Page 22 of Dallas (The Bull Riders #1)

I feel dizzy, that drink hit me harder than I realized, and I’m not mad about it.

Because I feel great. Genuinely so good.

Except now I’m a little mad at Dallas. But I sit down at the table, and he pushes the cake over to me.

His expression is sullen, and I don’t think I’ve done anything to earn that.

He takes two candles out of a bag and puts them on top. A two and a one. I’m momentarily mollified by this gesture. He lights the candles with that same flat expression.

“Sing,” he says.

They all do, but everyone is now stressed out by his behavior, and so am I. Because he’s not enjoying himself, that much is certain.

He cuts the cake, and scoops a large, pink piece onto a plate for me.

“It’s strawberry,” he says.

“And God dammit I’m gonna like it,” I say, mimicking his tone. Because I’m kind of over it.

He’s being a grump, and I don’t know why, and yes, the cake is a nice gesture, and the candles were lovely, but he’s pouting, maybe because I’m not paying attention to him? And that feels childish.

“I’ll eat the piece of cake in a minute, come and dance with me, Colt?”

“Sure,” he says.

“I have a present for you,” Dallas says, taking the small box and handing it to me. I’m standing there, holding Colt’s hand, mid-step toward the dance floor, and Colt is thrusting that pink ribboned box at me like it’s got a bug in it.

“Oh. Do you?”

“Open it,” he says.

“Open it…” And that’s when I lose my temper. It could be the alcohol. Because I just feel weird. Loose, reckless, a lot more distilled to my essence than normal. Normally, I would be anxious. Normally, I would be thinking everything through, turning it over, examining it from every angle .

I would be panicking over Colt’s hand being in mine, and I would be bothered that I had upset Dallas.

But I’m not thinking anything through, I’m just feeling, and that seems fair. Because it is my birthday. I suddenly remember that song about it being my party, so I can cry if I want.

I don’t want to cry.

I want to yell.

I let go of Colt, snatch the gift, then grab Dallas by the hand. “Outside,” I grumble, dragging him out the back of the saloon into the street. The door slams shut behind us, and we are left out in the muggy, overly hot evening.

The sun has gone down, but the atmosphere has retained all the warmth like an oven that hasn’t quite cooled yet. It’s baked into the brick of the building, radiating around us, but it’s not as hot as my temper.

“What is the matter with you?” I ask, waving the present at him.

“With me? You’re drunk, and you’re off dancing with Colt. He should know better.”

“He should? What does he have to do with anything? I chose to dance with him.”

“You’re drunk,” he says. “Do I really need to explain to you how consent works?”

Rage floods me. “Oh. Fuck you. I am well aware of how it all works, thank you. I am a woman, walking in the world, a woman who has been severely traumatized by men and their appetites, and I don’t need your concern to pop up at my twenty first birthday party, you absolute dick.”

“Sarah–”

He feels bad now, I can see it in his face. I know he wishes he hadn’t said that. That he regrets it. I don’t care. I’m going to make him regret it harder. Because how dare he?

“Don’t you know that I’ve been living by myself for years? That I’ve been taking care of myself. I’ve been isolated and sad, but I’ve been safe. And tonight, with you in there, dancing with your friend, you know that I’m safe. You don’t have to ruin it. Because you’re…”

Overprotective. That’s what it was. For one moment, I look at him, at his beautiful face, those glittering blue eyes, and I wish it were jealousy. I really do. But all this is some misguided attempt at protecting me. All this is Dallas treating me like a child.

Like the child no one ever treated me like when I was one.

I don’t need to be coddled now that I’m twenty-one years old. I’ve done enough hiding. I’ve done enough psychotic protecting of myself.

“I don’t need your misplaced pity,” I say. “Your misplaced honor. This is supposed to be my night. And if you have so many issues with Colt, you shouldn’t be his friend.”

“That’s not it. It’s not that I think there’s anything wrong with him, it’s just that–”

“You think there’s something wrong with me!

” I explode. “That’s it. You can’t deny it.

Because what he’s doing would be fine with any other woman, but you think that I’m some kind of fragile little fairy that isn’t allowed to do this.

But I want to. I’m tired of this. I’m tired of being locked away, put up on a shelf, I do it to myself, and I don’t need you to do it too.

Keep your fucking present.” I throw it at him then. Absolutely launch it at his head.

He tries to catch it, the box bouncing against his palms, before hitting the sidewalk .

“Sarah…”

“No. Go home. I’m going to finish having my party with people who don’t know me.

That’s the problem, Dallas Dodge. You know me, and it’s supposed to be a good thing, but you’ve turned it into something I hate.

Maybe this doesn’t work. You and me. Maybe it doesn’t work because you still think I’m a kid.

Maybe it doesn’t work because you’ll never let me live because you only ever see me as a victim. I don’t want to live that way.”

“That is pretty fucking amazing,” he says. “That you came to me looking for protection and now you’re angry when I offer it.”

“I think you’re smart enough to understand the difference between me being afraid of the pedophile that tortured me when I was a child versus having a dance with your friend at a bar. But if it’s all the same to you, go fuck yourself.”

I turn around and try to open the bar door, but the back door doesn’t open from inside, and I scream and kick it.

Then I stomp away from Dallas, going around to the front of the saloon, pushing the door open and coming inside.

Colt, Gentry, Allison and Lily are at the back staring keenly at the door when I storm in.

I’m breathing hard, and I look at the cake, and I have two options. I can burst into tears, or I can order another drink.

“Bartender,” I say. “Another daiquiri, please.”

I wipe invisible tears off my cheeks and make my way back to where the group is.

“Are you okay?” Allison asks.

“I’m okay.”

“You need a place to stay tonight?”

I nod. “Yes. I do. ”

It feels scary, it feels a little bit painful, but I need some distance from Dallas. I feel a little bit bad about how I handled that. Which is why I need that drink to come faster.

Guilt is not for my birthday.

I can deal with the guilt tomorrow.