“What’s your favorite color?”
His eyebrows shoot up across his forehead, arching perfectly over his frosty blue eyes. “That’s your first question?”
“It’s a legitimate one.”
He shakes his head, attempting to rub away the small smile forming on his mouth with his finger. He shifts his gaze to mine. “Blue.”
“What, like your eyes?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “A deep, dark blue. It’s the same shade of blue the water on the lake turns when the moon shines across it at night. That kind of blue.”
“Huh.” I bite down on my bottom lip, satisfied with his answer, though it only makes me more curious.
“What’s yours?” he asks me.
“Green.” I grin. “But not bright green, more of a Kelly, Irish green.”
He gives me a small nod and doesn’t respond to my answer, waiting for me to toss my next question at him.
“How long have you lived in Texas?” It’s a question I’m genuinely curious about. Vada hasn’t mentioned how long they’ve lived here, and I assume with the kind of name Dallas has, he must have been born and raised here in Texas. I’m hoping his answer will give me a tiny bit of information on why he is the way he is.
We head off the highway, and once we hit the intersection at the end of the ramp, we get stuck at a red light. I shift my body toward him, resting my elbow on the center console. He’s still wearing his black sunglasses, shielding his eyes from me. The corner of his mouth twitches before he opens it to answer my question.
“I was born in North Carolina, but my mom moved us out here when she was pregnant with Vada.” The light turns green, and Dallas pushes down on the gas, turning onto the street where the furniture store is. “My mom was a huge R.E.M. fan when she was growing up. When she was a teenager, she would find a way to get tickets to their concerts and sneak out.”
“Your mom sounds like she was a bit of a rebel.” I grin.
“She was.” He clears his throat, continuing. “My mother had a rough childhood, so the concerts were a great escape for her. That’s where she met my dad. R.E.M. has this one song called Texarkana, and ever since my mother heard it, she made a promise to herself she would move there one day. She and my dad were going to run away together, but their plan didn’t work out when she found out she was pregnant with me. Even though she was only sixteen, my grandparents supported both my parents when I was born, but when my mom got pregnant with Vada a couple years later, they cut them off. They were extremely old fashioned in their beliefs. They thought my dad was a piece of shit who knocked up my mother twice. I mean, they were right, he was a piece of shit, but that’s beside the point.” He inhales a heated breath through his nose and sets his mouth into a firm line. “My mom packed me up and moved to Texarkana a month before she had Vada. That’s where we grew up.”
“Wow. I’m sorry your dad didn’t stick around. I kind of know a little about that.” I’m still resting my elbow on the center console when I curl in my bottom lip, biting down on the tender flesh. It’s odd to be sharing a piece of myself with Dallas, let alone having a conversation such as this one with him.
His mouth twitches again, much like it did at the start of our conversation. He parts his lips, opening his mouth far enough for me to think he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t. He keeps his hand on the steering wheel, passing through one intersection after another.
“So, what made you move to Austin?”
“We’re here.” Dallas pulls into a parking spot next to the front door of the furniture store. I didn’t even realize we’d turned off the main road. He doesn’t answer my question as he throws his truck into park.
“Oh.” I sit up, removing my elbow from the center console. Dallas quickly steps out of his truck and shuts his door behind him.
I grab my purse and meet him on the other side. His black sunglasses are still perched on his nose, shielding his blue eyes. He doesn’t speak another word until he opens the door to the furniture store.
“Come on, let’s get this over with.”
Chapter Eight
I shared more information with Sloan than I intended. I don’t know what to make of my situation with her. It’s not as if I don’t see the woman enough as it is. She’s not only my neighbor—she’s my employee. And since she is my employee, I shouldn’t be fucking looking at her the way I am right now.
I follow her as she walks through the furniture store, passing living room sets and rows upon rows of mattresses. She’s walking in front of me in probably the shortest shorts known to man. If they were any higher up her thighs, I’d consider them to be underwear more than anything. Her once pale skin is now sun-kissed, glistening like gold under the bright white lights. I start to imagine what it would be like if I pulled her onto one of the hundreds of mattresses we’ve walked by and wrapped my hand around the back of her neck, pressing my lips to hers. I push away the thoughts and try to hide the temptation to give in behind the sunglasses I still have perched on my nose.
Sloan walks all the way to the back, stopping at the largest desk. “Hi,” she says. “I’m here to pick up a desk I ordered. I was told it was ready for me.”
“Sure.” I don’t miss how the man’s eyes shift between me and Sloan, his eyebrows dipping. Maybe he’s wondering what she’s doing with a man like me, or maybe he’s wondering if we’re together. When his eyes shift back to Sloan, I don’t miss how they travel all the way down her small frame, pausing on the cleavage she’s clearly leaving on display for this stranger to see.
I press my lips together and grind my teeth. If this man doesn’t move his eyes from her chest to her face in the next few seconds, I might not be able to stop myself from jumping across the desk and allowing my fist to knock the stupid grin off his face.
“What’s your name?” he asks her, his eyes still roaming over her.
“Sloan Montgomery.”
