Loving Dallas (8 page)

14 | Robyn

“
I
’M STILL
ME,” HE’D SAID BEFOR
E FALLING ASLEEP.

I’d been about to snuggle down into that blissful murkiness of sleepy time when he’d said it.

No matter how much he’d changed, Dallas was still Dallas. And maybe I had a college degree and a big-girl job, but I was still the same girl he couldn’t forgive. I’d been an idiot, pushed him away so that he wouldn’t let my mom’s illness stop him from chasing his dreams. By the time I realized how unfair it was and how much I needed him, the damage was done and Dallas Lark had moved on.

I was the one who’d needed space, but Dallas ended up being the one to walk away for good.

Forget being on the same page; Dallas and I had been reading entirely different books when it came to our relationship. In mine, there was a happily ever after that involved making a life together. He wasn’t just in my story—he was my story. In his I was merely a chapter.

I’m still me.

I wanted to smack myself. Hard. Of course he was still him. And he’d still walk away, dragging my battered heart behind him while I watched him leave. I’d hurt him, deeply. And I’d live with that regret for the rest of my life. He’d still be the guy who chose music over me¸ over us. He had even more reason to now that he was on this tour.

I waited there in his arms, forcing my steel walls back up between us while he drifted into unconsciousness. Once his breathing was deep and the light rumble of a snore settled into a steady rhythm, I slipped out of his bed and gathered my things as quietly as I could. Dressing quickly, I watched him, memorizing that peaceful look on his handsome face and promising myself this was a one-time thing. I wasn’t going to obsess over it. It was a life experience, one I didn’t regret but knew I’d be crazy to repeat.

I chanced one last look as I left, before I shut the door completely. The light from the hotel hallway sliced across him and he looked so . . . alone.

I closed the door and told myself this was for the best. What would having breakfast together or sharing a cab to the airport change? Nothing, that’s what.

This time, I’d been the one to leave. For the sake of my sanity and my heart, I could never fall into bed with Dallas Lark again. Here I’d been hoping that one day we could be friends, and our first actual attempt turns into . . . I don’t even know what. I’ve never been a fuck-buddy type of girl. Not that I don’t see the appeal to an exclusively physical mutually beneficial relationship, because I do. But it always seemed like a silly distraction, a waste of time that could be better spent finding something stable long term. But that, last night . . . I may not know exactly what it was, but it sure as hell wasn’t a waste of time.

I couldn’t stop thinking of him, of the way he looked at me, the smell of him, the way his calloused fingers felt on my skin, that stubble on his jaw, and dear Lord in Heaven, those sexy as sin whispered confessions. But now I was in Los Angeles getting ready for the National Business Bureau’s award ceremony, where I was accepting the award for Most Successful Family Run Business for Midnight Bay and I needed to focus. I called Katie to run through the reminders for the Kickin’ Up Crazy show she was handling in Kansas City and she wasn’t going to just let it go. Even though I was desperately trying to.

“Come on, Robyn. You never came back to the room last night. You expect me to believe the two of you spent the night reminiscing about the good old days? Have a sing-along, did you?”

I laugh at Katie’s pouting. I did get to hear him sing a little and her words conjure the erotic memory but I shake it off the best that I can. “No sing-alongs.”

I’m not like her. I didn’t have a lot of female friends growing up. I had Dixie, but she definitely didn’t want to hear about my sexual exploits with her brother. I had sorority sisters in college but mostly I kept my private business to myself.

“You’re really not going to give me any details?” Katie whines as I step into my four-inch heels.

I can already tell how badly my feet are going to hurt later. Between these shoes and my night with Dallas, I’m starting to wonder if maybe I’m a masochist.

“I’m going to give you lots of details. That’s why I called.”

She squeals and I grin wickedly in the mirror above the bathroom sink.

“First, make sure the VIP sections are spaced far enough apart for separate lines. Jase’s line will be crazy long so make sure it doesn’t interfere with any of the entrances or exits or crowd flow into the amphitheater. Second, make sure you upload the pictures Drew takes to the cloud so that I can access them and get them to the social media guys. Third—”

“You are no fun,” Katie interrupts flatly.

“I was plenty of fun last night. Today is about business.”

“I don’t think I like you anymore.” There’s a smile in her voice so I’m not too worried.

“Yeah, yeah. You love me. Anyway, I need to go but I’ll text you the rest, okay?”

“Got it.” Katie’s quiet for a moment before she says, “Hey, Robyn?”

“Yeah?” I give my hair one last tousle with my free hand.

