Page 62 of Dallas Rivals

“Unfortunately, yes,” I say. “I have to go, Roger.” I give him a quick, tight hug and a half smile. “Thanks for dinner. It was great. Bye.”

He doesn’t answer. Just watches me walk away.

Oliver Walker grips the steering wheel with both hands, eyes locked on the road ahead.

The streetlights cut across his face—sharp jaw, three-day beard, thick brows, and that dark hair, black as a crow’s wing.

“You’re unbelievable,” I mutter.

“Thank you,” he says flatly.

“That wasn’t a compliment,” I snap. “I said I was coming back on my own.”

“And I said coming back alone at night’s impossible. It’s a forty-minute drive on the highway, Cala. What were you gonna do? Take your bike?”

Is he being sarcastic right now?

Some of the Bishop Arts streets are darker here, but he drives like he knows every turn by heart. His cornering’s a little too sharp, but honestly, tension is his default setting—why would driving be any different?

“Are you sure this is about my means of transportation?” I ask.

He exhales, a short, sardonic laugh slipping out.

“Don’t read into it. I’m just making sure my employee’s alive to show up for work tomorrow.”

“I’ve never been late for work, Oliver. Not once.”

“Being on time’s already late, they say.”

He merges onto the highway and turns on the radio—just to shut me up.

Metallica blares through the speakers, and I give up trying to talk.

I lean my elbow against the window and watch Dallas glow in the dark.

If he doesn’t want to talk like a normal human being—if he wants to keep acting all confusing and invasive—fine. I’d rather not know.

At least I’ve got free transportation.

Three songs later, the volume finally drops, and I smile to myself. Guess he couldn’t stay silent forever.

“So, did you break the kid’s heart?”

Figures. He doesn’t know any other language besides provocation.

“He’ll live,” I mutter, eyes still on the road ahead.

“Why’d you end things with him?”

“Do you actually wanna know, or are you just looking for something to tease me about?”

Oliver glances away from the highway long enough to meet my eyes.

“I’d never make fun of you,” he says, serious.

Sure.

Right.