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I jump out of the chair and follow him. He grabs a beer from the fridge, pops the top off with the hem of his shirt, and hands it to me.
That was hot.
“Thanks.” I take a sip and set the bottle on the island. “Your friends are fun.”
“They’re something. Thanks for being a good sport with them. It’s nice to see someone dish it back to Maverick for once and not drop to his feet.” Dallas pauses and reaches for a plate. “He’s smitten with you.”
“He’s… large.”
“It’s okay, Mae. You’re not going to hurt my feelings by thinking he’s hot.”
“I do not think that.”
“Liar.” He slings a dish towel over his shoulder. “Everyone thinks he’s hot.”
“Everyone thinks you’re hot, too,” I blurt out for some stupid reason, and I cover my mouth after I’ve said it. “Can we pretend I didn’t just call my boss hot?”
He puts his elbows on the island next to me and grins. “You think I’m hot?” he asks, and his voice is pitched low like a secret.
“I—no. I don’t. Other people do.” I fumble with my drink and take a sip. Dallas follows the bob of my throat as I swallow, and he won’t stop looking at me. “I’m not one of them.”
“Now you’re just hurting my feelings.” He sticks out his bottom lip and pouts. “Any other grievances you want to air? Are my peanut butter and jelly sandwiches shit?”
“Your sandwiches are incredible, and you know it. I hear you presenting them to June like they’re a Michelin-starred meal,” I laugh, and I shove his shoulder.
Dallas is too big for me to actually move—the man is a wall of muscle—but he makes a nice show of pretending like I did some damage.
“Be gentle with me, tiny fighter,” he murmurs.
His fingers wrap around my wrist to stop me from trying to mess with him again. He holds me there, his eyes on mine, and I stop breathing.
We’ve touched each other before. Accidental grazes when he’s reaching over me to get a mug from the top shelf. Quickbrushes of skin when I slide past him to put June to bed or hand him a plate to load into the dishwasher. The press of his thigh into mine at the dinner table because he takes up so much space. Friendly hugs and his arm slung around my shoulder.
This is different, and it doesn’t feel like we’re joking anymore.
Anything I want to say catches in my chest. It turns to dust when his thumb runs along the vein inside my wrist. When his gaze bounces to my mouth and holds there, it’s electric.
“Daddy!” June shouts, and I hear the pitter-patter of feet coming down the hall.
Dallas and I spring apart.
He drops me from his hold and turns away. I sit on the barstool behind me, and June barrels into the kitchen just as I catch my breath.
“Uncle Mav says I have to be a chaperone,” June says.
“Uncle Mav doesn’t even know how to spell chaperone,” Dallas says, and he faces me again. His cheeks are pink, and he looks a little winded. I hold back a laugh because I feel exactly the same way, like I’ve been sprinting for miles and miles, no finish line in sight. “You good?”
“Me?” I ask. “Why wouldn’t I be good?”
Because something definitely just happened between us, and we both don’t know what to do.
His eyes fall to my mouth again, and I see heat behind the dark brown before he blinks it away. “Just want to make sure.”
“I’m fine. Groovy, even. All is well.”
“Good. That’s good. I’m going to get the burgers going,” he says, and he waves toward the balcony. “If you need me.”
“I’ll keep an eye on June and make sure she doesn’t try to run through any glass doors or anything,” I say, and his lips hook up into a smile.
