sure— Wait!”
She’d already headed for the door that led to the stairs but stopped hesitantly and then turned to him.
“Dallas?”
“I’ll be there at seven,” she said and then took off.
4
DALLAS HAD BARELY FINISHED her first cup of coffee when Wendy plodded into the kitchen, still wearing red boxers and a white tank top—her preferred pajamas.
“What are you doing up so early?” Dallas asked, wondering the same thing about herself. She’d only had four hours’ sleep, tops. After she’d gotten home, she’d been so wired, she’d stayed up and watched Pretty Woman for the twentieth time.
Well, she hadn’t actually watched it. Stared, really. While she’d replayed the kiss over and over again in her head. While she’d imagined his hands curving over her butt, drawing her against his erection.
“I’m dying to hear about last night.” Wendy got her usual morning cola out of the fridge. “Did he totally freak when he saw you?”
Dallas smiled, thinking about the stunned look on his face as he’d approached her. “He pretty much kept his act together when we were introduced. Although I’m not sure when he first spotted me.”
“Who did he think you were?” She popped the tab of the can, sat cross-legged on the love seat and then yawned before taking her first sip.
“A friend of his boss’s daughter. But we kept it vague.”
“How late were you out?”
“I got in around midnight. You need a haircut.”
Wendy’s hand went to her spiky hair, and she hopelessly tried to pat it down. “I know. As soon as I get a few bucks together, I will. Maybe next Friday.”
Dallas forced herself to keep her mouth shut. She was always ready to bail someone out. It wasn’t that she was a pushover. She preferred to think of herself as a nurturer. Anyway, even if she offered Wendy a loan, she wouldn’t take it. To her credit, Wendy watched her finances. “Any news on the audition?”
“I didn’t make the final cut.”
“I’m sorry.”
“C’est la vie.” Wendy shrugged. “Maybe I should start sleeping with directors.”
“Right.” Dallas rolled her eyes. “That would be a good move.”
“Hey, I didn’t get up early to talk about how I screwed up yet another audition. Tell me about last night.”
Dallas briefly turned away to pour another cup of strong black coffee. “Speaking of getting up early, I had to walk Bruiser again.”
“Oh, no. Sorry. You should have knocked on my door.”
“He yelped and howled for five minutes. If he couldn’t get you up, I doubt I could have.”
Wendy sighed, and then her lips started to curve as the curly black mutt, having heard his name, lumbered out of his cushioned basket and then stretched before leaping up onto the love seat with Wendy. “He’s so cute, isn’t he?”
“Adorable. Especially at six in the morning.”
Wendy gave her a sheepish look but then narrowed her eyes. “You’re trying to avoid talking about last night.”
Dallas rubbed the back of her neck. “Not really,” she said, even as she privately acknowledged there was some truth there. “Last night was great. More fun than I’d expected.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Dallas leaned with her elbows on the kitchen counter that served as their table and a room divider. She cradled her mug in her hands and stared at the black liquid. “Eric is really a nice guy.”
“And?”
“And I’m seeing him again tonight.”
Wendy’s hand froze in Bruiser’s curly black fur. “You’re kidding.”
“Why not?”
“Alone?”
“At a restaurant. I’m not totally insane.”
“This is so totally not you.”
“That’s the fun part.” Dallas grinned. “It’s not me.”
Wendy put down her cola, linked her fingers together as she often did when she angsted over something, which wasn’t often enough. She generally acted first, thought later. “Okay, what’s really going on here?”
“Nothing.” Dallas straightened, her defenses rising. “What’s with you?”
“You’re worrying me.”
“This coming from someone who’d sleep with a director for a role?” Dallas snorted. “Besides, you’re the one who encouraged me to go last night.”
“Hey, I was kidding about the director.” Wendy rubbed her eyes and sighed heavily. “How much did you tell this guy about yourself?”
“I haven’t told him anything.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
Wendy studied her with an annoying mixture of curiosity and concern. “You don’t trust him enough to tell him anything about yourself but you’re willing to date him.”
“It’s not about trust. And I’m not dating him. It’s one time. Jeez.” Dallas sipped her coffee and took a mental time-out.
“I don’t like the idea of you seeing him alone.”
“We won’t be alone, Mom. That’s why I chose a restaurant.”
“Which one?”
“Like I’m going to tell you.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want you spying on me.”
“Would I do something like that?”
In a New York minute. Dallas didn’t bother to answer. Only gave her a look.
“Okay, what if I promise not to?”
“What does it matter which restaurant?”
“If he turns out to be a serial killer and no one ever sees you again, I need something to tell the police.”
Dallas groaned. “He’s not a serial killer. He works for Webber and Thornton Advertising, for goodness’ sakes. If anything, he’s too conservative