“Um, it really is none of my business. And I am totally not judging you because I don’t think a girl in the world would’ve been able to turn that guy down after the show he put on last night, but . . .”

I freeze where I’m standing, hand still in my hair, while I wait for her to finish.

“It’s just . . . it’s
him.
So . . .”

I sigh and let my hand fall. “Just say it, Katie-O. Whatever it is, just say it.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing. And that you don’t get hurt like before.”

Staring at my too-wide eyes in the mirror, I ask myself if I know what I’m doing. My brain morphs into a Magic 8 Ball that only answers me with “outlook not so good.”

“Me, too, Katie. Me, too.”

I woke up alone.

Feeling cheap and used.

I had a great time, girl.

But you left me sore and abused.

Song lyrics. Dallas is texting me song lyrics in the middle of the ceremony that has already dragged on entirely too long. I smile at the screen and place my phone on my lap beneath the tablecloth so I don’t appear rude to my table companions.

You rocked my world, turned it upside down.

Now you’re nowhere to be found.

The alert chimes again. More lyrics.

Do you miss me, girl? Remember how you kissed me, girl?

’Cause I have to speak the truth, there’s not much I wouldn’t do to wake up holding you.

I should wrangle my dignity. Should play it cool for a while. But I miss those lips. I miss that smile.

I type out a quick response text.
This your next hit? Do I get a cut?

His response comes almost immediately.

Maybe. I’m still trying to find a word that works with “slapped.”

I laugh out loud, stifling it the best I can, when an older gentleman to my left startles at my outburst. No one can see my phone so I don’t look rude, just crazy.

I told you I was sorry about that,
I type out quickly.

It was pretty hot. I’m tough. I can take it if you like it rough.

Well now he’s just being inappropriate. I’m not sure if it’s an actual response or a lyric. And I’m squirming in my seat.

I don’t have a witty comeback yet so I just text him that I need to get back to my ceremony.

I’ll keep you posted on the song.

I stare at his words, my eyes zeroing in on the first three. I have got to get a grip on myself.

Thanks. Have a great show tomorrow night.

After that, I ignore my phone and focus on the speeches and awards. But Dallas Lark is holding a blowtorch, steadily burning a hole in my steel wall—one I don’t know how to protect myself against.

15 | Dallas

I
’M
SEEING SPOTS.
B
RIGHT
ONES.
B
LINDING ONES.

Cameras flash from directly in front of me as I pose with fans.

Fans.

I have fans.

It’s kind of hard to wrap my head around. The band had a few regulars who attended shows at certain bars, but I think that was more about the bars than us.

“Thank y’all for coming out,” I say to two girls wearing matching If Lost Return to Dallas Walker T-shirts. Melissa and Jessica, I think they said their names were. But I still can’t get over the fact that I have shirts. “Love the shirts, by the way.” I wink and they laugh, the blond one turning a little red in the face.

Some fans are sweet like that.

And some are a little more than sweet.

“Remember me?” A brunette with a wide smile stands beside me for her picture.

I try to place her face but I can’t. “Um . . .”

“Chandra. I saw your band play in San Antonio last year. I was in town visiting a friend. We hung out after your show.”

“Did we?” I put my arm around her shoulders like I’m supposed to for the picture. “Sorry. It’s been a crazy year.”

“I can imagine,” she says softly, pressing her full breasts firmly into my side. “Congratulations, by the way. My sorority sisters and I are your number-one fans. Your album is going to blow Jase Wade out of the water.”

“Thanks.” Taking a deep breath while we smile for the photo, I rack my brain trying to remember playing San Antonio last year. Nothing memorable comes to mind, but judging from the knowing look in her eyes and how forward she’s being with my body right now, she might have carnal knowledge of me.

Damn. This is not good.

I make a mental note to ask Mandy what I should do in these situations. I haven’t exactly been a saint and the last thing I want to do at this point in my career is get a reputation as a player or an asshole.

She bats her eyelashes at me. “Will I see you after the show tonight? Some of us are going to a bar called Kelly’s. You should come.”

Her eyes meet mine on the last word and I’m pretty sure I don’t imagine the innuendo.

“Um, I don’t know.”

After an awkward pause, she says, “I’ll text you.” Then she gives me a lingering look full of dirty promises and moves aside so the next person in line can get their picture made.

My phone buzzes a few times in my pocket and I check it once the line has subsided.

