“Actually I’m more of a Jase Wade fan. But thanks. Great show tonight.” With that, she turns and leaves and I gape at Robyn. Who immediately bursts out in hysterical laughter.

“She just . . . totally . . . put . . . in your place,” she barely chokes out.

“Nice. Sheesh. And here I was finally feeling better about not writing and Dixie junior goes and puts me down.”

Robyn sobers almost instantly. “You haven’t been writing? But what about the songs you sang tonight?”

I cringe. I hadn’t meant to throw myself a pity party.

I grab a salt shaker and spin it back and forth between my hands. “Egh. Some of it was old stuff. I threw in a few covers, and Dixie wrote ‘Better to Burn.’ ”

“So . . . how long has it been since you’ve actually written anything?” The concern in her voice matches the way her eyes are watching me.

I focus on my salt shaker.

“A while. Six months maybe. More since I’ve actually written a full song. The band was working on one. Leaving Amarillo, I mean.” I hate that I have to clarify because I have a new band now. Feels like infidelity somehow. “But we never got the chance to finish it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She uses the same tone she used to say she was sorry about Papa’s passing. I finally look into her eyes and see the genuine sympathy in them.

Robyn cares about me. I know this. I’ve always known this. I care about her, too, I do. As much as the only other women I’ve ever cared about, which is a short list limited to my mom, Nana, and little sister. But my life isn’t going to be the kind that allows for a wife and two kids and a picket fence, and she deserves that. So it’s time I got to the point, told her we’re cool and I’m going to put my big-boy pants on and call it a night, despite my dick’s dire protest.

“You don’t want to talk about it, I’m guessing.”

“No. I don’t. I actually asked you here because I wanted to let you know I’m going to do my best impression of a grown-up while we’re on this tour together. We both have jobs to do so let’s just do them.” Something akin to pain flashes in her eyes and I hate that my self-loathing bullshit is messing up our time together. I know that it’s almost over and I don’t want to end on a pissed-off note. “Sorry. It’s just that the writing—or lack thereof—is kind of a hot button issue right now. Mandy’s all over me about it, the label wants a single that can drop alongside the tour, and the goal is to launch an album immediately after so that I can headline my own tour.”

“Mandy’s all over you all right,” Robyn says without looking at me.

“What?”

Her eyes cut to mine. “Don’t act like you don’t notice, Superstar.”

Her lips are pressed together tightly and her arms are folded over her chest, forcing her ample breasts up just enough to shift my focus for a second.

I chuckle lightly, but the thoughts in my head are dark and dirty. God I get off on her jealousy.

I’ve never really seen it before, not like this. In high school everyone knew we were together, and while a stray cheerleader might have offered to do me a favor from time to time, I ignored them and Robyn knew I ignored them.

I’ll happily ease her mind about Mandy as well, but that’s a two-way street I don’t plan to travel alone. “You never answered my question about Wade.”

Kay places our check on the table and I lift it without taking my gaze from Robyn’s.

“And I’m not going to. Like you said, we both have jobs to do. I think we need to set some boundaries since we’re going to be working together.”

“Boundaries?” I fish a twenty and two fives out of my wallet. “Such as?”

“Appropriate topics of conversation, for starters. No more late night dinner dates, especially not where you pay as if we’re on a date. And no more looking at me like you’re . . .”

My mouth quirks up on one side. “Like I’m what, darlin’?”

“You know,” she hisses from across the table. “Stop it. Stop with the drawl and the darlin’ and the smoldery looks.”

“Or else?”

“We have a history, Dallas. And this isn’t easy for me, okay? There. I said it. This isn’t easy and I have to deal with it professionally or risk a career I’ve worked really hard for. You have no idea what I’ve sacrificed to get where I am. So stop toying with me for your own amusement. We’ve hurt each other enough for one lifetime, don’t you think?”

10 | Robyn

THIRTY-THREE MINUTES.

That’s how long I made it before I said everything that I shouldn’t have. Loudly. And in a public place.

Fabulous.

At least I finished my pancakes before making a complete fool of myself. I can’t even look at him. He already put enough cash on top of the ticket for the bill and a generous tip so all I can do is slide out of the booth, dragging my dignity along with me. Pretty sure it’s somewhere around my ankles near the same location where Dallas Lark used to manage to relocate my panties.

“Robyn,” he calls out, but I don’t stop. I make my way out of the diner, clutching my purse for dear life, and try to hail a cab.

It’s nearing midnight and cabs aren’t exactly plentiful in this partially deserted area. I take out my cell phone and am in the middle of asking Siri where the nearest cab company is, which she hears as lab testing company because she’s an evil bitch that likes to screw with me.

“Cab company!” I’m screaming into my phone, enunciating as much as humanly possible, when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“Robyn.” His voice is rich and gravelly and warms my insides like a shot of whiskey. Damn it.

As if our little scene isn’t quite dramatic enough for Mother Nature’s liking, fat drops of rain start to splat down between us.

“Great. That’s just fucking great,” I practically yell.

“Tell me what you’ve sacrificed. I want to know,” Dallas says evenly, completely unfazed by my obvious psychotic break. “Because I know a thing or two about sacrifice myself. But I can tell you this much, I would never sacrifice my dignity and I sure as hell didn’t get where I am on my back or by putting anyone else on theirs.”

What the hell?

“Excuse me?”

“Mandy. She’s my manager. Our relationship is strictly professional, and it will stay that way, regardless of what her intentions may or may not be.”

“Okay.” I don’t want to feel relieved. I shouldn’t care. But my tightly wound nerves loosen a fraction.

“Your turn,” he informs me, folding his muscular arms over his broad chest.

“My turn for what?”

“To tell me if you’re fucking Wade! If that’s how you got on this tour, I want you to end it. He’s a grade A piece of shit who doesn’t give a damn who he—”

Dallas doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

Because I slap him. Hard. So hard my hand is still stinging.

Our faces must be matching masks of shock and I see the replay in slow motion. I’ve never struck another human being in my entire life. And I just slapped the only man I’ve ever loved with everything I was worth.

“If you ever, ever, even think to insinuate that I got where I am on my back, I swear to God, Dallas Lark, I will make that seem like a love tap.”

I am so immensely infuriated that everything in my line of sight is tinged in red. But more than that, I’m hurt. Hurt that someone I once cared so much for, and still care about more than I’d like to admit, would think that of me. Stitched-up lacerations on my heart that were on their way to being pretty pink scars are opening wide and angry. He didn’t invite me here for pancakes to catch up or spend time with me or figure out how to work together or even attempt to make amends. Nope. He’s just jealous and arrogant and a raging asshole.

“I didn’t mean to insinuate that—”

“Get the hell away from me.” I whirl around and step right into a fresh puddle. Great. Wonderful.