Page 51 of Somewhere You Belong

“Don’t.” One word. One command, and my body relents to his order instantly.

“Okay.”

Dallas’s face moves only an inch closer to mine as he leans forward, and I swear the world stops spinning while I anticipate his next move.

Is he going to kiss me?

Are those full lips I’ve been admiring way too much going to press against mine?

Will I finally know what that beard is going to feel like against my skin?

Inch by inch he moves closer until I swear a spark fires between us…

And my phone rings.

We both jump apart as we’re jolted back to reality. I smooth my hair from my face as I move away from him and his eyes widen, processing what almost happened.

“Uh…” I clear my throat “I need to get that. And I have a call…”

Glancing behind me at the clock on the microwave, I note the time and curse the fact that I need to log in to my meeting in less than ten minutes.

“No, yeah. I understand. Shit, I’m sorry I bothered you.” He turns to walk away, running a hand through his hair and nearly runs into the couch while he finds hit footing.

I follow him to the door, not wanting to leave things like this—not wanting him to leave at all.

What thehell is that about?

And were we seriously about to kiss?

“It was no bother. Thank you again, Dallas. I mean it.”

“No problem, Willow. Hope your call goes well.” As he shuts the door behind him, the ringing from my phone continues to echo from upstairs. Cursing the timing of it all, I huff up the stairs to my room, answering the phone without trying to sound angry and frustrated, and finish getting ready for work.

And as I log in to my meeting, I fight my subconscious for the next hour with trying not to think about what would have happened if Dallas would have kissed me. And if maybe I should wear my hair down more often.

***

“I can’t believe you convinced me to come here,” I whisper, leaning over the counter so Astrid can hear me.

“You needed to come out. You can’t hide in that house of yours and be scared of seeing Dallas after your littlealmostkiss.” She waves her hand at me while she fills up her tray with drinks.

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you about that,” I grate out, slinking back in my chair and taking a large sip from my martini as she smirks at me from her side of the counter.

It’s been five days since Dallas showed up on my front doorstep and, like the strong, independent woman I am, I’ve been avoiding him ever since. After ouralmostkiss and his front-row seat to my nipples beneath thin silk, I felt like keeping some space from him would help remind myself that no matter how badly I want to know what he’s like in bed, no good can come from crossing that line.

If only my libido would get the message.

“But you did. And now it’s my job as your friend to torture you about it.”

“I’m not sure that’s how friendship is supposed to work.”

“That’s how good friendships work,” she counters, depositing two fishbowl margaritas on her tray. “We support each other, talk about our feelings, and then give each other shit when the other one is acting like a chicken.”

“I amnotacting like a chicken.”

“Who’s acting like a chicken?” Dallas’s question pulls both of our attention to where he stands behind the bar, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.

“No one,” I answer before Astrid can get another word in. My eyes dance appreciatively down his torso and the denim that encases his thick thighs, but then I return them to his face as quickly as I can before he notices.

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