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I’m not even sure why I’m entertaining the thought of having this discussion with him. He’s made it very clear he doesn’t want anything to do with me after the rodeo. That our weekend together was just a one-time thing. If our dinner together at The Lucky Dog was any indication, we probably won’t even make it to the end of the weekend.
But I can’t help but wonder ‘what if?’
What if I tell him that I don’t want it to end, and he agrees?
What if I tell him that I love him, and he tells me he loves me too?
What if I pour my heart out to him, and he walks away?
“Uh, Dakota?” Ella pops her head back into my office. “You may have that opportunity a little quicker than you thought.”
The door opens wider, and Chance appears behind her, dressed in his standard black button-up and jeans. His beloved black Stetson on his head, looking every inch the sexy cowboy that he is.
“Dakota.”
The rumble of his voice sets off such a conflict of emotions inside of me. I feel the rush and elation of hearing him say my name, needing to hear him say it just one more time to know that I didn’t make it up. At the same time, the crushing weight of my anxiety is back, knowing that I’m going to need to have this talk with him, and I want to do anything humanly possible to avoid it.
“I’ll, uh, leave you to it then.” Ella mouths ‘good luck’ to me before moving out of the way, leaving Chance standing there in all his cowboy glory.
Chance gives Ella a nod before crossing the threshold into my office and closing the door behind him.
I use the moment to gather my thoughts. I start to shuffle papers around on my desk before me, acting as if I have any control over the situation when I, in fact, do not.
I need to act as if I’m cool and collected, not that I didn’t just have a breakdown in my office moments before. I need to pretend that the way he strides across my office isn’t setting my body on fire. How the way his blue eyes run over my face and chest, like he knows every inch of skin he sees. I need my body to stop reacting as he comes over to me, leaning against my desk and brushes the tips of his fingers across my cheek before lifting my chin up so my eyes meet his.
“Hi,” he says softly.
“Hi,” I breathe.
My gut instinct is to turn away from him. I should pull back, yank my face from his grasp, and ask him how he dares to show up and act like he has a right to be in my office after the way he treated me the other night.
But I can’t, because my body betrays me, and I can’t do anything but sit still and look at him.
“I should have called.”
“Yes, you should have.”
The stubble on his chin is longer than his normal, and if I’m not mistaken, there are bags under his eyes that aren’t normally there. I would like to think his behaviour the other night caused him to lose as much sleep as I have, but I doubt it. I doubt anything woman-related would cause the Chance Declan to lose a minute of shut-eye.
“I’m sorry.”
“What?” I pull back, pushing my chair to roll some space between us.
Of all the words that were about to come out of his mouth, that wasn’t any of them I expected.
“I’m sorry I left you the other night. That was wrong of me. I should have driven you back to your car.”
“That’s a start,” I say crossing my arms over my chest. “You absolutely shouldn’t have left me stranded at a bar when you were the one to pick me up.”
“You’re right. That was an asshole move. I deserve to be on your asshole-o-meter.”
I narrow my eyes at him. He’s showing up here, acting sweet, agreeing with me, and remembering the made up name I use for gauge jerks.
“You want something.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, mimicking my stance, but somehow looks resigned at the same time.
“Spit it out, Declan.” I grit out, bracing for what he’s about to ask—or demand, since I know Chance Declan doesn’t ask for anything.