Someone with the number 555-213-9857 has sent me several messages. One of them is a picture of me and Chandra, the overzealous fan, at a bar. My arms are around her and she’s kissing me on the cheek. I’m holding up a beer and from the looks of it, I’m blitzed.

There’s no telling what happened after that picture was taken.

Well . . . fuck.

M
y set went well, amazing actually, and Wade pulled me back out onstage to sing with him at the end of his, which was new.

“We’re gonna do this, we’re gonna have to get to know each other,” he says to me after we finish the encore. “Come grab a drink with me.”

“All right.”

“Relax, man,” he says, thumping me hard on the back. “We’ll have a few beers. Talk a little. Think of it as an icebreaker.”

I’m too amped up to go pass out on the bus anyway. But I wasn’t prepared for male bonding, either. I like to let my music do the talking for me. If Jase Wade wants to stay up and paint each other’s nails, he’s on tour with the wrong guy.

“I could go for a beer,” I say, because what the hell. One beer won’t hurt. And I’m not an idiot. Jase Wade didn’t get voted last year’s Entertainer of the Year for nothing. There’s probably a lot I could learn from him.

Arick, the drummer in Wade’s band, high-fives us as he passes. “Hey, man, great show,” he says to me. “Y’all heading to Kelly’s?”

“Yeah,” Wade answers him.

Aw, hell.

“You know, I just remembered I have to—”

“Shave your legs? Call your mama? Come on, Walker. It’s a few beers at a bar. We promise not to slip you anything.” Jase Wade eyes me warily.

I’m coming off like a prick. I hardly talk to anyone and I’m being a pussy about grabbing a beer.

I swallow hard and nod. “Right. See y’all there.”

“Don’t be crazy,” Wade tells me. “Ride with us.”

I follow him onto his bus and take a seat on one of the black leather couches. Wade grabs two beers from his built-in fridge, uses the counter to pop the tops off both of them, and hands one to me.

“Thanks,” I say, taking a nice long drink. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was until the crisp fizzy liquid hit my tongue.

“So, tell me about yourself, Walker.”

I set my beer down as the bus rumbles to life. “What do you want to know, Wade?”

He grins and tips his own beer back. “Oh, I don’t know. Where you from?”

“Amarillo. You?”

“Lake Park, Georgia. It’s tiny. You haven’t heard of it. How long you been playing guitar?”

“Since I was twelve or so.”

“Sorry, I haven’t been keeping up with your birthdays. How old are you?”

He’s fucking with me. But I’m not that easy to rattle. “Twenty-four. You?”

“Thirty-two.”

I thought he was younger than that for some reason. I tell him so.

“I’m young at heart,” he says with a grin. “You like football?”

“College football mostly. But I catch a Cowboys game now and then.”

He nods like he’s really interested in my answers. “I’m a Bulldogs fan myself. You hunt? Fish?”

“My grandpa took me a few times when I was a kid. I didn’t have a hell of a lot of patience for it.”

He laughs. “Yeah, me, either. Mostly I drink beer and shoot at trees when we go. Not that I have much time for that these days.”

“I bet.”

We take an almost simultaneous drink to fill the silence that follows. Fuck this is awkward. This is why I don’t socialize with people.

“Well, hell. I’m out of questions.” Wade shrugs then his eyes light up. “Nope. Just thought of another one.”

“By all means,” I say drily.

“You got a girl back home?”

Robyn’s face flickers in my mind. Mandy’s words about Wade requesting her on this tour accompany the image my head. “Nah. I got a sister and that’s the only woman I answer to.”

“She hot?”

“She’s a lesbian.”

“Ah.”

“I’m kidding. But I’d break both of your legs before letting you near her.” Maybe I should’ve broken my best friend’s before he got anywhere near her. I try not to think about what Gavin and Dixie may or may not be doing back in Amarillo.

Wade nods. “Good man. I got a daughter, so believe me, I get it.”

Well, this is news. “I didn’t know that. That you had a kid.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t advertise it. No reason all this insanity should keep her from having a normal life, you know?”

“Makes sense.”

“You don’t like to talk much, do you?”

“Not particularly.”

He grins again and tosses his empty bottle in the trash before grabbing another one. “You know, I was you once.”

“Excuse me?”

“Young. Hungry for this. For the road and the fame and the music.”

I frown at him. “You’re not anymore?”

Jase Wade takes a deep breath and a long look around the bus. It’s a nice fucking bus. His band is at a back table playing cards and drinking beer and joking around loudly.

“It’s hard to be hungry for something you get force-fed every day, you know?”

I don’t know, so I shrug and finish off my beer.

