Page 63 of If You Need Me

But the clowns, Dallas.

Dallas

Good point. Better not fuck up this career then.

Wills

Aren’t you glad I’m here to keep you out of trouble?

Dallas

Immensely grateful. I’m happy to show you how grateful with any body part you’d like.

Wills

Thank you for the clothes.

Obviously, she’s ignoring my offer. Hopefully she’ll let me come up to her place at the end of our date so I can get another hit.

Dallas

Entirely my pleasure.

CHAPTER 23

DALLAS

Isleep like shit the night before our date, worried I’ll do something to fuck the whole thing up. Then I accidentally hit snooze and sleep through my alarm, which means I’m running late.

Wills

It’s after eleven. Where the hell are you?

Dallas

On my way!

When I finally arrive, Wills looks more than a little annoyed as she exits the building. I want to get out and help, but she’s already at the passenger side door, and I didn’t have time to manage my anxiety boner, so all I can do is lean over and pull the handle. We’re not off to a good start.

Aside from the murderous look on her perfect face, I notice she’s wearing one of the outfits I bought for her.

She opens the back door. “You’re twenty-five minutes late.” She tosses her bag in the back seat and hangs the garment bag, closing the door with a little extra force before she slides into thepassenger seat. “It’s common courtesy to text if you’re going to be late.”

“I had trouble falling asleep, and then I slept through my alarm, and I forgot my suit and had to run back up and get it. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” As soon as she’s buckled in, I put the car in gear and pull into traffic. I wait until the locks click before I say anything else. “I would have gotten out of the car to help with your bags, but I’m currently owning another inconvenient boner. I felt as though a public hard-on would make things worse?—”

Willy puts her hand on my arm. I fully expect her nails to dig in, but the touch remains gentle. Instead, she does that thing where her voice gets all soft and sweet. “Take a breath, Dallas.”

I suck in a lungful of air and try to focus on driving and not on the fact that she’s touching me. She smells like her favorite shampoo. I inhale deeply. I can feel her eyes on me. This is my happy place.

“Good boy.” She squeezes my arm and severs contact.

I groan. Loudly. Not on purpose, but any kind of praise from her lips, even if it’s meant with a heaping side of sarcasm, just jacks me up. Especially phrases like “good boy.”

She crosses one leg over the other and shifts so her body is turned toward me. “Talk to me about these anxiety boners.”

“It’s probably not a good idea.”

“Because talking about it will make the problem worse?”

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