I was picking up guys or anything. Dallas didn’t tell me that Gavin didn’t go on the unsigned artists tour, and when I called him out on it, he seemed to be under the impression that Gavin would’ve already told me himself.”

“But he hadn’t?”

“Nope. Not a word.”

Gavin always kept to himself, but in my years of dating his best friend and handling the social media outreach for Leaving Amarillo, I did learn that his mom is a drug-addicted townie who had no business being a mother, from what I saw and what Dallas told me over the years.

“And you still haven’t heard from him?” Dixie’s face pales and I feel bad for pressing. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t pry. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t—”

“Oh, I heard from him eventually. Not because he called or even texted to say he was alive. I ran into him by accident, actually. And he wasn’t happy to see me.
At all.
”

Tiny fissures form in my heart as she continues. I knew the first time Dallas introduced me to his sister and his best friend that there was something between them. It was obvious, even if Dallas chose to remain oblivious; anyone with eyes could see how much they cared about one another. Sparks practically flew in the air between them every time their eyes met.

“Maybe you just caught him by surprise or something,” I offer, knowing my words probably don’t help.

“I caught him by surprise all right. He was with someone.”

The fissures widen into full-blown cracks.

“Oh no. I’m so sorry, hon. Are you sure? Maybe it was something else?”

Not that I have any alternate suggestions.

“I’m sure.”

I watch as she takes a deep breath before gathering the strength to continue.

“He works at the Tavern now. So he was literally fifteen minutes down the road and he couldn’t even pick up the phone or stop by. I’ve been giving piano and violin lessons to some local kids whose parents can’t really afford much. One of the moms was turning twenty-one; yes, she’s twenty-one with a five-year-old, don’t judge.”

I put my hand up because I am the last person to be judging anyone right now. “No judging. Got it.”

“And a group of them convinced me to go out for a night on the town. We got there and they all shoved me toward the piano. I figured what the hell, you know?”

God. I can see it. I can totally see Dixie playing the piano in this smoky bar and Gavin being drawn to the music and seeing her, and my stupid pregnant hormones are making this too much to handle. Dixie blurs before me as she continues.

“So I’m playing and I feel someone watching me and there he is.”

A startled cry escapes me even though I saw it coming.

Dixie shrugs. “And he was with this . . .
woman.
She was blond and beautiful in a sophisticated street-savvy sort of way. And older than me. Probably late twenties or early thirties. They were talking all night, every time he took a break from bartending, and they were like forehead to forehead. She kept touching him and it was just . . .” Dixie shudders and so do I.

“He didn’t even speak to you?” Now my hormones are vacating oversentimental land and heading toward blind rageville.

“Oh he did. He basically told me to go back to Houston because I’d be better off.”