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.
“Listen, I hate to be a dick,” Dallas breaks in, “but we only have a few days until the Phi Kap gig, then the battle, and your hand looks like hell, Garrison.”
Both Dixie and I snap to attention at his interruption of our moment. He’s facing us, leaning forward on his steering wheel and looking like he’s barely resisting the urge to throttle us both.
“More importantly, you two obviously have some major shit to work out and I can tell you both from personal experience, if you can’t find some sort of common ground before the show, there’s no point in even bothering. Either one or both of you will be distracted and we’ll ruin any shot the band has at winning.” He glares for a minute but then his gaze softens. “I love you both and I won’t try and tell you how to live your lives or what I think is the best solution for everyone. But I will tell you that while I understand that nothing can be resolved in one night, I do think it would be a good idea to tell each other some hard truths.” He hits me hard with a pointed stare. Then his tone softens slightly. “Better now than the night before the battle.”
“Good night, Dallas,” Dixie says evenly. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Text and let me know you get home safe, please.”
“Good night, you two,” Dallas answers reluctantly. “Try not to kill each other.”
Dixie rolls her eyes and slams his truck door. Hard.
This is the second time in a matter of minutes that I’ve seen Dixie let Dallas know how it’s going to be. I don’t think I’ve seen that happen ever in my eleven, almost twelve years of knowing them.
I’m still in shock as we head into the house.
Dixie switches the lights on and I stand in the entryway still holding my bag of food and unsure of what to do with myself.
“I’ll get you something to drink,” she says, adding “sit” and nodding toward the couch before she disappears into the kitchen.
I follow her orders like a zombie on autopilot.
Sitting down, I open my sandwich, unsurprised when I realize that she did, in fact, order it exactly as I do.
“Tea or Coke or water?” she calls from the other room.
“Coke is fine,” I answer, knowing I need the caffeine, as this is probably going to end up being a longer night than either of us is prepared for.
Dallas is right. It’s time to tell her the truth.
I just wish it didn’t have to come on the heels of my beating a man in front of her and her picking me up at jail. So much for being the kind of man she deserves.
When she returns with a can of soda, I offer her half my sandwich. Or the whole thing. Or my heart and soul and whatever else she wants.
“You sure you’re not hungry?”
She nods. “I ate earlier.”
“You’re sure?”
She nods again. “Positive. Promise.”
It only takes a few bites until I’ve pretty much demolished the sandwich and another bag of chips. I drain the can of Coke while Dixie sips the one she carried in for herself.
“I left a message for Sheila Montgomery,” she informs me. “But she hasn’t called me back yet.”