by Caisey Quinn
I know the exact moment when he begins to lose himself inside me. I’m acutely aware of the change when hard thrusts become a slow, intense grind.
“Come for me, sweet girl. Let me feel how much you enjoy being a dirty girl out here for the world to see.”
My insides clench around him, propelled by his sexy words.
“Dallas,” I whisper, because I feel myself falling. Not off the balcony but into oblivion with him.
“Come for me, Robyn. Show me how much you love this, how hard it turns you on knowing they could see, knowing they could watch me fuck you. Show me how dirty you can be, sweet girl.” His middle finger hits my clit at precisely the perfect moment and it flings me over the edge. His name rolls off my tongue over and over as he finishes inside me. “That’s my girl,” he whispers between gentle kisses on my neck. “My sweet dirty girl.”
I lie face-to-face with Dallas—his arms wrapped around my naked body—after we’ve both come more times than I can count. For a while we just laid there, catching our breath, but somehow that turned to satisfied smiles and now he’s staring into my eyes and we’re both in danger of unleashing the truths of our souls.
“I was starting to wonder if we were ever going to get to this part of our agreement. You kept walking me to my door and saying good night like you couldn’t wait to kick rocks.”
Dallas gives me a sad smile. “I wanted to be sure you really wanted this. The truth is, I feel like us being on this tour together is the universe allowing me to make up for lost time.”
I nuzzle my head beneath his chin so I can listen to his heartbeat. And so I can escape the intense moment where I might say something that I shouldn’t. “Lost time?”
“When you decided not to go on the road with us that summer, I was surprised, to say the least. But when you ended things between us, it wasn’t something I was at all prepared to deal with. You tried later, to explain, I think. And I handled it like a stupid, cocky kid not used to not getting his way when I should’ve heard you out.”
Lying here in postcoital bliss with him exposes my vulnerable side. This is not the route we should be heading down if we’re keeping this casual. Rehashing our past is the opposite of casual.
“I bombed show after show that summer. The tour ended abruptly and we didn’t get asked back to a single venue. Want to know why?”
Speaking of bombs, he just dropped one on me. I didn’t know this because I spent most of that summer avoiding him.
I take his face in my hands and latch my gaze on to his—needing a physical connection to gather the strength I need to hear this.
Dallas takes my silence for a yes and continues. “Every song I’d written, the majority of the ones on the set list, they were about you. Or at least inspired by you. I couldn’t get up there and give it my all when I was singing about a girl who’d dumped my ass.”
His confession wedges into a crack in my heart, causing it to take off, beating in triple time.
After kissing him gently on the mouth, I take a deep breath and try my best to explain something I should have told him years ago.
“Dallas, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know and I never meant to . . .” To what? Ruin his life? Destroy his dream? No wonder he never wanted to speak to me again. The frustrated anger I saw on his face when I appeared on this tour makes so much more sense now. I try to speak over the lump of emotion constricting my throat. “I should’ve told you the truth that summer. I should’ve—”
“It’s in the past, Robyn. All of it. And I’m enjoying the hell out of our present so I just wanted to clear the air without having that hanging over us.”
“We were so young and I—”
His hands tighten around my hips, cutting me off. “I know. And you were right anyway. I needed to focus on my music and you had a full school schedule to deal with. It all worked out how it was meant to, just like you said it would.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to wince at how much that hurts to hear. I tried to tell him about my mom, about why I really ended it, a few weeks after our breakup, but he wouldn’t hear me out. He avoided me anytime our paths crossed and practically shut down his ability to hear anytime I opened my mouth in his presence, which is understandable since I ruined his tour that summer. So maybe now isn’t the time to come clean, either.
But I wasn’t right. It was the wrong way to handle it and I know that now. It occurs to me in the form of tears pricking my eyes that if I hadn’t ended our relationship abruptly the way that I did, maybe the band would have gotten recognized sooner. Maybe he wouldn’t be Dallas Walker solo act and he’d be living his actual dream with his band.
“So Midnight Bay seems like a decent company to work for,” he says, completely changing the subject. I should probably feel relieved and yet I don’t. “You happy there?”
I nod, swallowing the guilt his apology unearthed from deep in my soul. “Mm-hm.”
“You’re a hard worker. They’re lucky to have you.”
“They might not agree if they knew what we were up to right now. It’s a family-oriented business with some pretty high moral standards.”
“My lips are sealed, sweetheart. Promise. Besides, I’d never let them fire you. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m a pretty big deal these days.”
I laugh softly. “Oh yeah? And is it as amazing as you thought it would be? Performing to huge crowds and being on this tour, getting to live your dream?” I trail a manicured finger in circles on the forearm he has wrapped around me while I wait for his answer. Part of me wants to hear that he’s happy, that he’s just as happy as he would be if he’d made it with his band intact.
“It is. Or at least, I think it is.”
I angle around so that I can look him in the face. “You think it is?”
He pulls me closer, kissing me lightly on the lips. “Yeah. For the most part. It’s like there’s been an exchange of sorts, one I didn’t realize I’d agreed to.”
“I’m gonna need you to man-’splain that to me, please.”
