Page 7

I’m a liar. A big fat liar.

Of course, I want more.

Of course, I like him. Really like him. I might even be in love with him, but I’m nowhere ready to confront that truth.

Why does amazing sex create a protective bubble of happiness and safety that I never want to leave? Even when I'm having a bad day, everything seems a little better when I see him.

God, I'm a fucking idiot.

I should’ve known those two weeks were too good to be true. Too good to lead to anything better. My guard dropped somewhere along with my panties any time Dash took me to the highest of heavens. I'm childishly blaming him for bursting the happiness bubble because it's ten times easier than telling him the truth.

I should've kept my panties on and talked to him about my feelings. Like a mature adult. Admit I wanted the good time to turn into something deeper. Something special.

But, like the chickenshit that I am, I waited for him to make the first move. To profess his all-consuming love for me. The tiny fire escape outside my apartment is simply waiting for someone to scale it in a dramatic declaration of love.

Would I feel less sad if I took the chance? If I bared my soul only to have him reject me?

"Stop thinking," Tabby mutters, knocking her bony elbow into my arm. "You know he's a moron."

"I know," I grumble, slowing our pace into a walk and breathing in the chill November air.

The cool weather with gray skies is perfect for running. Well, for me at least. Tabby has been complaining about "freezing her tits off" ever since she stepped off the bus at our latest invitational. I was more than ready to stretch my legs after huddling in the back seats with the girls. And continue to avoid Dash, who looks like complete shit, according to Eden's five-second assessment.

After dumping our stuff at the team camp site, Tabby and I paired off to familiarize ourselves with the race route set on a swanky golf course. I didn't trust myself to stick around and check if Dash looked as miserable as I've felt over the past two days.

But I didn't proof because he sounded awful in his series of apologetic texts and voicemail messages. Part of me wanted to reply, but not knowing what to say always stopped me. Because what happens after I accept his apology? Would that be a convenient time to admit my feelings? Would we go back to fun-naked time?

“Do you think he’ll come to the art show next week?” Tabby asks, breaking the parade of dumb questions swirling in my mind.

"I don’t know," I answer with a small shoulder shrug, remembering talking about it with him earlier in the week.

He asked if I was part of the show after seeing fliers around campus. Thanks to my brothers' short attention spans and disinterest in art, I've learned to highlight the important parts. But Dash genuinely seemed impressed and asked questions about my work.

"We'll be there, and we'll kick his ass if you want us to," my teammate reassures me. "But I also can't wait to see Perry."

While I love my friends' company, the final touches need my full focus during the last week. Tiny distractions could lead to major mistakes, and I'd rather not add more stress to my life.

"He looks fabulous," I share, smiling widely at the mental image of the nearly complete octopus.

"Caw caw caw!"

Tabby and I stop at the same time at the sound of an obnoxious but hilarious impression of a crow. Or raven. I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose, while Tabby laughs hysterically.

Despite my protests, Eden and Daphne appointed themselves as "Sisterhood of Dash Watch" members who would keep me posted on his whereabouts. With Eden's love for secret codes, she created a call signal in case I didn't have my phone or hear it. I didn't realize the sign would be for everyone within a one-mile radius.

Tabby wraps her arms around her stomach and laughs harder when we turn to see Eden and Daphne charging toward us with their heads and eyes tilting in one direction. I don't bother following their mad gaze to know Dash is nearby.

"Caw caw caw caw!"

I slap my hand to my forehead at Daphne's high-pitched, more feminine attempt. "They know they're not being super discreet, right?"

"I don't think they care," Tabby wheezes, bending at the waist, as Eden lifts both arms up and down. As if she's flying. Like a crow. Or a baby bird learning to use its wings.

Other runners warming up on the path and spectators milling around stop momentarily to watch the amateur vaudeville act.

"What are they doing?" Dash asks genuinely confused, standing beside me. "Is Eden pretending to be a bird or something?"

I shake my head in disbelief, unable to convey all the emotions slamming into me.

When the two members of the ultra-sleek covert operation finally notice Dash's presence, their eyes go comically wide with surprise.

"Shit!" Eden shrieks, glancing at her partner-in-crime for direction.

"Caw caw!" Daphne grabs her hand and makes a beeline for Tabby, who is laughing so hard tears stream down her face.

Betraying the so-called sisterhood, Daphne and Eden flank a hysterical Tabby, hook their arms around hers, and practically drag her away.

Assholes, I swear with a resigning sigh.

