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“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I just...” I shake my head when words won’t come.
“Was it something I said?” he whispers.
I shake my head and chuckle, even though it’s more like a breathy sound than anything. “Just my brain playing tricks with me. Sometimes I see someone out of the corner of my eye or when I look over my shoulder and I think I see him.”
Dash pulls me to his chest again, resting his chin on my head. I don’t know if he understands, but he doesn’t let me go. He holds on and keeps rubbing my back, which is making it even harder for me to pull away. I’m not ready to face him yet.
When I begin to relax, he takes me by my shoulders before I can move away. “Hold up.”
He wipes his thumbs gently under each of my eyes, and then at the corners. “Your makeup got a little smudged, but you're good now.”
He wipes the excess makeup on his jeans. “How about you go wait in my truck? I’ll grab the food and we can eat in there.”
He holds up his keys, pressing the button on the fob. His truck is in view from where we’re standing, so I nod and make a beeline for the passenger door. I slip off my shoes, so I can pull my heels up to the edge of the seat and wrap my arms around my shins.
It’s remarkable how a millisecond of abject terror can ruin an entire day. I blow out a breath and watch Dash step around the building with our food and drinks in hand. I feel stupid for freaking out over literally nothing.
Dash opens the driver's side door and passes me the cold drinks. I take them out of the carrier and place them in the cup holders. “I’m sorry—”
He makes a sound in his throat and gives me a glare.
Right, he'd told me not to apologize back at Paddy's but, that was different. I realize I still have my feet on his seat and stretch out my legs, while he sets out the food between us. I peel back the wrapper on my sandwich and take a bite. It takes me a moment to realize how hungry I am now that the initial shock has worn off, and he was right about this sandwich. The pork is tender and I'm not sure if it's the sauce or the slaw coming through the strongest, but the flavor is sweet and tangy, with a hint of heat.
Between bites, I take a sip of my chocolate shake and almost moan at the thick chocolate flavor. I definitely need to bring Holden here someday.
I already feel a little better.
I'm about halfway done with my sandwich when I realize Dash is watching me, intently. “What?”
“Nothing.” The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Just glad you seem to be enjoying the food.”
“Well, the company isn't half bad, I guess.” I give him a catty smirk.
“I can live with that.”
My cheeks grow warm, and I'm glad the food gives me an excuse to look away. Once I'm done, I lick the remaining barbecue sauce from my fingers and clean up after myself. With my stomach full, and my nerves settled, I feel surprisingly relaxed in his company. “So, what is your real name?”
Dash raises his brows and makes a show of looking me up and down. “Oh, so you're feeling bold now?” He smirks and takes a long drink of his water. “Ernest Hardt. Mom named me after her grandfather, but you can imagine how that name went over in school.”
I can't picture Dash as someone who got teased in school. “So, why Dash?”
“I started running track in middle school. I think it started with something our coach said, but it caught on pretty quickly.”
Dash reaches over and runs a hand along my arm.
I shiver and force myself to focus on his face. My stomach starts to flutter, and I almost manage to calm myself until my gaze lands on his lips.
For a moment, we stare at each other, and I can't decide if I want to throw myself at him or crawl under the seat.
Dash's breathing quickens, and I have to force myself to look away from his lips. I swallow again and press my fingertips against my mouth to try to stop myself from saying something I'll regret. “I should let you get back to work, before you're late.”
But he doesn't release my wrist. “I'll say I got caught in traffic or something.”
He turns in his seat, and his tongue darts over his lips. “It's not really fair that you were the only one who got to ask questions.”
“What do you want to know?”
Dash draws his finger along the inside of my wrist. His skin is warm, and my stomach flips as I remember how strong and solid his arms were when he held me earlier.
“I want to know if your lips taste as good as they look.”
“You really think a line like that will work on me?”
