“Dallas?”
The butterflies fluttering in my stomach a second ago were replaced with cold, hard dread at the sound of the male voice calling my name. Kimball. I sighed, then turned to face him. “What the hell do you want?”
Kimball glanced over my shoulder, presumably at Preston. “Who is that? The man you were with.”
I scanned the area. The media attention had died down somewhat since the ruse had started, and I didn’t need more fodder for the reporters to latch on to. “Does it matter?”
“I’ve seen you with him,” he said. “The pictures. Who the fuck is that?”
“Shut the hell up,” I hissed. “Take your ass somewhere else. It’s your fault my name is being dragged for filth in these streets.”
Kimball shifted from one foot to another. “I’ve been calling you.”
“Right. I thought I made myself very clear in my last text. Just in case you need a reminder, here’s one. Fuck you, muthafucka. Find your wife and leave me the hell alone.”
“Everything okay over here, baby?” Preston’s hand slid over my back. “Are you alright?”
The flutters were back stronger than ever. Just his touch, his scent…Ooh wee. I took a steadying breath and forced a smile. “I’m fine.”
“Dallas, we need to talk,” Kimball said, stepping toward me.
Preston stood between us. “Nah, that’s not how this is going down. I believe she told you to leave her alone. You might want to do that, because I’d hate the media to get a clip of me beating the shit out of you at this country club.”
Well, damn. Kick-ass Preston could get it. But the longer we stood here, the more likely we would be spotted. I squeezed his arm. “Can we go?” I whispered.
Nodding, Preston said, “Definitely.”
“I meant what I said,” I told Kimball. “We’re done.”
Kimball stalked off like a spoiled toddler, complete with a pout and folded arms.
Once he was out of sight, I sighed. “Thanks for the save.” When Preston didn’t respond, I turned to him to find him staring at the spot where Kimball had disappeared. “Preston? You okay?”
He squeezed his eyes shut and blew out a harsh breath. “I’m fine.” His expression softened. “Are you?”
I slipped my hand in his and pulled him toward his truck. “Kimball’s an asshole. That’s it. But I’m not worried about him. My concern is you. What happened?”
He dropped his head. “Got the paternity test.” I held my breath and waited for him to speak. Finally, he peered up at me. “Parker Wells Sr. is my father.”
“Oh.” I sighed heavily. I knew Preston and Brooklyn had agreed to do a DNA test, but I hadn’t expected the results to come back so quickly. “That was Brooklyn?”
“Yeah,” he replied. “She received the results and called me right away.”
“When did you take the test?”
“A couple of days ago when I got back from South Carolina. We went to a local lab when she returned to Michigan.”
“That worked out.” I searched his eyes, noted the sadness within them. “How are you feeling about it?”
“I don’t really know how to feel,” he admitted.
I held out my hand. “Understandable. So how about you don’t think about it tonight?”
He narrowed his eyes on me. “Not sure that’s possible.”
“Maybe not, but we can try.” I held out my hand. “Come with me?”
Without hesitation, he slipped his hand into mine and smiled. “Lead the way.”