He taps his finger on his tablet a few times, finding her order. “Found it. It’s in a fairly large box, so I’ll wheel it out from the back and meet you up front.”
“Thank you.”
He shifts his gaze to Sloan’s chest one more time before leaving his tablet on his desk and disappearing to the back.
I keep my eyes trained on the man until he’s completely gone. It isn’t my place to speak up about the way anyone looks at Sloan, much less on whether she wants the attention or not, but something in me tells me she didn’t even notice. There are still so many things I don’t know about her other than her favorite color is green and she is eager to toss out her mother’s belongings as if they were riddled with disease.
“Dallas.” Sloan’s voice pulls me away.
She’s already started walking back to the front, standing a few feet behind me.
I tap my finger on the desk then start to follow her. This time she waits until I’m beside her. Her steps fall into line with mine. She tilts her head, trying to catch my attention since she can’t see my eyes behind my sunglasses.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I brush her off. I don’t want to let her know how our conversation from earlier has stayed with me since we stepped out of the truck. I’ve never been big on talking about the relationship between my parents or the choices my mother made. Every choice has a ripple effect, and Vada and I were left to suffer the aftereffects of those very choices. Not very many people know the kind of dysfunctional relationship my sister and I were raised in, how my mother’s inability to let go of her first and only love was a constant burden that fell on me and Vada.
Sloan is the first person I’ve told since Hailey, and the sudden realization of what I shared doesn’t sit well with me. I push the front door open and lean against the wall. I shove my hands into my pockets and stare up at the sun. I close my eyes even though my glasses are blocking most of its brutal sunlight.
I open my eyes and roll my head to the side, feeling her stand beside me. She leans against the wall in much the
same way I am. Her breasts are pushed up, the swell of her flesh rising well past the deep V of her tank top. There are three buttons in the front of her tank, but she’s left the top two open.
She’s unraveled her braid, the long ends cascading across her shoulders and down her back. Red strands peek through her brown waves, catching in the sunlight. She’s fucking beautiful, and I hate the way it feels when I look at her. She swipes her tongue across her mouth, and I’m nearly convinced she’s doing it on purpose.
It’s easy to see why she gets the attention she does. The man inside the furniture store isn’t the first one I’ve seen looking at her, hoping to even get the slightest bit of her attention. Sloan’s second night at the bar, my first night working with her, I caught her talking to a customer longer than usual. Normally, it wouldn’t be odd for her to be talking to someone ordering a drink, but I could tell he wanted her in the way he was looking at her, not to mention I’d overheard him earlier in the night talking about how he thought the new bartender was fucking hot. But as far as I could tell, she never showed any interest. She never noticed and she never cared.
She tips her head back against the brick wall and squeezes her eyes against the sun before rolling back to my direction. “Vada told me you used to sing and play guitar.”
A stinging sensation pricks at my chest, and a lump immediately swells in my throat. I cough, hoping to rid myself of the feeling. I don’t want her to see how talking about my music affects me. I severed that part of my life along with any sort of serious relationship. “My sister talks too much.”
“She only told me because I asked her about the empty stage at the bar. I could tell it hasn’t been used.” Sloan tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Why did you stop playing?”
I inhale a sharp, heavy breath. The prickling feeling in my chest has only worsened. The tips of my boots scrape against the sidewalk as I push off the wall. I spin around, catching her interrogative glare, her eyes zeroed in on me. She knows this is a touchy subject for me. She knows there is a story about why I don’t play or sing anymore. I rub my chin, scraping the tips of my fingers along my jaw.
I spin around and step closer to her, narrowing the space between us. “Tell me what your rules are.”
It’s driving me crazy that I don’t know what Sloan’s rules are. It would be easy to write off her conversation with Vada the other night, the one where she mentioned having rules, but I know there is more to it than what was on the surface. Even if she does tell me what her rules are, there is no fucking way I am going to tell her why I don’t play music anymore, no matter how many times she asks. It may sound fucking harsh, but so is life. Talking with her this way is worth it. The satisfaction I’m getting from this moment is too good to pass up. I don’t quite understand what I’m doing in this moment or what my end goal might be. All I know is that the closer I stand to her, the harder my cock becomes.
Her eyes form two narrow slits as she stares up at me. “What?”
“It’s my turn to ask the questions.” I take a step closer. “Tell me what your rules are.”
“That’s not how this game works. You didn’t ask a question, and you can’t just demand answers. They have to be given willingly.” She tips her chin higher in defiance, keeping up with the level of my gaze. She presses her hand against my chest, preventing me from stepping any closer. I stop her by quickly lifting my hand and wrapping my fingers around her wrist. Her smooth lips part the second my hand is on hers, a deep blue fire igniting behind her eyes. It takes everything in me to not let go and move it to a different part of her body, one that would bring her closer so I could possess that gorgeous mouth of hers.
“I didn’t realize we were playing a game,” I admit.
“Well, we are.”
“Okay, I have a different question for you then.” I give her a smirk, hoping if she won’t answer my question about her rules, this one will at least give me a hint. “Did you notice the way that man was looking at you inside?”
She considers me a moment, narrowing her gaze on me. “How was he looking at me?”
