Page 4 of Big Dick Energy

“You know what, Antonio?” I stood, gathering my dignity along with my purse. “I'm good. But thank you for being objectively kinder than my date.”

“Ah.” He gave me a small, understanding smile. “He is missing out, I think.”

It was probably what he said to every woman who got stood up in his section, but I'd take it.

I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and strolled toward the exit. I'd calculated a route that would take me as far from Dallas's table as geometrically possible while still reaching the door.

The universe, however, had other plans.

A busboy carrying a tray of dishes swung around the corner, and I dodged left to avoid collision, directly into the path of a 6’4” wall of muscle emerging from the hallway that led to the restrooms.

“Whoa there, sweetheart.”

Two large hands gripped my shoulders to steady me, and I looked up into the annoyingly handsome face of Dallas Dodger.

Kill me now.

“Davidson?” His eyes widened with recognition as he crossed his arms over his chest, and that infuriating smirk spread across his face. “What are the odds?”

“It's Davina,” I said through gritted teeth. “And based on my luck tonight, apparently one hundred percent.” I was desperate for an escape. To go home and pretend this night never happened. “Well, I was just leaving.” I moved to step around him.

He shifted, blocking my path. Not aggressively, but enough to be annoying. “Hot date?”

Curiosity or maybe amusement flickered in his expression.

“Very hot,” I lied smoothly. “Practically on fire.”

“Interesting.” He glanced toward the restaurant behind me. “Because it looked like you were sitting alone at that table for...” he made a show of checking his watch, “quite a while.”

My cheeks heated. “He had to take an important call,” I said. “Some of us date men with actual careers. You know, jobs that don't involve wearing spandex and pretending to body slam people?”

“First of all, it's performance athletic wear. Second of all, I'll have you know those slams are very real. Want me to demonstrate?”

“I'll pass.” I craned my neck to look past him toward his table, where his date's seat was empty. “Shouldn't you be getting back? I noticed your companion tonight. Tell me, is she old enough to order wine, or did she have to ask for a kids' menu?”

Dallas's expression shifted, a crack in that cocky armor, but it disappeared so fast I almost thought I imagined it.

“She's twenty-five,” he sneered, his voice tighter than before. “Plenty old enough.”

“Twenty-five?” I placed a hand over my heart. “Dallas, she's practically geriatric by your standards. What happened? Couldn't find anyone still in college?”

“Hilarious.” He stepped closer, and suddenly the space between us felt smaller, warmer. “You know, Davidson, you seem awfully interested in my dating life for someone who claims to find me so repulsive.”

“I find you annoying.”

That half-smile was back, the one that made my stomach flutter in a way it should not have been. “It seems like you can't stop thinking about me.”

“The only thing I think about when it comes to you,” I said, poking his chest with one finger and immediately regretting it because dear God, his chest was solid, “is how quickly I can leave any room you enter.”

He caught my hand before I could withdraw it, his fingers warm around mine. “And yet here you are. Still talking to me.”

“Because you're blocking my exit!”

“Am I?” He hadn't moved, but he seemed closer. “Or are you looking for an excuse to stay?”

I snatched my hand back. “In your dreams, Dodger.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He leaned down, his voice dropping to a murmur that sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine. “You have no idea what happens in my dreams.”