In which Dallas Winston has a soft spot for more than one Cade, and Gloria's kid brother gets caught up in a murder rap.
𝑭𝒂𝒔𝒕-𝑻𝒂𝒍𝒌 • verb
\ ˈfas(t)-tôk \
to influence or persuade
by fluent, facile, and u...
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"Before we start the last round, can I getcha another drink?" Dal asks.
I'd won the first game, sure enough. I'd had another drink, too, and Dal's had a few.
"Dallas Winston," I say, his eyes twinkling as his name crosses my lips. "Are you tryna get me drunk so you gotta shot at winning?"
"Well.. maybe," Dally laughs. He runs a hand through his hair. "Or maybe I just think it's cute when you're all giggly," he teases.
My cheeks burn, but I can't stifle the little drunken giggle that arises from inside me. "Oh, hush," I say, attempting to shoot him a grumpy glance from across the pool table. My efforts fail, and I find myself in a playful staring contest with Dal, who won't stop grinning at me like he's the happiest fool alive.
A tiny chuckle escapes through his smirk, and he shakes his head. "Man, this game is so unfair."
I scrunch a brow out of curiosity. "How so?"
Dal walks around the table towards me, slowly. My eyes follow him the entire time, until he stands before me – close enough so I have to tilt my chin back a little just to look him in the eyes. They gaze down at me, darkly, and he bites his lip.
I swallow.
"You're– God, you're just so distracting."
The blood rushes to my cheeks, which scrunch happily as I grin.
"Really?" I giggle, half-amused, half-flattered.
"Yeah," Dal nods, leaning towards me.
I wonder if I'm feeling a little dizzy from the alcohol, or if it's because Dal is suddenly so close that I can smell his cologne, and the faint tinge of cigarette smoke on his jacket. For a moment, I can hardly breathe, despite being drawn to the scent.
"How bout you get me that drink, then?" I suggest, before Dal can get any closer. "To keep things fair, ya know?"
Dal nods, a tiny smile curling on the edge of his lips. He lingers in his closeness for a moment, staring down at me, before finally turning around to grab me another drink from the bar. He looks back, and points at me: "Don't go anywhere," he says.
I giggle, shaking my head. "I won't."
"I'll be right back."
I watch him disappear once more, but this time, I'm not afraid he won't come back. I grin at the cue stick in my hands, twirling the tip in my fingers and trying to balance it on the floor.
