Loving Dallas(53)

My face looks gaunt, the skin beneath my eyes sallow and puffy.

If I get fired for blowing off my responsibilities at this party I have a promising career as a corpse on any crime show that will have me.

My purse is checked in the coatroom so I can’t really do anything about my horrifying appearance except splash some cold water on my face and dab at my smudged eye makeup with a paper towel.

“It reeks in here. Don’t you work here? Can’t you do something about that?”

Dallas’s groupie has joined me at the sink. Oh goody.

“Yeah I’ll get right on that.”

“Oh, and there are no more of the little blue shots. They’re so good. You might want to get on the waiters to send more of those around.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

She begins adding more black eyeliner to already overly lined eyes. I silently hope her hand slips and she stabs herself right in the retina.

I frown at my own reflection. First I cry all over Wade’s tragic turmoil, then I fantasize about gouging some random chick in the eye. I am so not this person.

Am I?

I have to get out of here.

After drying my hands briefly, I shove the door open.

“Hey.” Dallas stands there as if he’s waiting for someone.

“Hi.” I narrow my eyes because I don’t know if it’s me he’s out here for or the girl coming out behind me.

When she winks at him on her way by and he doesn’t so much as glance in her direction, I have my answer. But I can’t do this with him. Not here.

His button-up dress shirt is so dark blue it looks black and seeing him in perfectly tailored charcoal-colored dress pants is confusing. Dallas is flannel and denim for the most part. Hoodies and backward ball caps. Maybe I’m still confusing him with someone that I used to know instead of who he is now. Maybe I don’t know him at all anymore.

He takes a long pull from his beer bottle, the light glinting off his shiny black and silver watch, before stepping into my path. “Can we talk, please?”

I shake my head. “Pass. You need to get back to your groupies and I have to find my boss.”

“Hey.” His fingers are warm beneath my chin. “What’s going on? You look like hell.”

“Thanks. So much for chivalry, huh?” I jerk my chin out of his hand and turn away from his searching gaze. “Feel free to return to your non-hellish-looking fans now.”

“Wait a second. That’s not what I meant. Robyn?”

I can hear him and I can feel him close behind me in the crowd but I keep going, walking toward the coat-check room without acknowledging anyone as I weave through a sea of overly perfumed bodies. My stomach threatens to turn on me again and I decide to text Katie instead of trying to find her or Mr. Martin to let them know I’m not feeling well.

No one is manning the coatroom so I walk in and begin searching for my black leather jacket and matching bag.

The door clicks shut from across the room, where Dallas stands glaring at me.

“You want to tell me what that was about?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I return to shuffling through coats on the rack.

“Well, you were busy having a moment with Wade out on the balcony so I mingled like you told me to do. After which you run by shooting me a death glare that should’ve killed me on the spot. Then you come out of the ladies’ room looking like you’re recovering from a three-day drinking binge. Now you’re behaving as if speaking to me rationally is beyond your limits of capability. So I’ll ask you again.” Dallas comes closer, plucking my jacket from a rack and holding it open for me. “What the hell was that about?”

“I’m just stressed. And tired. This party was a lot of work. But I’m fine now.”

“Well, I’m glad. Because we need to talk.”

“Can we talk later? I’m beat and I’m just going to—”

“Just going to what, Robyn? Lie to me? Keep something huge from me, like, oh, I don’t know, your mom having f*cking cancer? Because let me tell you, finding out something like that just before a show wasn’t distracting at all.”

I close my eyes to shield myself from his wrath.

Shoving my own ire down deep, I turn and let him help me with my jacket. Dallas can’t let it go at that, though. He lifts my hair gently from beneath my collar and lays it over my right shoulder, giving him full access to the left side of my neck. He places a soft kiss on it and my traitorous body shivers.

“I’m not going to pretend I’m not angry, but seeing you all sick and fragile is softening my resolve to yell at you. Come back to my hotel room tonight. Stay with me. I missed you and we need to talk about this. About that summer.”

It’s tempting. I feel like death walking, and seeing that girl on his lap opened old wounds I’d been holding closed with all my might. But the thought of slipping so easily into the warmth of him, letting him hold me and make it all better, is enticing.

This must be similar to how drug addicts feel. I know it’s wrong. I know it will only cause more problems. I know exactly how much it will hurt the next time I have to see women groping him at a publicity event. But so help me, I am still tempted to crawl through the valley of the shadow of heartbreak. Naked.

I toss up a silent prayer for strength and step away from him. “There’s nothing to talk about. She was sick so I stayed home to take care of her. I didn’t want you to cancel any of your shows so I kept it to myself. Besides, I think I’ve got the stomach flu. I’m sure you can find plenty of willing bed-buddy candidates for the evening.”