“You’ll see. One day. You’re a talented kid. Won’t be long until you’re sitting in my place watching some guy remind you of yourself and wishing you could give him the advice you wish someone had given you.”

“You’re not going to give me any advice?”

He smirks at me. The bus comes to a stop so he stands. “Would you take it?”

We both know the answer so I don’t bother saying no out loud.

“That’s what I thought. Let’s go get shitfaced.”

The bus is parked in a lot across the street from the bar and I catch sight of Mandy coming off my bus. I jog over to her.

“Hey. Sorry. I rode with Wade.”

She barely glances up from her phone. “I know. He told me he was going to talk to you. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Everything’s fine. I had a question, though?”

Mandy stops walking. “About?”

“Women.”

She laughs. “Really? You seem like you understand women just fine.” She steps closer to me, letting the members of my band pass us. “But I’m happy to answer any questions you have, Dallas. Shoot.”

I clear my throat “Not what I meant, exactly. I mean, like, fans who . . . um . . .” I’m not comfortable saying this kind of thing to a woman—not one I have no plans to be intimate with, anyway.

“Offer to suck your dick?”

All right then. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t want to be an asshole to them. And some have met me before and I don’t remember if—”

“Oh, Dallas. Brace yourself, Superstar. All of your slutty skeletons are about to come out of the closet. The more attention you get, the more aggressive they’ll get. Everyone will know you somehow and they either want something or they want to give you something. Their demo. A song they wrote for you. A blow job. You just have to decide which favors you want to accept.”

“Um, okay. So if I don’t want their favors? How do you suggest I handle that?”

“We’ll meet with your new publicist after the tour to discuss this further. But for now, I’d say just be your polite, gentlemanly self.” She pauses to give me a salacious grin. “You’ve managed to keep out of my bed for this long. I’m sure you can handle a few groupies.”

She nudges me as if she’s just kidding, but the wicked glint in her dark eyes suggests she isn’t.

“Right. Okay. Thanks.”
For making this as uncomfortable as possible.
Oh how I wish Mandy Lantram would stop screwing with me and just be my manager.

Wade gives me a knowing look as I follow him into the bar. I don’t know his history with Mandy, but he certainly has one. Maybe I’ll ask him about it during our next Q&A session if there is one.

Kelly’s is a decent-sized pub-style bar and it’s packed. I check my phone once we’re inside.

Robyn hasn’t texted me back. It bothers me more than it should. Because I’m obviously a chick now.

I scroll through our previous messages while waiting in line to order a drink. I was just messing around earlier, texting her stupid lyrics about ditching me. But as I read back through them, I can almost hear the beat in my head.

“What can I get ya, handsome?” A woman with curly copper-colored hair is waiting for my order. I start to get a beer and a burger, but I remember what Robyn said about Papa and heart disease so I order a light beer and a buffalo chicken wrap instead.

“For someone who doesn’t have a girl, you sure are worried about that phone,” Wade says from beside me. I hadn’t noticed he was there.

“You really this interested in getting to know me? Or is there something specific you want to ask?”

Please do not ask me about Robyn Breeland.

He narrows his eyes, but before he can ask anything else, a body crashes into mine, nearly spilling my beer.

Thin arms wrap around me and a mouth fastens to the side of my face.
What the fuck?

I steady myself, pulling back far enough to see Chandra attaching herself to me like an octopus.

“Dallas! Oh my God! You made it!” she squeals in my ear. “We have to get another picture together. My friend Allie is gonna take it. Smile!”

I force a quick grin just in time for the flash.

“Thanks! Come sit with us.” Her fingers clasp my free hand and she tugs.

“Actually I’m going to hang out with these guys,” I say, pulling free and nodding toward where Wade is.

“Nah. We’re good. Go ahead, Walker. We’ll save you a seat.” Wade winks like he’s doing me a favor. There’s amusement playing on his face.

“Will you sign some stuff for us? Pretty please?” Chandra pouts surgically enhanced plump lips at me. A few other parts of her appear to be surgically enhanced as well.

“Sure,” I say, relenting, and let her lead me to the table where her friends are.

It’s probably for the best that Robyn didn’t answer my texts. It’s not like I can ask her out on Friday night, take her to a movie, and all that for as long as we both shall live. I tell myself to be thankful for the memory of something real while I’m facing a future full of something fake.

As much as I hate to admit it, there is something flattering about the fact that Chandra wants my autograph and didn’t seem the least bit interested in Wade.

I’m just asshole enough to care.