Missing Dixie(47)

As the three of us walk to the exit, I give her the most comforting smile I can manage and meet her eyes when I say, “Hey, Bluebird. I meant to write while I was locked up but they wouldn’t give me a pen.”

The hint of a smile pulls at the right side of her beautiful mouth. “Got you some dinner. It might be cold, but it’s got to be better than whatever they had.” She produces a Jimmy Johns bag that I know will contain my favorite, a Vito sub, no onions, extra cheese, and heavy on the dressing. I can see a couple of bags of chips inside, too, and I want to wrap my arms around her or kiss her to say thank you but I know it wouldn’t be an okay thing to do right now.

It’s just a sandwich and yet knowing that she cared about me like that, that she took time out of her life to get my favorite one, and that she’s paid attention over the years to how I like it . . . it does something to me. They say a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach and they might be on to something. Whoever the hell “they” are.

“You need anything?”

“Just this sandwich and a shower and I’ll be a new man.” Or closer to being one, anyway.

We reach Dallas’s truck and I open the door for Dixie. She climbs in and my eyes drop to her ass. Blood shoots to my dick, waking him as I remember taking her from behind. I want to kick my own ass right now. Here she is being so kind and sweet to me after everything I’ve done and I’m acting like a man who just did a yearlong stint in the state pen, not an overnight at county.

Swallowing hard and trying to think of fluffy bunnies and other non-erection-inducing images, I get into Dallas’s truck and face forward for the entire drive.

“You should probably eat something, man. You look pale as f*ck and like someone backed over you with their car.”

Leave it to Dallas to give it to me straight.

“Well, I didn’t win the cell block modeling competition, so you’re probably right.” I reach into the bag and pull out the chips. Once I’ve opened the bag, I offer it to Dixie and she shakes her head.

“I already ate. Thanks, though.”

Her voice sounds strange. Strained somehow.

“You okay?” Despite my self-imposed ban on checking her out, I turn and examine her for signs of distress.

She avoids my eyes and a heavy weight settles onto my chest.

Maybe I’ve finally done it. Maybe seeing what she saw has finally shown her who I really am, and I didn’t even intend for it to happen.

“I’m fine,” she says quietly. “Tired.”

I call bullshit. Dixie Lark is not a good liar. Fine is typically not a word you want to hear in the female vocabulary. Ever.

Dallas glances over at our exchange and I decide to save it for when we’re alone—though I’m not sure when that will be. I have a lot of explaining to do, a good bit of begging, and probably some down-on-my-knees apologizing.

Tension and anxiety twist my insides into a complicated knot and I decide it’s best to hold off on the sandwich while riding down a bumpy road in a pickup truck.

Dallas puts on his left blinker to head toward the highway and Dixie puts her hand on his arm.

“He’s going to the house. With me.”

Huh.

I don’t know that I’ve ever seen her tell Dallas what to do. And technically she’s telling me what to do, I suppose, but I do not feel at all inclined to argue. Except . . .

“I kind of need a shower. And clean clothes.”

“You can borrow some of mine,” Dallas says evenly as he drives on past the left turn.

“Okay. Thanks, man.”

Dallas kind of grunts out his version of “you’re welcome” and we continue to their house in silence.

When we pull into the driveway, I expect all three of us to get out and go inside but Dallas leaves the truck running.

“You’re not staying?” Dixie asks him as she climbs out.

I watch their exchange, feeling a little like a voyeuristic third wheel and a lot like something is being discussed silently between them.

Dallas shakes his head. “I’m not. I’ve been away from Robyn for long enough.”

“That’s a five-hour drive, Dallas,” Dixie reminds him, sounding unhappy about his leaving us alone.

He grins and nods. “I’m aware of this. I’m good. I’ll text you when I get home.”

“I don’t have to stay if Dallas isn’t,” I tell Dixie quietly. The last time we were here alone, I was a monster of epic proportions. I can understand why she wouldn’t be too thrilled for a sleepover.

Her eyes are tense when she looks up at me. There is so much there.

Dixie Lark in the daylight is beautiful. The sun seems to seek her out specifically and beams of light shoot off her skin and hair as if she were an ethereal creature come to life just to stand in sunshine. But at night?

At night her eyes gleam and moonlight turns her skin into a color that I have never seen on anyone else. Her ink paints a beautiful portrait on her delicate skin and it makes me wish I could draw or that I had a decent camera so I could capture the way she looks against the stark darkness of night.

“I want you to stay,” she says, barely loud enough for me to hear over the rumble of Dallas’s truck engine. “Please.”

I have to close my eyes for a second because watching her right now will send my dick the wrong message entirely.