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“She does. I’ll order one for you so y’all can go out if you want.” Dallas touches my elbow when the crosswalk changes to let me know he’s moving. “I have parking at my apartment. There are plenty of visitors’ spots.”
“Cool. I’ll drive next time.” I bite my bottom lip when I realize what I’ve said. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to assume there’s going to be a next time.”
“Assume away, Maven. There’s definitely going to be a next time.” Dallas’s grin morphs into something different. It’s teasing, just like the one I remember him having years ago. There’s no strain behind the flash of his eyes or anxiousness in the little brackets of wrinkles around his mouth. It’s light. Fun.Beautiful.“Talk to me about food.”
“That’s a broad topic. I eat it. What else do you want to know?”
“What are your favorite cuisines? There are tons of options around here.”
“Anything, really. Thai. Italian. Cookies.”
“Do we classify cookies as a cuisine?” he asks.
“I don’t see why not.”
“Good to know.” He points across the street to a building with a red and white checkered awning. There’s a line downthe sidewalk, and I count three dozen people queueing up and waiting to go inside. “That’s the place to go for the best cookies in the city. Mama Rose’s Bakery. It’s been around since the seventies, and she still comes in every morning to roll out dough.”
“Do you get to skip the line?” I ask. “One flash of your smile and everyone lets you jump ahead of them? Do they drop to their knees and call youOur Savior?”
Dallas laughs, and both of his dimples pop. His shoulders shake, and he drops his head back like I just said the funniest thing in the world. June claps her hands together and laughs too, matching her dad’s enthusiasm.
I can’t help but stare at them. I look longer than I should, longer than should be allowed, and when his gaze meets mine and locks in place, my stomach flutters with a hundred butterflies.
Heat works up my spine and spreads over my shoulders under his attention. I’ve had boys stare at me before; the guys in college I hung out with and the occasional boyfriend.
But it’s never been likethis, a man with something dark and liquid-hot behind his eyes. With intent and purpose. Pleasure ripples through me, and I bite my bottom lip. His attention flicks to my mouth, a blip in time where he looks hungry,starved, before his face is wiped clean.
“No,” he smirks. “I wait in line just like everyone else. No one drops to their knees, and they don’t roll out the red carpet for me. Mama Rose does slip me an extra cookie or two when no one is looking, though, but that’s our little secret.”
“There’s that special treatment.” I smile and he smiles back. “Are we close to your place?”
“Yeah.” Dallas points to the tall residential building half a block away. “Just up there. Courtyard Gardens. Main entrance is on this street, and the parking garage underneath the buildinghas elevator access to all floors. There’s an alleyway in the back, but avoid it if you can. The side door likes to get stuck, and then you’re trapped in the stairwell with nowhere to go.”
“Sounds like there’s a story there.”
“There is. It involves pizza, too much whiskey, and an idiot best friend. He’s a hazard to my health. It was embarrassing to have to explain to the firefighters who came and rescued us that we were two professional athletes and the alcohol dwindled our intelligence level; we aren’t that stupid in real life.”
“I would’ve liked to see that. How long until you were rescued?” I ask.
“Maverick got through sixty-four rounds of ‘Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer’ on the Wall by the time they finally opened the door. I can’t think of a worse song to have to listen to when you have nowhere to go.”
I imagine Dallas sitting in a corner. A pizza box open in his lap and a string of cheese hanging from his mouth. It makes me burst out laughing.
“I hope there are pictures.”
“There are. Get me hammered and you might see them one day,” he says.
“New life goal unlocked.”
“We were such idiots. That was before June was born, obviously. I’d have a panic attack if that happened now.”
Dallas holds the door to his apartment building open for me, and I slide inside. He sets June down on the lobby floor, and she takes off running toward a security guard who gives her a high five.
“She has a lot of energy,” I say.
“Tons,” he says. “She hates to sit still and loves to be outside. The swings at the park are her favorite, and an hour of physical activity usually tires her out.”
“Is she allergic to anything? Bees? Ants? Peanut butter?”
