I started to nod before remembering that would only make it worse. “Uh-huh. I don’t get them that often, but when I do….” Why was I telling him this? And why was he here? “Do you need something?” I asked a little more harshly than I intended for it to come out.

He ignored my question and tone. “When did you last take something?”

I shrugged; at least I think I shrugged. “A few hours ago.”

“Did you make dinner already?”

“No.” Honestly, I’d been thinking about making Josh call something in. I didn’t even want to bother with preheating the oven to stick a frozen lasagna in there.

Dallas glanced over his shoulder, hesitating when he faced forward again. His jaw jutted out for a moment. He let out a long breath through his nose, and then nodded, more to himself than to me, that was for sure. He rolled those massive shoulders of his and met my gaze, straight on. “I’ll close the door. Go lay down. I’ll take care of dinner,” he stated in that no-nonsense bossy way of his, like he wasn’t someone I’d met and hung out with a handful of times.

Who was this man and why was he doing this? The tiny head shake I did was more than enough to send bile creeping up the back of my throat. I couldn’t try and hide my cheeks puffing out as I kept the acid down. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” he said, still not breaking eye contact.

Was he using my own tactic against me?

I swallowed. “I’m sorry. Thank you for the offer, but we’ll be fine. Is there something you needed or can we just e-mail later?” Plus, since when had he ever come over to talk Tornado in person? Never. What else would he be coming over for?

To give him credit, he didn’t do much more than tip his face toward the sky and blow out a breath before shifting his attention back down to me, his facial features smooth and not amused. “Are you always this stubborn?”

I would have narrowed my eyes if it didn’t make my pain worse. So I told him the truth, mirroring his expression. “Yes. Is your real name really Dallas?”

That thick, dark eyebrow of his rose a half inch. “Yes.”

“Why did your parents name you that?” I asked even as my head gave another nauseating throb.

That eyebrow of his rose a quarter of an inch more than it already had. “My dad lost a bet on a football game, and it was either naming me Dallas or Cowboy.” He didn’t miss a beat and went ahead with going back to the original subject. “Let me help you.”

I would have gone with Dallas, too. I let the name thing go and waved my hand weakly. “You’ve done enough. I’m not trying to take advantage of you or cross some line. We’ll be all right,” I whispered, closing one eye when the pounding became even more concentrated.

Dallas was staring me down, but I didn’t care. His voice was so low I had to strain to hear it. “I get that you’re not trying to come on to me, now or ever, all right? Can we never bring that up again? I’m here. You’re not feeling well. Let me help.”

I closed both my eyes and frowned, wanting this conversation over with.

He sighed. “I know what it’s like for a single mom to get a migraine every once in a while. If you want to call mine and make sure I’m not shitting you, you can.”

I didn’t have the energy or the willpower to contemplate his words. I opened my eyes. Who the hell used their mom as a reference anyway?

The way he was looking at me was like he was blowing out a breath of exasperation in his head. “Take a picture of my driver’s license and send it to somebody if it makes you feel better,” he suggested calmly.

I didn’t think he was some kind of crazy pervert. Not at all. Mostly, I was worried about making things weird between us. He claimed to have accepted that I wasn’t trying to put the moves on him, which was good because it was the truth. He was nice to look at, his body even more so, but so were plenty of men.

“I can call in a few pizzas and sit with your boys for a while.” He raised those thick, brown eyebrows when I didn’t immediately scream my gratitude.

“It’s—” I started to say before Dallas cut me off.

“Look, I came over to tell you face-to-face that we’re scaling back the tournaments we’re doing and the practices. I tried calling you, but you didn’t answer or call back.”

Tournaments. Fuck. I didn’t even care about baseball or even continuing to live right then. All I heard was “pizzas” and “sit with the boys.” A wave of nausea and pain suddenly hit me right behind the eyeballs.

“Fine.” I felt so crappy I backed up, eyed him again, then went inside like an obedient puppy and headed straight into the living room. Dallas followed after me. I headed over to the couch, fully aware that this semi-strange man was in my house, about to figure out dinner for the boys.

Was this a mistake?

I watched from the couch as my neighbor disappeared out the back door of the kitchen and faintly heard the deepest reaches of his voice in the air, even though I couldn’t actually process what exactly he was saying.

When he didn’t come back in after twenty minutes, I sat up and peeked through the opened door from the kitchen into the backyard. Josh and Louie were about fifteen feet away from him, forming a triangle. Mac was lying on the grass, watching the three of them lazily. When a baseball flew from Dallas’s side to Josh’s, I couldn’t help but smile before plopping back down on the couch, letting out a silent prayer that this migraine would go away soon.