“I didn’t think you knew how to be shy.” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not taking advantage of me. We talked about this already.”
“Fine, but I don’t want to make you feel weird either.”
His reply was low and steady. “I’ve seen you in your underwear and combed nits out of your hair, baby. I think we’re past that.”
I focused on one thing and one thing only.
Baby?
Me?
I was still thinking about his word choice when he asked, “How’s your hand?”
What hand? There was something wrong with my hand?
“Your burned hand,” he said, raising both his eyebrows, a slight smile playing at his lips.
Jesus Christ. I’d lost it. I swallowed. “Same old. It hurts. I’m taking some pain medication when it gets really bad, but not a lot. I have to rubber band a bag around my hand to shower. I cut myself shaving. I haven’t shampooed my hair in five days. It takes me longer to do everything with this thing, but I’ll live.” Poor and in pain, but it could be worse. “Can I help you with anything?”
“Nope.”
“Really. I can help. I have one good hand, and I’m bored out of my mind. It’s only been a few days, but I don’t know how I’m going to make it being stuck at home.” That was putting it lightly. I’d gone to help my mom at the store she worked at, but only made it three hours before her comments about my intelligence—because who goes into a burning house?—got to be too much and I left.
Those hazel eyes were on me for a couple of seconds before his mouth twitched. His hands went to his hips and I told myself,Don’t fucking look, Diana. Don’t look down.
The question was out of my mouth before I could stop myself. “Are you really patriotic or do you just like eagles?”
His eyebrows went up and with a straight face, he glanced down at his chest before focusing back on me. “My dad had this tattoo on his arm.” Then, like what I’d asked was no big deal, he asked, “You need something to do?”
I nodded, telling myself to let the tattoo go.
“You sure? You’ll only use one hand?”
Why was the first thought that popped into my head a dirty one?
And why did my face turn red as I thought that over?
“Cross my heart.”
Dallas tipped his head to the side. “You didn’t start on Louie’s quarterpipe while I was gone, did you?”
There it was. Another reminder he’d gone somewhere. Hmm. “Nope.”
“Then you can help me build it.”
The “shit” came out of my mouth before I could stop it and he smiled.
“Or I can do it alone.” He paused for all of a second before saying, “If you tell me you can do it by yourself—”
I rolled my eyes. “No,” I mumbled. “If you insiston helping, we can do it together, and by together, I mean you’re going to be stuck doing most of it because I only have one hand, but I’ll try my best.” I shrugged. “It would be nice to surprise him tomorrow. He’s spending the night with the Larsens today. You think we can get it done?”
The small smile that came over Dallas’s mouth was like a roman candle straight to my heart. “We can try our best,” he offered with all that patience and easygoing nature that cried out to me.
What I wouldn’t do for the best of Dallas Walker. But all I said was, “Okay. I’m ready when you are.”
“Give me fifteen so I can finish up here and get this thing across the street,” he compromised.
I nodded. “I’ll meet you in the backyard.”
