“Isn’t it his bedtime?” Dallas asked in a lowered voice.

I nodded at him. “Louie! Play Xbox my ass—butt. Come tell Mr. Dallas goodnight so you can get to bed,” I called out, rolling my eyes at this sneaky kid.

I heard an “aww man” from the living room.

It took a couple of seconds for Louie to trudge into the kitchen, heading straight toward the neighbor. He still hadn’t even bothered putting his pajamas on yet. His school pants were even dirtier than I’d imagined. His face seemed flush, but I ignored it. “Goodnight, Mr. Dallas.” He sounded grumpy. Too bad.

“Night, Louie,” Dallas answered back, that big, gruff hand lowering so he could get a high five from a hand so much smaller than his.

Louie gave him a little smile as he slapped his hand down as hard as he could. “You can come by tomorrow if you want. Right, Buttercup?”

Uhh…

“I got something I gotta do tomorrow, but maybe after that. We’ll see, buddy, yeah?” the man reasoned, saving me the trouble of having to find a way to tell Lou our neighbor had other things to do.

If Dallas didn’t know it, he found out then: my Louie was the most innocent soul in the universe. He didn’t ask for much. He didn’t need much. And Dallas’s vague words were enough. “Okay. Goodnight.” He turned around and started to head out of the kitchen again, leaving me standing there before he finally whipped around. “See you in my room?” he asked, finally remembering I was in the same room. Traitor.

“Yeah, Goo. I’ll see you in a minute.”

“’Kay. Night!” he seemed to holler at us both.

I turned to face Dallas with another apology and assurance ready, but he beat me to it.

He lowered his chin to say, “Don’t. I know neither one of you is doing anything, or coming on to me.” He met my gaze evenly, seriously.

I couldn’t help it. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

I wasn’t completely convinced. “I promise. Cross my heart. I’m keeping my hands to myself, and the boys and I are fine the way we are. I’m not looking for a sugar daddy. I just don’t want you to hate me since we have to see each other all the time. Promise.”

The man didn’t miss a beat, even the corner of his lip curled up as he murmured in that husky voice, “I know.” His mouth almost instantly went flat. “And I don’t hate you. I thought you wanted to be friends.”

Chapter Twelve

My head was pounding a couple of days later.

I wanted to throw up. I didn’t get migraines often, but when they did come a knockin’, hell had to be paid. I woke up that morning with a throbbing sensation behind one eye and it had only gotten steadily worse as I drove the boys to school. I should have known what was happening. When a call from a restricted number popped up on my screen just as I pulled into the lot at work, the pain went to another level.

Fucking Anita again. I knew it was her.

Thinking about her usually left me with a headache, but with her recent visit and phone call today… it was so much worse. I was nauseous and my brain wanted to burst out of my skull.

By some miracle, I made it through my work day without throwing up or crawling under my station, thanks to over-the-counter migraine medication we kept in the break room for emergencies and so much coffee, my hand shook while I did a couple of trims. It was a miracle I hadn’t cut myself. My phone had rung twice more, once with Trip’s name flashing across the screen and the second with Dallas’s name. I hadn’t felt like dealing with their baseball business and didn’t bother answering, letting both calls go to voice mail. It was my turn to pick up the boys from school afterward. I didn’t need to look in the mirror to know that the discomfort from my migraine was written all over my face.

They were both sweet and watched me carefully as I drove back. I’m sure they caught on to me not feeling my best, but they didn’t comment. To put the topping on the cake of how sensitive they were, when we got home, Josh offered to make them a snack so I didn’t have to.

All I could manage to do was thank him and ruffle his hair.

Both of them, along with Mac, headed into the backyard to play who knows what at the same time the next dose of medication I’d taken started kicking in just enough so that the light coming through the windows didn’t make me feel like I was on the verge of dying.

So when a knock came from my front door, I was a little confused. My parents rarely came over without calling first, and the Larsens never came unannounced. No one else of my friends would come over without double-checking. Hardly anyone had the new address.

Looking through the peephole, I was more than a little surprised to see a familiar face on the other side instead of a Girl Scout or a Jehovah’s Witness.

“Hey,” I said hesitantly and more than a little weakly once I’d opened the door.

When I’d peeked through the peephole, Dallas had had just about the most pleasant expression on his face I had ever witnessed coming from him, but the second his gaze landed on me, that expression went straight into a frown. “What’s wrong with you?”

Was it that bad that someone who was just shy of being a complete stranger could tell there was something wrong with me? “I don’t feel well.”

His frown deepened, his gaze raking all over me again in a way that made me feel like he was making sure I didn’t have some contagious disease. “You look like hell.” Was I supposed to look like a beauty queen when my eyeball felt like it was about to abandon ship from my skull? “Migraine?”