He lets out a small chuckle, then sighs and I feel his chest rise and fall. “It’s like I agreed to be this version of myself I didn’t expect to have to be. Dallas Walker. Performer Dallas.”
I don’t say anything as I settle back into the spooning position so he continues on.
“Dallas Lark is ‘real me,’ you know? The one that you’ve known for years. The one who harasses his sister constantly to make sure she’s okay. I had a cheeseburger and a slice of apple pie alone in a diner on my birthday and realized that I was actually homesick for a place I’d been planning to leave since the day I arrived. But nobody really knows that guy—the one who has pie alone or gets to come back to you after each show and has the pleasure and privilege of tasting and touching you, of filling you and watching you come undone while I—”
“Dallas!” I call out, interrupting him suddenly. “I get the picture. Either move on or we’re not going to finish this conversation.”
He laughs low in my ear when I wiggle my backside against him.
“I don’t know. It’s just, I didn’t realize that I’d have to cut myself in half, be the two different guys. But that’s the price, apparently. I lose my last name but I get to live my dream every night. I don’t know if it’s an even exchange either way.”
My fingers aren’t tracing arbitrary circles anymore. They’re following the intricate lines of the tattoo that covers his inner forearm. The one that says “Lark” in script.
“Promise me something,” I say so low I don’t know if he can hear me. “Promise me no matter what, you’ll never lose that guy, the one you really are.”
His arms tighten around me like a reverse hug and I’m not sure which one of us needs it more.
“I’ll try not to.”
25 | Dallas
NOT GOING TO MAKE YOUR SHOW THIS WEEKEND. HAVE TO WORK. Couldn’t get anyone to trade shifts. Sorry, man.
Gavin’s text reads like a load of bullshit.
&nb
sp; I heavily suspect the coward is avoiding my sister, but I’ve vowed to let her be a big girl and not interfere with her personal life so I text him back that I understand and that I hope he can drop by the after party.
After five straight weeks on the road, we’re playing in Dallas and it feels kind of good to be home or close to home at least. It’s nice to see familiar landmarks and highways anyway.
Today I’m doing radio interviews in Dallas. I text Dixie while I wait in the lobby of KGBX, reminding her that her and Robyn’s mom’s tickets will be at will-call and that the backstage passes will be with them.
“Dallas Walker,” a rail-thin slip of a woman in a pencil skirt calls out. “They’re ready for you. Come with me.”
I stand and follow her down a dim hallway to the recording studio. The publicist Mandy put me in touch with pulled some strings to get me on the nationally syndicated Ricky Ray show while I was in town. It’s a huge opportunity, but I’m nervous because I have no idea what he’s going to ask. Ricky is known for asking the tough questions and I’ve been strictly instructed not to answer any involving Jase Wade or his personal life.
My palms are slick so I wipe them on my jeans before shaking the hands of the folks who greet me when the receptionist opens the door.
“Dallas Walker, nice to meet you,” a smiling brunette with headphones on tells me. “Just have a seat right there.” She gestures to an empty seat on the edge of the L-shaped table. “Be sure you speak clearly into the mic.”
“Got it.”
“He can manage, Kim. That’s what he does for a living,” the man on the other side of the table says. “That’s Kim Le. I’m Ricky Ray.”
I nod at Kim and then reach across a switchboard and shake his hand. “Nice to meet you both. Thank you for having me today.”
“Thanks for joining us. We’ll just chat. Forget the listeners. Let’s just shoot the bull like old friends. Sound good?”
“Yes, sir.”
“First rule of shooting the bull, no ‘sirs.’ ”
I nod, feeling like a complete jackass. “Got it.”
A tall blond woman with angular features steps into the small room. “We’re on in five, Ricky,” she tells him.
“Let’s do this,” he says, putting in earbuds like the ones I was given.
I press mine into my ears and they fill with the sound of someone counting down. “On in five” apparently means five seconds in radio time.
“We’re back with Ricky Ray, Kim Le, and up-and-coming country music sensation Dallas Walker,” Ricky says in a completely different voice than the one he used to greet me. “Thanks for joining us, Dallas.”
The chorus of “Better to Burn” plays briefly.
“Thanks for having me,” I say into the silver microphone attached to a long metal arm in front of me.
“So you’re from here in town I hear.”
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “Yes, si—uh, yes. I am. From Amarillo actually.”
Austin originally, but I don’t feel the need to clarify because it would open a door to my past I have no intention of walking through on the radio.
“You had a band there, didn’t you?”
I shift in my seat and it rolls slightly backward. I stop myself before I answer with “yes, sir.” “Yeah. My sister and a buddy of mine played around for a while.”
“Just played around?” Ricky glances down at several sheets of paper laid out before him. “It says here you took third place in last year’s state fair sound-off and that your band, Leaving Amarillo, recently played in Austin MusicFest.”
Swallowing hard, I nod even though I know I’m supposed to verbalize my answers.
“Austin was a good time. I met my manager there. If I hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”
It’s a lame-ass attempt at redirecting, but it’s all I got.
