A smile creeps over my face as I pace my classroom. It’s lunchtime, which means any second now, my phone will light up with sweet texts from Dallas. Ever since Billie got home from camp, we’ve all been inseparable. Last weekend, we drove out of town and rented a boat with Colt and Ella.
Colt taught Billie how to wakeboard – what an experience that was. Both of them stacked it. The entire situation was hilarious. Ella nearly had a heart attack, and by the time the two of them climbed back into the boat, she was near hyperventilating. I giggle thinking about it.
My phone erupts in my pocket, drawing my attention back to reality. As I glance down at the flashing rectangle, nervousness washes over me. The way this man gives me butterflies from just a text is such a new experience, I never want it to end.
Dallas: Hey, little Firefly.
Me: Howdy, Cowboy.
Dallas: You forgot something this morning.
Me: ?
Dallas: You forgot to give me a kiss goodbye.
Me: I bloody well did not!
Dallas: You suuuure? My lips feel awfully lonely.
Me: You’re ridiculous, who allowed you to have access to a phone?
Dallas: Maybe so, but I’m yours.
There it is, that word.Yours.Ever since my accidental I love you, we’ve taken to just saying ‘yours’. So much hangs on those three little words; eight letters, but also, so much more than that. After everything we’ve been through, ‘yours’ just feels right. I am his, completely, and unconditionally. Billie has also joined in the bandwagon, showering her dad and I with cute little love letters. They’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.
My heart races, my cheeks flushing with heat and I feel a queasy pang deep in my gut. I’m on the brink of panic, my chest tightening with every breath. Oh god, Ilovehim. I don’t think I’ve ever loved someone before, let alone someone with good intentions. I don’t like to think of the string of absolute cockheads I’ve brought home overthe years, one bad egg after the other. Sure, there hasn’t beenmany,but if those few were winning an award, it would be ‘Wanker Of The Year’. I shudder, not wanting to relive those memories, or the bruises that some of them came with.
Dallas: Where’d you run off to, Firefly?
Me: Just lost in my thoughts.
A reply doesn’t come, but less than fifteen seconds after pressing send, my phone lights up with Dallas’s caller ID. I swipe the green button, the video call picking up instantly. I’m greeted to a very filthy Dallas, grease lines all over his face. His singletwaswhite when I left this morning, now it looks like an oil spill. His brow creases as he stares into the camera lens.
“What happened?” he asks.
“I’m fine, Mr. Bossy,” I tell him, doing my best to sound reassuring. He growls into the phone, and I instantly know I’ve royally fucked that up. “I was just overthinking.”
“Why?” he questions, voice laced with concern. “Was it the eggs? We bothknow I can’tcook to save my life.”
“Oh my god, no, the eggs were fine. Well, no, they sucked ass, but it’s fine,” I protest.
“Woman, stop sayingfine.”His warm laughter fills my ears and my heart flutters.
“I’mokay,then,” I tell him, pouting.
He rolls his eyes at me and pretends to swat me through the phone. I have to genuinely stop myself from blurting out some kind of perverted profanity then and there. I’m at work, and this man has the audacity to look likethat. Unfair.
“I’ll be at the gates to pick you both up this arvo,” he says, wiping a line of sweat from his forehead before adjusting his hat.
I nod in reply, watching him in awe as he tinkers with something off camera.
“What the hell are you doing anyway?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Fixin’ shit. Something’s always breaking down in this place,” he says through a poorly stifled laugh.
“It looks perverted from here.”
“Annabeth, get your mind out of the gutter.”
