Dallas walked ahead of me saying, “Or right at the spot where my hair and ear meet. Triple.”

That had me laughing like everything was fine and there hadn’t been any kisses between us. “Get in the chair. I don’t promise those kind of happy endings.”

He chuckled as he sank into the chair, his forearms resting on the arms. I shook out a cape and draped it over his chest when he asked, “What kind of places are you going to that give people happy endings, huh?”

“The same kind of places you do, since you know what I’m talking about.” I couldn’t help but laugh.

My fingers were on the nape of his neck, attaching the separate pieces of Velcro together to hold the cape to him when he tipped his head back just enough for me to mostly see his eyes. “I don’t go to those kinds of places.”

Dear Jesus. I coughed. “Oh?”

He was still watching me as he whispered just loud enough for me to hear, “My hand is just as good as any other.”

God help me. God help me. God help me. God help me.

He’d just said what I thought he’d said. His hand. On him. Once the mental image of Dallas naked on his bed with his hand on himself—long and thick, because I’d felt that thing against me and there had been no mistaking it for anything except what it was—filled my head, picturing him stroking over and over again, up and down, a twist here and there, squeezing and pulling… there was no going back. There was absolutely no going back. Not now, not ever.

There was no way that my thoughts weren’t written all over my face. I could feel it go hot. I could feel myself get all bent out of shape into so many loops and spirals there was no straightening me out.

Dallas jerking was going to be in my head tonight and every night for a really long time.

Or always, a little voice in my head warned.

A big hand reached out to wrap its fingers around my wrist, and he pulled on it gently. “How can I miss you so much when I just saw you yesterday?”

I sucked in a breath and darted my eyes up to his face to find him watching me carefully, that gentle, soft smile of his aimed right at me with so much honesty and openness I forgot how to think.

But the second I was able to, I remembered Vanessa’s words. And I remembered what I had stayed up all night thinking about. And I remembered what I had decided.

Life could be brutally short, and happiness was never guaranteed.

There were so many things I wish I could have told my brother before he died—how much he’d meant to me, how much I loved him, and how I would try to be someone he could be proud of. I had made plenty of mistakes in my life; I just didn’t want to continue making choices that would lead to regrets.

And it was with that knowledge—with thinking about Rodrigo’s short and brilliant life and how much he had loved me and his sons—that I went for it. I asked him, “Do you like me?”

It sounded just as middle school as it should have, but I didn’t give a single shit. How the hell else could I have asked?

Dallas blinked and his teeth went to bite his bottom lip. His eyebrows went up a millimeter, and he let out a slow breath through his mouth. “I wouldn’t call it ‘like.’” The fingers he had around my wrist loosened and trailed down to my hand. Spreading those fingers apart, he linked those long, strong digits through mine.

Dallas was holding my hand.

He was holding my hand as he said, “You told me you were a little in love with me, do you remember?”

How could I forget?

“But I wouldn’t use ‘little’ to describe what I feel for you, Diana. I think you know that already.”

It was my turn to blink. I squeezed our palms together. “So I’m not imagining it?” I pretty much whispered.

“No, baby, you’re not.” Dallas squeezed my fingers between his.

I dropped about four F-bombs in my head as I stood there, not trusting my words. Or his.

And he must have known that because he didn’t wait for me to open my mouth. “I’m your poor bastard and you know it.” He kept tugging on my arm until I stood in front of him, the front of one of my thighs touching his kneecap.

There went another dozen S-bombs and M-bombs as every nerve in my spine lit up like a pinball machine.

Without thinking about what would be the best thing to say next, I made my gaze meet his, like I had every other time we discussed things, and I asked, “Are you sure?”

Dallas was the most constant man I had ever met in my life. His patience, steadfastness, and determination covered every inch of his entire being as he smiled at me. “Positive.” His eyes went from one of mine to the other, even and patient. “Of all the houses you could’ve bought, you got the one across the street from me. Of all the sports Josh might have played, it was baseball and I happened to coach his age group. You were meant to be in my life.”

Those hazel irises went so tender my heart hurt. His whisper didn’t help any. “I know you love me.”

It was one thing to admit it to myself but a completely different thing to say the words out loud. But I said them anyway. “Yeah, I do.” I breathed. “But—”

“No buts.”

I couldn’t help but smile a little even though it felt like my entire future—my life—depended on what happened right now. But I couldn’t stop as I looked over Dallas’s weathered, serious face. “Yes buts. You can love me, but that doesn’t have to mean anything, Dallas. What do you want from me?”