Page 72 of Dallas Rivals

Then I hear a familiar, awkward throat-clearing behind me, and freeze mid-chorus.

Oliver stands there in his gray overcoat and sunglasses, watching me like I’m an alien species.

“Hi,” I say, shading my eyes from the sun. It’s still high in the sky and blinding.

“Do the plants always get a show?”

His brows pull together in the middle of his forehead. I can’t tell if he’s trying to be friendly or if it’s just his usual sarcasm.

“Whatever keeps them happy,” I say, stabbing the trowel into the dirt and crossing my arms, waiting, unsure for what. Maybe a hint of what mood he’s in today.

“I’m sure your hands are enough.”

A faint smirk curves his lips.

Good mood confirmed.

He’s flirting with me. Obviously, he finds me attractive, otherwise, he wouldn’t have fucked me like an animal in the barn, kissed me at my bedroom door this morning, and probably done something else I’m forgetting.

But I was hoping the sex was just… sex. A one-off. A momentary lapse in logic.

Flirting? Smiling? That’s new territory, and I’m officially confused.

I smile, fidgeting nervously with the trowel between my hands.

He keeps staring at me, equally uncomfortable.

“I’ll help you finish up the day,” he says suddenly. “I’m gonna go change. I’ll be right back.”

I nod with a tight smile and watch him climb into his SUV to drive back to his house.

For the next hour, Oliver works right beside me, brushing against my arm now and then, smiling more than I’ve ever seen him smile, being almost too nice.

Oliver.

Yes, that Oliver Walker.

With the sun dipping lower on the horizon, we cross the property in Oliver’s new golf cart—although, to be more accurate, it’s a dune buggy, something bigger and more rugged, a machine that makes us feel like we’re off-roading rather than simply traveling from one side of the estate to the other. The wind rushes past as we follow the winding drive, the hum of the engine and the jostling ride making it impossible not to smile. When we finally come to a stop in front of Oliver’s imposing mansion, a FedEx truck sits parked at the gate, waiting, its engine idling. A delivery guy hops out, hauling a massive box.

“Ah,” Oliver says, a rare note of excitement in his voice. “It’s here.”

“What’s that?” I ask as he signs the form and thanks the driver.

“A new chair for your father,” he says with a proud smile. “I want him to have more independence—to get out of the house a bit. So, I ordered him a four-by-four.”

“A four-by-four?” My eyes go wide.

He shrugs. “Yeah… it’s a joke. Sorry. I know I’m not great with⁠—”

“I thought you were serious!”

The smile on his face widens, and suddenly I can’t stop laughing. Real, uncontrollable laughter that bends me in half.

Oliver watches me like it’s the first time he’s ever seen me laugh, and when he joins in, the sound is rich and warm. I reach out, resting my hand on his shoulder for balance, my stomach aching from laughter, and he laughs even harder, like maybe, for once, neither of us is overthinking anything.

The front door opens, and my parents step outside to see what’s going on.

I drop my hand from Oliver’s shoulder and fall silent.