Page 12 of The Dallas Dilemma

He pauses for a moment, asking me without words if I’m sure it’s okay for him to come in. I jerk my head toward the interior of the apartment before turning to lead the way to the kitchen. My heart beats erratically until I hear the door click closed and his soft footfalls behind me. Don’t get me wrong. It’s still beating fast. Just notquiteas irregular.

“Wow. Your apartment is the mirror image of mine,” Dallas says, and I look over my shoulder.

I meant to say something––perhaps something funny or brilliant––but the second my eyes meet his, my mind goes completely blank. I can’t remember what I was going to say. Not a word of it. So, I just laugh likehesaid something funny. I jerk my head forward and flinch,praying to all the gods in the heavens he hasn’t just decided I’m some kind of weirdo freak.

I head straight to the cabinet where I keep my sugar in a large plastic container so as not to attract ants. Using a two-cup measuring cup, I fill it halfway and put the large container back into the cupboard, all without looking at Dallas once. Taking a deep breath, I pick up the measuring cup and hold it out before finally lifting my chin to meet his gaze.

“Thank you,” he says as he takes it, donning another wide smile that showcases those impossible dimples.

God, how did I not notice how gorgeous he was the first time we met? I mean, I did notice, I guess. But in the week since, I’ve convinced myself I imagined the star-quality level of his attractiveness. I remembered accurately how tall he is––my neck is starting to cramp as I continue to stare.

And, oh God, I’m staring.

I look down quickly, and I swear, I hear him chuckle under his breath. But no fucking way am I chancing another peek at his face to confirm. Those dimples should be registered as a deadly weapon.

The only problem is that, now, I’m staring at his muscled chest beneath a slim-fitting t-shirt. He’s not overly huge like he pumps iron at a gym seven days a week. The muscles look natural on him like he labors for a living. My mind conjures up an image of him, that tight shirt soaked in sweat as he…I don’t know…carries kegs of beer, or something.

“Have you called the super about that?” he asks,jerking me out of my blue collar fantasy while my face heats with embarrassment.

I look up at his face, and he tilts his head toward the row of cabinets on the wall behind me. I follow his line of sight. My forehead wrinkles at the once-solid structure that now gapes away from the wall slightly. It’s not so bad. I can still store stuff in them. Lightweight stuff that won’t put too much stress on it, anyway.

Looking back at Dallas, I clench my back teeth together before forcing them to relax as I say, “No. I don’t want to bother him with something so minor.”

My teeth grind together once more as I wait for his response.That’s his job, Josette. That’s what he gets paid for. This is his responsibility. It’s part of your rent.

I could go on as I’ve heard them all before. From my sister, Callie. From Twila. Raven.

But as he watches me, Dallas’ face smooths out before he shrugs his shoulder lightly. “I can fix that for you.”

“Wh-what?” I stutter, my eyes widening.

“I’m a carpenter. I can fix it, no problem.”

I guess I now know how he came by all those muscles.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” I say quickly.

“You didn’t ask. I offered. Please let me do this for you. Otherwise, I’ll be worrying constantly about those cabinets falling down and crushing you.”

One corner of his mouth quirks up as his eyes travel down the length of me and back up again. I fight my own smile as I arch a brow at him, silently daringhim to comment on my short stature. Hell, compared to his own behemoth size, I probably look like a toddler to him.

“We can call it payback for the sugar, if you want,” he says, and I shake my head.

“That hardly seems like a fair trade.”

“You don’t know how badly I’m craving sweet tea right now,” he says with a grin, then he dips his chin and adds, “Please, Josette. Let me do this for you.”

I find myself nodding, and those dimples make another appearance as he holds up the cup of sugar in thanks and spins around, leaving before I can rescind my permission.

“What just happened?” I whisper to myself as soon as the door gently closes behind him.

I feel like I got steamrolled by kindness. I look back at the sagging cabinets and sigh. Dallas insisted on fixing them. I didn’t ask, and in fact, declined his offer before he talked me into it. I’m not inconveniencing him or annoying him. This washisidea.

It’s fine. It’s going to be fine.

Blowing out a long sigh, I open the cabinet doors and begin pulling down all of the plastic plates, cups, and bowls I have stored in there. Idohave real dishware, but the heavier items were relegated to a box in my closet when I noticed the cabinets pulling away from the wall. I guess it’ll be nice to eat off real plates and drink out of real glasses again.

When I finish piling everything on the small island, and the cabinet’s mostly empty, I look down at myself and realize how I’m dressed. My threadbare sweatpantshave a bleach splotch on the right thigh, and my two-sizes-too-big t-shirt sports a picture of an angry-looking cat with the words “Fluff Around and Find Out.”

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