"Are they okay?" Dash's brows furrow as he watches the trio of traitors run off happily. "Never mind. I'm not sure I want to know."

When Dash shifts his gaze to me, I mentally agree with Eden's earlier assessment: he looks like shit. Fatigue and melancholy dull his normally bright blue eyes. His once confident posture shows signs of uncertainty and restlessness.

I want to feel the warmth of some sort of satisfaction, but I just feel sad. That he looks broken. Despite the hurt lingering inside me, I'm tempted to throw my arms around him and stupidly kiss him to make him feel better.

Instead, I pop a shoulder casually before taking a step back.

"Juni, wait," Dash says quickly, reaching out to touch my arm, but drops his hand. "I just wanted to check in with you before the race."

"I'm doing great." I wince slightly, not loving the bitchiness tone of my sarcastic remark.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out, his hand rubbing the back of neck.

"Agh!" I throw my arms up in the air before shooting him the evil eye. "You think now is a good time to talk?"

This is coming from the girl who wailed, "They killed the puppy," and sobbed uncontrollably while watching John Wick with her brothers in a packed movie theater. I blamed my hormones for the outburst, and my brothers banned me from all future screenings in public.

Without waiting for a reply, I turn to stomp away, but stop abruptly when I hear a desperate, "I like you!"

I don't move, keeping my back to him, and wait for him to continue.

"The truth is, I like you. More than I should- wait. I don't even know what the hell that even means," he growls in frustration and impatience.

My teeth dig into my lower lip to keep myself from giggling at his awkward apology. But part of me wonders often did Dash need to apologize to someone? My guess would be rarely based on his fumbling words alone.

"God, I'm an idiot."

"No argument here," I mutter, imagining him probably frowning and running his fingers through his hair.

"I know I can be a self-centered bastard, but I didn't realize just how terrible I am. Juni, I'm every therapist's dream patient. I have so many issues I don't even know where to begin. But I need- no, I want to start somewhere. I want to be a better person. I want to be happy."

My head tilts at his last admission, believing there's something more to explore at a later time.

"Being with you made me ridiculously happy," he admits nervously. "I didn't want to lose that. I don't know how much you heard when I was talking to my mom, but she unintentionally leads me and my sisters to kinda sabotage anything good in our lives. Again, something I should probably talk about with a therapist."

I nod silently, not knowing how or if I should reply.

"You're good for me," Dash continues. "And I felt the weird honeymoon phase of happiness slip during my conversation with my mom. So, I said a whole bunch of shit out of desperation, hoping to hang on to that feeling longer."

Aw, he liked the protective happiness bubble, too.

I hear him take a deep breath and lightly kick the short grass with his foot.

"I like you, Juniper Mitchell," he states shyly. "This is me manning up, or trying to be a mature adult. I want to take you on a proper date. Fuck me, did I just say proper date ? I sound so lame."

I can't help the snort escaping between my lips. He might sound lame, but his words are something I want to hear. And if I'm being honest, I want the proper date.

"Sorry," I mutter, realizing the small sound probably seems rude.

"No, it's okay," he assures me with a dry chuckle. "I deserve a lot more than you laughing at my expense."

"Dash." I start to face him, hating the underlying sadness in his voice, but the tentative placement of his hand on my shoulder stops me.

"It's okay, Juni. I just wanted to let you know where I'm at," he explains, his fingers gently squeezing before letting go.

"Thank you." Those two words sound so lame after his honest confession. I want to say more, but now isn't the time. Not when I need to focus on the race.

Another awkward moment passes before I hear his footsteps retreat reluctantly. As I welcome the chill air into my lungs, I feel his return at my back. Suppressing a sigh as his breath dances across my neck, I stand tall and still.

“Win this race,” he murmurs in my ear, “and I’ll let you restrain me to the bed tonight.”

The corner of my lips quirk into a teeny smile at an image of a naked Dash spread out like a starfish on my bed.

Ooooh, I like that mental picture very much.

I remain silent, hoping my answer isn't obvious. He deserves to squirm until the straps tucked under my mattress are wrapped securely around his wrists and ankles.

"Good luck, Juni," Dash says before shuffling away.

When I no longer feel the heat from his body, I exhale and shake out the tension from my firm stance. I don't turn around in case he's watching for some sort of sign. But if he's a smart man, he should know what I plan to do.

Win the race. Happily torture him in my bed.

A wicked smile plays on my lips when a new thought streaks across my lusty fantasies. That bastard just dangled the power of sex to reignite my drive to win.

Well played, Dashwood, well played.