What If I Never (Necklace Trilogy 1)

For now, we enter what turns out to be a hallway leading to the bathroom, with not one, but two closets, one on either side of the walkway. Dash pulls me into the one to our right which appears to be his shirt room. Dash grabs a T-shirt from a hanger and tugs the dress I’ve forgotten I’m holding from my arms.

Now I’m naked again, not that I wasn’t before when I only had my dress in my hands. Dash catches my hip, his eyes warm as they slide over my body and back to my face. “You’re beautiful, Allie, and what’s crazy is that I don’t think you know it.” His voice is low, raspy, affected.

And I’m affected. Because it’s him giving me the compliment. And because he’s hit a sore spot for me.

I don’t see myself as beautiful. I’ve tried, I really have, but confidence runs much like a choppy winding river. A trait I inherited from my mother, compliments of my father. “Thank you,” I say softly, and it’s interesting to me that I’m touching him now, my hand on his chest, fingers curling in the springy hair there, and he’s letting me. Obviously, his need for control has been sated, whatever his trigger for such things, flipped the other direction. At least for now.

“Just telling the truth, baby,” he says. “And holy hell, you need to put this shirt on or we are not going to get around to eating.” He slides it over my head and I shove my arms into the sleeves as it falls to my knees.

He gives me a once over again and grins. “You look adorable, cupcake.”

“Adorable again?”

He drags me to him and squeezes my now T-shirt-covered backside, and says, “Your ass is definitely adorable. And so is the way you’re blushing. Little miss ‘thinking is not what I want from you right now.’”

“You were testing me,” I accuse.

He plays coy. “Was I?”

“Yes,” I say firmly. “You were.”

“And you weren’t testing me?”

I consider that. Was I? My answer is pretty immediate. I was. He’s right. “Not intentionally.”

“It’s called being human, baby. We all do it.” He strokes my hair. “Do you like lasagna? The place here in the building makes a hell of a lasagna.”

“Are there people who don’t like lasagna?” I ask, relieved to escape the prior topic.

“You just keep giving me reasons to like you, Allie.” He catches my hand. “Come on. Let’s order.”

I tug against his hand. “Wait. I actually need to go to the bathroom.”

“All right. I’ll order, you go pee, as my sister would say. She always has to pee. Just turn right and you’re there.” He kisses me and leaves me in the closet, and somehow, as crazy as it might sound, it feels like trust. And yet, it’s just a closet and a bathroom. And I have the distinct feeling Dash Black trusts no one.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

I’m warm and riding the high of this night with Dash when I travel the short walkway to the bathroom and my jaw drops. It’s an architectural masterpiece. The sink is floating brown wood with a gray granite top. In front of a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city, the tub is this half-moon shape in the same gray, with a brown wooden table next to it. In front of a brown glass-enclosed shower sits a brown abstract statue.

Despite all the glamour, I hyper-focus on that gorgeous tub.

I don’t even own a tub but rather a tiny shower in a tiny bathroom. I can’t remember the last time I took a bath. Yes, I do. I have a tub in my current place, but that won’t last. And as for the last bath, it was in Brandon’s fancy apartment.

I decide right then that I need my own tub.

With that decision is the realization that I’m successful but I’m not sure I’m happy. Why in the world would I not be happy? I scowl at myself. This is not the night to do this. I shove aside that thought and go pee, laughing as I think of Dash and his sister, feeling a bit of envy at his relationship with her. It must be wonderful to have a close sibling. By the time I’m washing my hands I’m back in the wrong headspace. Why am I not happy? I have all I ever wanted in a career. I’m back to the difference between successful and happy. My mother’s illness really drives home the need to live life to the fullest. Every day counts.

That’s when it hits me that I have no idea where my phone is right now. What if my mother has some sort of health crisis? Hurrying out of the bathroom, I head down the hallway to enter the bedroom. I find Dash standing at the window, still shirtless, his shoulders bunched. Another time, I’d wonder why he’s this tense right after enjoying the view, but right now, I have my mother on my mind.