Page 67 of Dallas

He blinks. “Yeah. I thought that was clear.”

“You said you were being protective.”

“I lied.”

“Why did you lie?”

“Because I don’t know what the fuck to do with this.”

It’s raw and honest, and it hurts my feelings a little bit. But I also understand. Because the two of us were like hit dogs yesterday, and that really is a worry. I don’t think either of us really knows how to conduct a relationship. I’m not sure if we could even do that. With the two of us. Because we are already something. Something steeped in… fucked up shit.

I don’t know if something that comes from a desperate, unhealthy attachment can ever become something normal.

I really don’t know ifI’llever be anything normal. Based on my response to having sex with him, I would say no. Because I wanted him to stay inside me forever.

And now that some of my need has subsided, I can see that my reaction was a little bit over the top. But it lingers.

“All right. Fair enough. I just… I don’t like Colt, to be clear. I mean, I like him, but I don’t… I don’t want him.”

He lifts a brow. “Then what was all that?”

“I just wanted to feel like I wasn’t broken. For a little bit. He’s nice, and it seemed easy. I really would likesomething easy.” I look at Dallas. “I’m not sure easy is available to me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well. Are we easy?”

He snorts. “No. Definitely not.”

“There you go.”

“You don’t want him,” Dallas says.

“No. I don’t. You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted.”

Chapter Seventeen

Dallas

Fuck.

I am way more satisfied by that statement than I should be. My whole body is buzzing. I’m still in disbelief that it even happened. Sarah. My Sarah. I take her hand and lead her out into the living room, and I let myself enjoy how cute I think she is in my sweatpants. How sexy I think the white T-shirt is. Especially with nothing on underneath. I allow myself to really let myself call it what it is. I want her. I want her, and I think she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

I sit her down on the couch, and I frown. I go back into my room and grab a blanket. I wrap her up in it, making it tight, like I’m securing a burrito.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to take care of you,” I say. “And I didn’t go get dinner, so you have to suffer through whatever I have onhand.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of girl dinner?”

I frown. “No.”

“Girl dinner is the fine art of piecing together a meal out of seemingly unrelated things. Since I’m incapacitated, I’ll give you directions if you tell me what you have.”

“Okay.”

A truly hilarious series of events ensues after that. But we end up with the platter with cheese, crackers, cold cuts, some grapes, half a loaf of sourdough bread, artichokes and olives, and a mason jar full of M&Ms.

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