Page 12 of Parentmoon

“Yeah,” Dallas sighs beside me, although he isn’t looking out at the moonlight over the ocean. With his hands tucked into his pockets, he’s watching me. “So, what next?” At the puzzled expression on my face, he clarifies. “What will you do tonight?”

“I’m going to call Michael once more and then read for a bit.” My explanation sounds lame. I should take him up on that drink. I should be soaking up every second of this view before leaving somehow, sometime tomorrow.

“We should have sex.”

The statement is so abrupt it jars me like I’ve slammed into a coconut tree. I stumble to a halt and choke out, “What?”

Dallas takes an additional step forward and turns to face me. With his hands still in the pockets of his loose, linen trousers, he shrugs. “You and me. We should have sex.”

Admittedly, I haven’t been on a date in a while. It’s been even longer since I’ve had sex. Still, I’m at a loss for words. Is that how this is done? Does that bold statement really get women into bed with him? Way to burst the bubble on a romantic setting.

I lift a hand to my forehead, rubbing back and forth across the sudden furrows. “Have you lost your mind?”

He flinches, taken aback by my rejection while I’m still trying to process his proposition.

“I’ve already seen you naked,” he teases humorlessly. “You need to loosen up, darlin’.”

“And you think sex is what I need?” I stare at him, dumbfounded. The man can hardly spare me a glance, but he wants to have sex with me. My thoughts are a riot of emotions, clashing into each other, fighting for something to take the lead and explain to me what the hell this man is thinking.

“Yes. And often. In a variety of positions.” His deep voice drops deeper, like large stones plunking into the ocean.

My mouth falls open. I start to tremble. While he might be right in some ways—about my desire for sex—he’s completely off base in what I need.

“What I need . . .” I falter, choking on what to say. “You think you know what I need?”

“Yes.” He nods, confident and cocky, and I want to slap him. Then maybe, tackle him to the sand and take him up on his offer.

But the truth is, he’s so off base. I’ve had years to analyze what I need from a man, and it isn’t sex.

“What I need . . .” I struggle to control the quake in my voice, and swallow before continuing. “Is a man to greet me in the morning. Say hello when he comes home from work. Ask me about my day and then really listen to what I have to say.” The lump forming in my throat nearly cuts off my speech.

“What I need is someone to hug me every day. Kiss me good night. Hold my hand. Support my decisions.” I jab a finger into my sternum as my voice rises. “Say please and thank you. Appreciate me. Respect me.”

Be faithful and committed, whispers through my head but I don’t share those traits, as I’m already opening myself up and vulnerable to potential mockery.

“If I go to the doctor, ask me what’s wrong and be concerned.”

His jaw ticks. “Is something wrong with you?”

“That’s not the point.” My voice lifts to a high squeak and I’m no longer worried about upsetting singing palm trees or crooning ocean waves. I straighten, shoulders back, hands fisted at my sides, as I glare at him. “These are the things I need.” I nod once, like punctuation at the end of my list.

Dallas slowly shakes his head, lowering his gaze to focus on the sand at our feet. He’s barefoot which I thought bizarre until we went to dinner and noticed several people dressed up but not wearing shoes.

“You didn’t mention love.” His rough voice is hardly more than a whisper, melting into the warm breeze around us.

“Isn’t that implied in all I just said? Those actions are love.” My heart is galloping, sprinting like it can outrace how much I’ve just exposed of myself.

I can’t believe I laid all that out for him, and anger kicks in as if I’m losing the race. “I don’t expect someone like you to understand.”

His head pops up and those gem-like eyes of his sparkle despite the darkness around us. “And just what kind of man do you think I am?” His tone turns rougher, joining the waves which have momentarily picked up speed and crash a little louder against the shore. The pause between us is a deep chasm before he says, “I slayed a dragon for you.”

“It was a goddamn lizard.” My arms flap out before my palms slap back on my thighs. Frustration has my entire body trembling like the sudden shake of the palms over our heads.

The romantic evening has turned into a brewing storm. Or maybe that’s just me.

Waving up and down at his physique, my tongue falters at first. He’s dressed casually in loose lightweight pants and a form-hugging T-shirt, accentuating the firmness of his upper body. Those biceps bulge. His pecs strain beneath the cotton. A hint of ridges at his waist suggests his abs are tight. He could slay dragons, but he would also break hearts.

“You like women and hate commitment.”