Page 3 of The Dallas Dilemma

It’s a skill I’ve honed and perfected over the course of my life.

Making the decision to just get it over with, I start to type.

Josette: Thank you for your patience, Mr. Westfield. I’ve updated your address, and you’ll receive a confirmation email shortly. On a side note, and you’re going to think this is crazy, but I live across the hall from your new address. Small world, right?

I hit send on the message, and my entire body tenses immediately as regret courses through me. Why did I do that? I’ve already forgotten my reasoning as dread petrifies my muscles. I just told a stranger on the internet where I live. Okay, it’s not the same as posting my address on social media, but still. I don’t know this guy. I don’t know anything about him other than the fact that he lives across the hall and he’s twice my size.Fuck.What if he gets angry over his cellphone bill and comes over to take it out on me?

310-555-0020: I can’t believe you just told me where you live, Josette. Risky. But rest assured, I’m not a psycho stalker, or anything like that.

The tension rolls out of me, and one corner of my mouth actually lifts at his humor.

Josette: Exactly what a psycho stalker would say.

310-555-0020: True. I guess you’ll just have to trust me.

Josette: Oh, sure. Trust you. No problem. Why didn’t I think of that?

310-555-0020: I’d argue that you did, considering you told me where you live with zero manipulation on mypart. I didn’t have to follow you home under the cover of darkness, or anything.

Josette: I lied. I actually live in Nebraska. Ha-ha. Got you! Go Huskers!

310-555-0020: Impressive. Did you Google Nebraska football, or did you already know?

Josette: I knew it. I live there, remember?

310-555-0020: Wouldn’t you say “here” instead of “there” if you actually did live there?

Josette: Please don’t break in and steal my toothbrush or my dirty clothes, k?

310-555-0020: I won’t. Promise.

My smile is so wide, my cheeks hurt, and though I don’t want the conversation to end, I have to put a stop to it. These chats can be monitored, particularly if they go on for too long, and I don’t want to get reprimanded for wasting time on a non-work-related conversation.

I get back to business, reminding him the change has been made, that he’ll receive a confirmation email, and inquire if I can do anything else for him today. He seems to catch on that I need to end the chat, so he assures me there’s nothing more and thanks me for my assistance. I end the chat and lean back in my chair, my smile lingering.

That was…fun.

My muscles lock back up as a knocking sound echoes through my apartment. I jump out of the chair, turning left, then right, then left again as panic lances through me. What do I do?

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” I whisper as I move toward the door, my socks whispering across the carpet.

Pushing up on tiptoes, I peep through the hole and see a broad chest covered by a black t-shirt. It’s Dallas. It has to be.

He starts to turn to go, and without thinking, I reach out and disengage the deadbolt with a definitiveclick.His big body turns back at the sound, and I drop back onto flat feet, take a deep breath, and smooth my hair back before pulling the door open, leaving a six-inch gap. I wedge a foot behind it like that’ll somehow stop him from barging in should he decide to and lift my gaze to his.

“Josette?” he asks, his voice deep and pleasant as he lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Sorry. This is weird. I just took a guess that you work from home and wanted to introduce myself, officially. I’m Dallas.”

Releasing his neck, he stretches the hand toward me, and I take it automatically, focusing on the way it envelopes my smaller hand entirely. It’s large enough to circle my throat, choking me with little effort. One tight squeeze and jerk to the side, and he could snap my neck.

He releases me and drops his hand, and I snap out of my dark, ridiculous thoughts. My voice cracks as I say, “It’s nice to meet you.”

An awkward silence falls between us for a few beats as we stare at each other, and then Dallas takes a small step back, saying, “Okay, well, I’ll let you get back to work. I just wanted to say hi and show you I’m a normal person, not a stalker.”

He smiles with that, and my heart leaps into my throat. God, he’s beautiful. A work of art.

I cough and clear my throat before nodding. “Welcome to the building.”

“Thanks,” he says.

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