“Well, thank goodness for Austin.” Kim breaks in, possibly because she’s the closest to me and can likely see how twitchy I’m becoming. “Touring with Jase Wade must be amazing. Has that been a life-changing experience?”
I grin at her, thankful for the change in topic. “It has been. Jase is an impressive performer and I’ve learned a lot being on this tour. It’s an awesome opportunity and I’m grateful to get to be a part of it.” Most of that is true at least.
“You already have quite a large fan base—much larger than most new artists,” Ricky says, eyeing me as if wondering how I tricked people into listening to my music. “Do you attribute that to your time with your band? Have Leaving Amarillo fans followed you over into your solo career?”
I shrug. “You know, it’s hard to say. I mean I hope so. It’d be great if they did since it’s pretty much the same sound.”
Ricky smirks as if I’m full of shit.
“Well, not exactly the same. You had a fiddle player in Leaving Amarillo, right?”
Son of a bitch. Why this guy wants to talk about the band so much is beyond me. But like a dog with a bone, he doesn’t seem to want to let go.
“We did. My sister is a very talented violinist and fiddle player. She’s been playing since we were kids.”
“She didn’t want to come along on the tour?”
More like the label wouldn’t have ever allowed her to.
Guilt seeps into my pours, thick like lead that weighs me down. I take a deep breath before answering in order to maintain my composure. “We had a loss in the family. She had other priorities to handle when this opportunity presented itself.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kim says, earning herself another grin.
Ricky doesn’t offer his condolences. “So you’re out on the road, right after a devastating loss in your family, without your band. That takes dedication.”
I’m a big boy. I can listen between the lines. What he really wants to say is that I must be some special brand of selfish asshole to leave my grieving sister and my band behind.
I can’t even argue with him so I just nod. “I think dedication is important when it comes to making it in the music business. The window of opportunity is fairly small, so I had to jump when it opened.”
“Definitely,” Kim says, chiming in to agree with me.
“And your band didn’t want to jump with you?”
I grip my knee tightly under the table to keep myself and my temper under control. Telling Ricky Ray to fuck off on national radio would probably not go over well.
“It had a lot to do with timing. Both my sister and my drummer had other obligations they needed to see to at the time.”
Kim’s voice is more curious and less accusatory when she inquires about Leaving Amarillo. “Do you think y’all might ever get back together? Or is Dallas Walker a lone road warrior from here on out?”
Good question. “I wish I knew the answer to that.” I focus on the mic in front of me. “Right now I’m just taking it one day a time.”
“One show at a time,” she corrects playfully.
“Exactly.”
“We posted about your visit to the studio today,” Ricky breaks in. “On our Facebook page. The most frequent comments we’re seeing are from local listeners wondering why you left your band to go it alone when it seemed like the natural next step would be for Leaving Amarillo to be on this tour instead of Dallas Walker. What would you say to those critics?”
It’s none of your fucking business.
Sweat forms on my neck and drips into the collar of my shirt. I shove my shirtsleeves upward on my forearms and take a fortifying breath. “Well, honestly, all I can say is sometimes things don’t work out how you expect them to. Sometimes life gets in the way and you don’t get exactly what you want. But I am really and truly blessed to be on this tour and I don’t take anything for granted. I’m grateful for all of the fans and the listeners and people who’ve never even heard of me who will hopefully give me a chance.”
“There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. Dallas Walker.” Ricky is back to using his announcer
voice. “We’re going to break for some music, including Dallas’s hit single, ‘Better to Burn,’ then we’ll be back to take your questions.”
Once Ricky takes his earphones out, I do the same. I don’t want to sit around and take questions. I want to get the hell out of here before anyone else asks about Dixie and Gavin. Those questions aren’t mine to answer anyway.
“Do I have time to get some air?”
Kim gives me a sympathetic look. “Not really. But we’re almost done here. A few minutes of questions and you’re free.”
Ricky laughs like I’ve asked something amusing.
“Spotlight gettin’ too bright for you already, Walker? Better buck up, son. It’s only going to get hotter from here.”
After this live interview I have several more via phone. He’s right. It will only get more intense.
The blonde from before taps on the glass and points at Ricky as soon as he steps back into the booth. She counts down from five on her right hand, then nods.
“And we’re back with Dallas Walker,” Ricky announces suddenly. “Dallas, we checked out fan feedback and we have another tough question for you.”
“Oh good,” I say, doing my best to sound like I’m playing it cool instead of letting the dread I feel deepen my tone.
Kim laughs but there is sympathy in her smile this time. “So this question comes primarily from the ladies, but a few fellas wanted to know as well.”
I hold my breath and keep my expression blank while I wait.
Kim tilts her head to the side. “We’re all dying to know, is there a special girl out there? Someone you’re missing while you’re out on the road?”
Robyn’s face flashes behind my eyes. I can’t help but wonder if she’s listening. Mandy’s warnings about encroaching on Jase’s territory come to mind as well and it pisses me off that I even have the thought.
We said we were keeping it casual. Surely Robyn will understand. Even if we were heavily involved I’m not the type to go announcing it on national radio. She knows this. She knows me. She was the one who specified that we keep this to ourselves for the sake of both of our jobs. But it still feels like a lie.