Chapter Twenty-six
Martina
I wake before Dallas. Again, he looks to be sleeping peacefully. It makes me happy to think I have something to do with it. But at the same time, I’m gutted that he’s been battling demons for years.
Was last night a turning point? He told me her name. He told me even though I didn’t ask.
I have the sudden urge to know everything about him. I eye my phone on the nightstand. I’d bet my right arm there is information on the internet. About him. His family. His childhood. Maybe even about how Phoebe and DJ died.
The temptation to google all things Dallas Montana fades when his eyes open, he sees me watching him, and he grins. No—the only way I want to learn about Dallas is from the man himself.
He runs a hand down my arm, sending shivers throughout my body.
I turn on my side, prop up on my elbow and say, “Tell me some weird random fact about yourself.”
“Okaaaaaaay. Let’s see…” His lips shuffle from side to side. “I played the saxophone in middle school.”
“Just middle school?”
“Gave it up right before ninth grade when I thought it was uncool.” He touches my hand. “Now you.”
“That’s easy. I used to eat my hair.”
He blinks. “What?”
“It’s called trichophagia. They think it was due to stress from my dad’s death. Nobody knew about it until I felt constantly nauseous and Asher took me to the doctor. They found a sixteen-millimeter hairball in my stomach. Had to put a scope down my throat to get it out. If it had been much bigger, it would have required surgery. Your turn.”
“I ate grass.”
I turn up my nose. “From the ground?”
“I guess. I don’t really remember, but my parents told me about it.”
“I didn’t wear underwear until I was thirteen.”
His brows creep toward his hairline. “Uh… why exactly?”
“I’m not completely sure. Asher theorized it was because my dad was late to potty train me. My mom had trained Asher. I guess my dad just didn’t know how to do it. I think I was five before I was completely out of diapers. And then… I guess I just didn’t want anything down there.” I laugh. “My poor dad. He was a wreck every time I wore a dress. He didn’t want to tell me no, but he was terrified I’d flash my bits.”
“So, why thirteen?” he asks.
“Necessity.” I say no more, and he eventually gets it.
“I did a lot of things that drove my mom crazy. I cracked my knuckles constantly. And I would suck on my shirts in school. I didn’t even know I was doing it. I ruined all my collars.”
Instantly, Charlie is in my thoughts. “I actually know someone who sucks on his shirts. And it is annoying.”
“Charlie?”
I nod.
“I’m sure my mom could give you tips on how to stop it.”
For a second, my heart flutters. Is that some sort of invitation?
“I, uh,” —he stutters nervously— “also used to eat butter. Sticks of it. Plain butter.”
Okay, so not an invitation. “I ate pizza crust.”
“What’s so weird about that?” he asks.
“Because I only ate the crust, not the rest of the pizza.”
“Jesus, you really are a freak.”
“Oh, you have no idea.”
“I have some idea. I mean you do talk in your sleep.”
A blush ambushes my chest as I wonder what I could have said. “Really?”
His eyes dance with a smile. “Okay, that was a lie.” He scoots closer. “More.”
I try not to read too much into the fact that he’s enjoying this game. He likes learning about me as much as I do him. That has to mean something.
“None of the food on my plate could touch or I wouldn’t eat it.”
His head bobs sideways. “You are aware it touches as soon as it’s in your stomach, right?”
“You’re asking this as if a girl who ate her hair was normal.”
“Right.” He chuckles. “I would put ketchup on everything. Even cereal. And when my mother made tacos, I’d deconstruct them, eating the shells first and then the contents.”
I cringe. “Ketchup on cereal. You’ve totally crossed the line. I’m not sure we can be friends.” I pretend I’m going to get out of bed.
He pulls me back, pushes me into the mattress, and climbs on top of me. He takes a chunk of my hair and works it between his fingers. “I’m glad you don’t eat your hair anymore. It would be a shame. You have such nice hair.”
I reach up and run my fingers through his. “Have you always had long hair?”
His eyes go dark. “Not always.”
Damn . I inadvertently brought up something touchy. He moves to get off me, but I grip his shoulders. “Kiss me. Kiss me right now. Kiss me everywhere, Dallas.”
My demand surprises me. I’ve never been one to be sexually forward. But the words just came out. I didn’t want to lose the connection we were having.
“Challenge accepted,” he says as his erection grows between us.
Then, as his tongue travels every inch of my body, going way above and beyond my highest expectations, I shoo Bex away when he whines at the edge of the bed, and get lost in this amazing shirt-sucking, ketchup-eating, knuckle-cracking man.