“Like he wanted to rip those tiny shorts of yours to shreds and fuck you right there on his desk.”
“He was not.”
“Trust me. He was.”
She swallows, her cheeks flushing bright red. “I don’t really care how he was looking at me.”
“Why is that?”
“For one, that’s his problem, not mine. And two, I’m not interested.”
There it is, the clue I was looking for. I can’t explain it, but her voice shifted the moment those words left her pretty little fucking mouth. They held more conviction than anything she’s ever said before. She meant it.
I keep my fingers wrapped around her wrist, holding her hand against me. My focus flickers between her blue eyes and her smooth, full lips. I don’t know which part of her to focus on more. My heart pounds in my chest, nerves shooting down my spine. I’m sure she can feel it beating beneath her small palm.
“Are you not interested in him, or are you simply not interested in anyone?” I reach my other arm out, pressing my palm against the wall beside her head. I’m halfway caging her in. Her large blue eyes widen, disguising themselves with innocence, but I know better.
Her body shudders and she nervously swipes her tongue across her lips before swallowing. Deep down, I can see the battle raging inside her. She doesn’t know if she wants me to stay or go. I keep my hand wrapped around her wrist and my other arm pushed against the wall beside her head. I know I’m on to something.
There’s a battle inside me too, but I stay silent on that subject and my music.
She opens her mouth, ready to answer me, but we’re interrupted. Our attention immediately shifts to the front door.
I push off the wall and away from her, taking a few steps back.
The asshole from earlier emerges, pulling a large flat cart behind him. Three large boxes are stacked on top of it.
“Alright, here you go. One of the boxes contains the top part of the desk. The other two have the legs and hardware. If you show me where your vehicle is, I can help load them up for you.” The man points to the boxes. He’s strictly talking to Sloan, acting as if I haven’t been standing beside her the entire time we’ve been here.
I’m almost positive he wants to fuck her.
Fucker.
“We’re parked right here,” I tell him, pointing to my truck, which is in the closest spot possible.
“Oh,” he says, his eyebrows arching across his forehead. He gives a nervous smile then starts to pull the cart around to the back of my truck.
I open the tailgate and lift one end of the box, propping it onto the edge before sliding it in. The man bends down to pick up the next one. Honestly, I could have loaded everything by myself, but I stay silent, not wanting to make it a big deal. I just want to get the fuck out of here and back to Sloan’s.
Once all the boxes are in the back, I shut the tailgate and spin around. Sloan is already standing by the passenger side door, reaching for the handle.
“Thank you for your help.” She waves to the man, leaving him to walk back inside without another ounce of attention from her.
He nods and gives both of us a tight-lipped smile before going back inside the store.
Good.
I run my fingers through my hair, wondering how the rest of the day with her will go. I’m not entirely sure she wants me to help her set up her new desk. She’s independent, but she can also be stubborn. It’s great she’s willing to do things on her own, but I want to help her.
I climb into my truck and turn the key to start the engine. My truck roars to life. I place one hand on the steering wheel as I slide it into reverse. She’s been silent ever since we’ve been back in the truck. I glance over my shoulder, watching to make sure I’m clear behind me. I chance a quick look at her then focus on my rearview mirrors.
“It’s a good thing we took my truck. There’s no way we could have fit
those boxes in the back of your car.”
“You’re right.” She glances over her shoulder quickly before turning back around to click in her seat belt. “Thank you.” Her voice is quiet, a stark contrast to the way she’s been talking all day. She rests her elbow on the door and closes her eyes. I take it as a sign that she wants to take a break from our question game. Maybe it was the conversation we had before the furniture salesman came out with her desk.
I’m glad she doesn’t press me any further on my music and why I’ve stopped playing. Opening up about my music is also opening up about my past. I only gave her a tiny sliver of it, one that won’t have her looking at me in a different light. The other reason I’m holding back is because I don’t talk about that part of my life. Ever.
Sloan is no exception.
Once we make it back to her house, I back my truck into her driveway then step out to start unloading the boxes. Sloan unlocks the front door then meets me near the back of my truck.
“I can carry them in.”
I stop sliding the box out, keeping half of it hanging off the back of my tailgate. “What?”
“Seriously, you’ve already helped me enough, Dallas. I’ll take them in and then you can go.” She steps forward, her breasts bouncing with her movements. It’s hard for me to not stare at her round hips or her subtle tan skin.
I stop her, holding my arm out like a barricade. “No. No way.”
“Dallas.” She firmly plants her hands on her hips, narrowing her usual round eyes.
“Sloan.” I say her name sarcastically, mocking her. “We’re seriously right here. I don’t mind carrying them inside for you.” I had a feeling she would pull this move on me. Like I said, she is independent and fiercely stubborn. It only makes my desire for her grow.
We spend the next few seconds in a staring match, daring one another to break and give in. There is no way she is going to break me, and I won’t give in.
Annoyed, she presses her lips together in a huff. “Fine. You can leave them in the living room before you leave.”
The Rules of Heartbreak: An Enemies-to-Lovers/Next-Door Neighbor Romance (The Heartbreak Series Book 1) Page 8