Page 3 of Dallas
Arianna
* * *
He’s back. I see him getting out of his truck out front. I wish I could say it was an accident that I’m watching through the window, but it’s not. I’ve started finding things to do near the windows every day. I have no idea why. It doesn’t change anything. All my watching does is emotionally prepare me for his inevitable entrance fifteen seconds later.
As usual, I rush away from the window so that I’m standing behind the check-out desk, pretending to be engrossed in something important when he walks in.
I lift my gaze and act surprised. “Oh, hi. How was your cousin’s wedding?” I know his cousin Tiago got married on Saturday. His cousin Ryder got married two weeks before that. These men started descending on Wilde just over a month ago when they received the letters letting each of Amos Wilde’s grandchildren know he had passed and they could come to Wilde to collect their inheritance.
I also know it’s not that simple. The heirs have to stay in Wilde and help regenerate the town and make it flourish for ten years before they receive a dollar. Dallas has been here for two weeks. Rumor has it he owned a pawn shop in Texas before he sold it to move here. Apparently, he’s taken on the task of dealing with the town’s blueprints.
There’s an odd smirk on Dallas’s face as he approaches me. It’s nearly always there. It’s his permanent expression, as if he’s judging me and finds me humorous. It gives me the chills. “It was lovely. Just immediate family. The two lovebirds took off for Florida for a week, which is nice. It cuts down on the moaning I have to endure in the mansion by half.”
I furrow my brows and stare. What is he talking about?
He chuckles and sets his elbows on my counter before leaning into my space. He does this every day. “Sex, baby. The mansion is filled with sex. Both of my cousins are newly married. They fuck all day.”
I suck in a breath and continue to stare at him. Is he serious? I can’t believe he would say that out loud. Plus, his gaze roams up and down my body as though he’s considering having sex with me. Ha. He’s sadly mistaken if he thinks I’m interested in such a thing.
He laughs. “I love it when you get all rattled. It’s adorable.”
That comment makes me gasp. “You made that up to shock me?”
He shakes his head. “No, baby. It’s all true. I just said it to shock you. I could have kept it to myself.”
Why is he calling me baby? He’s never done that before. I’m not sure how I feel about it. I’m not sure how I feel about much of anything anymore. There is no reason for me to spend every waking hour thinking about Dallas Wilde. It’s madness. I’ve never been consumed by a man before.
I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about why this is, and I’ve rationalized my weird fascination. It’s because I’m bored out of my mind here in Wilde. I love living in this small town, but I don’t have enough interaction with other humans. It’s my own fault, and it’s by design.
I don’t want to interact more than necessary with anyone else. I don’t want them to ask questions. I don’t have close friends because I prefer not to have to tell them about myself. It’s easier this way.
The job opening two years ago was a godsend. I’d just finished my degree in library sciences in Phoenix when this position was advertised only a few hours away. When I saw the listing, I jumped at the opportunity.
Turned out I needn’t have worried. No one else applied. Who would want to move to a small, run-down town to take over a disaster of a library with almost no funding?
Me.
I came here for my own reasons, and I’ve never shared them with anyone. I manage to keep my secrets because I don’t let myself get close enough to anyone to have to share any specifics.
The bonus about being the head librarian—and only employee—of the Wilde Public Library is that there’s a small apartment above it. Because the town knew it couldn’t really afford to pay a librarian when I was hired, they let me live in the apartment rent-free.
Granted, it’s as run down as everything else in this town, and no otherwise sane twenty-five-year-old woman would stay here and deal with this monumental task, but I do it because it’s the first place I’ve breathed easily in ten years.
I’m pretty sure the only reason I’m intrigued by Dallas Wilde is because he’s the only man to have ever looked me in the eyes. Or maybe I’m lying to myself. It’s likely there are plenty of men near my age in town who have come into the library to try and woo me, but I’ve kept them at arm’s length and never met their gazes.
Dallas is magnetic. He forces me to look at him. Not with words. He has a strange power over me. I try to ignore it, but it’s always near the surface, even when he’s not here.
The highlight of every single day is Dallas. I wake up every morning hoping he’ll come in, hold my breath until he does, and go to bed at night thinking of him.
To pile madness on top of madness, I’ve started masturbating, which I’ve never done until Dallas. He’s the subject of every daydream I have when I close my eyes.
Dallas makes my body react in ways I never dreamed possible. Even though I’m a librarian and I’ve read more books in every single genre than the average person, I always thought the things that happened in romance novels were all fiction.
I might have been wrong. My body physically reacts to thoughts of Dallas, and it definitely reacts to his presence. When he comes into the library, butterflies take flight in my stomach. My otherwise composed and articulate self turns into a blubbering idiot.
He doesn’t have to be present to elicit that response, though. I’ve grown fixated on a romanticized version of him. A man who comes into my room at night, hovers over me, and then does things to me that I would never speak out loud.
In the dark, late at night, Dallas is a god among men. He sits in the armchair next to the window, crosses one leg over the other, rubs his day-old beard, and uses the most seductive voice to order me around.
