“You’re not afraid of your dad, are you?” I ask, raising a brow.
Her face turns completely sour. “Please don’t …”
Oh, I didn’t think it was that tough.
Well, shit. I made this whole conversation awkward as fuck.
“Sorry,” I say, rubbing my arm. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”
“It’s fine. I just don’t …” She sighs. “Look, I wanna, but …” She throws another glance at the house.
I get it. She values her dad’s opinion, maybe more than she wants to let on, and that’s understandable. But I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like me. Or anyone who looks like me, for that matter.
Does she know? Probably. It’d surprise me if she didn’t.
Is that why she doesn’t wanna hang out with me? Because of what her family would think of her? Would dating a Native American … the redskin … make her feel inferior?
“I get it,” I say, holding up my hand.
Disappointment oozes through my veins, poisoning my entire mood.
“Forget I asked,” I say, trying to walk off.
However, she trails me. “Brandon. Wait.”
“What?” I say, coming to a full stop and spinning on my heels. “You want me. Then you don’t want me. Which is it? Make up your mind.”
“I … it’s complicated,” she says, swallowing.
“It doesn’t have to be,” I reply.
“My family, they don’t—”
“I don’t care what your family thinks. I’m not dating them. I’m dating you. I care what you think,” I say courageously.
“Dating?” she scoffs, and she narrows her eyes.
“Well, I just assumed …” I mutter, shrugging.
I didn’t think she’d hang on that single word.
She puts her hand against her side. “Hmm … you assumed.”
“Sorry,” I say, breathing out a sigh. Then I turn and keep walking. “Never mind.”
“I don’t mind,” she says after a few seconds.
I stop in my tracks again. When I turn around, she adds, “If you call me your girlfriend.”
My heart just skipped a fucking beat.
Dammit, Dixie Burrell.
A smirk slowly forms on my lips. “You think?”
She crosses her arms. “As long as you don’t force me to call you my boyfriend.”
Well, it’s one half of the bargain, so I may be able to live with that. For now.
“You’re probably going to change your mind about that someday …” I say, wriggling my brows.
“Maybe … or maybe not. We’ll see,” she muses, nodding her head in a sassy way. However, when she glances over her shoulder again, she immediately stops smiling. “But not today, okay?”
I get it. She’s afraid of what they’ll think of her. She values her family’s opinion just as I value my papa’s. At least I did … once.
Now, I’m not sure what to think anymore.
All I know is that I don’t wanna be the outcast anymore.
I wanna be with her.
Dixie Burrell.
My girlfriend.
Well, secret girlfriend anyway.
We’ll work on the public part later.
Chapter Thirteen
Dixie
Present
As he paces around the room like a lion stuck in a cage, I wonder what’s on his mind.
Since I lowered his gun, he immediately withdrew into his own headspace again. It’s as if he couldn’t face the fact that he was unable to pull the trigger, which made me smile like a gleeful, vengeful little witch.
I admit it made me happy. Just a tiny fraction.
I’ve managed to make myself invulnerable in his eyes.
Even though we hate each other’s guts, he still cares about my life. He’ll never admit it out loud, not with our track record.
It’d be an insult to me and my family too.
I purse my lips and then take another drag of the cig he gave me. It’s a small comfort in a precarious situation. Besides, it’s a tiny fire in the palm of my hands. I could set this whole room ablaze, forcing him outside and thus setting myself free.
The question is … is it the smart thing to do?
There’s a whole host of Josiah’s men out there looking for us. Josiah probably can’t wait to get his dirty hands on me and torture the living shit out of my body, which is why it’s in my best interest to stay as close as I possibly can to the only thing that’ll keep me out of danger.
Brandon Locklear.
As much as I hate to think about it, he’s my only option right now.
My only choice if I wanna make it out alive.
Is it worth it, though?
Being cooped up in here with him?
My worst enemy?
I blow out some smoke and tap on the cig, releasing the ash on the already stained red carpet.
Fuck Brandon and the white horse he thinks he rode in on.
I don’t need him to rescue me from anyone. I could do that on my own … if I had his gun.
There’s only one way to pry it out of his hands, and that method involves both of us doing the thing we hate so much. Getting close. So close … I can feel the burn igniting my skin. Just like old times.