Defining Dallas: A Reason to Ruin Novella: Reason to Ruin, #4

By Anna Brooks

There was no way I was missing a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for my son to meet his idol, even when I discovered that idol was the guy who saved me from a terrible blind date and nearly seduced me into bed the night before. 
When I came face to face with Dallas "Mike" Baker again, he decided he wanted not just me but all my baggage, too. 
I thought this was a game to him, that he liked a challenge, but he became a fixture in our lives faster than I thought possible, showing me just how real he was. My son began to rely on him, and despite my reservations, I started to trust him… that is until he proved what I suspected all along. 
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anna Brooks
• Release date: Mar 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393110750

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Defining Dallas—© Anna Brooks

Copyright © 2021 Anna Brooks

Published by Anna Brooks

Cover design by Vanilla Lily Designs

Editing by Editing4Indies

Proofreading by Kimberly Holm

Formatting by Champagne Book Design

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form without written permission except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/ use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

CONTENTS

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Other Books by Anna

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

Shelby

You’ve gotta be joking, I mumble to myself as I watch the man I’m supposed to meet for a blind date enter the restaurant as if he’s royalty and everyone should bow at his feet. One thing he’s got going for him is that he’s punctual, but other than that, after only a glance, I realize it’s more than likely the only thing. I quickly turn my back from where I’m seated at the bar before he notices me and slurp up the dredges of my vodka cranberry, wishing I had another waiting for me.

I didn’t even want to be here tonight, but my friend Bethany begged to set me up on a blind date. I had turned her suggestion down numerous times, but she finally persuaded me with talks of this amazing surgeon from the hospital where she works. I’m not in the market to meet him, or anyone for that matter, because I’m too damn busy for a relationship. Her persistent concern for my well-being made me finally agree… However, right now, I wish I’d have stuck to my gut.

The picture of Dr. Myles Roberts that Beth showed me was attractive enough. In the photo, he had sandy blond hair, bright blue eyes, and perfectly straight teeth. And he was a doctor, so I knew, or at least I hoped, he wasn’t like the other blind dates I’d been on. Like the guy who forgot his wallet at home, or the one whose car was in the shop so I had to pick him up. The last straw in my dating endeavors was a man who showed up smelling so strongly of weed that I’m pretty sure I was stoned by the time I was done with supper. It was actually a saving grace because feeling high was the only thing that got me through that date.

In real life, Myles looks nothing like his picture. His hair has a terrible dark dye job and is slicked back to cover a bald spot on the top of his head. He’s wearing a pair of khakis and a pink polo shirt tucked into the waistband with no belt. I peek over my shoulder just in time to see him wink at the hostess. Wink at her. When he leans on the stand to give his name for the reservation, he stares at her boobs as though he’s never seen cleavage before…which is a scary thought, seeing as he’s a doctor and all.

I drop my head to allow my hair to curtain the side of my face and swirl the ice in my empty glass. As the hostess leads him to a table, he follows, and when he walks past me, the whiff I get of his oversaturated cologne just screams pompous.

I keep my back to my blind date and squeeze my eyes shut as if it’ll magically make him disappear. Beth showed him a picture of me as well, so I can’t get out of here without him recognizing me, especially since he’s just been seated directly behind me.

Shit.

Thanks, sweetheart. He flirts with the hostess, who is probably not even old enough to drink, as she hands him a menu. Her name is Shelby when she comes. Then he chuckles. He laughs because of the word come. Great. Not only is he a pervert but he has the humor of an adolescent boy, too.

Bethany should have known better; this guy is nothing like my type, and I don’t even have a type. I just know he’s not it.

I should have chosen a spot more inconspicuous to wait because I know he’s going to see me when I get up to leave. Doubt trickles in, and I wonder if maybe I should stay and be mature about the situation to give him a chance. But then I realize I’m too old for this kind of crap, and I don’t have the time to waste on a man like him, so that thought is extremely short-lived.

Feeling like I’m trapped, I take a second to plan an escape route in my head that’ll get me out of here without him noticing me, but then I hear a chair scrape behind me. A second later, I can smell musk as a finger taps me on the shoulder, the nail surprisingly sharp even through the material on my shirt. When I turn in my seat, my eyes widen in horror at how close he is, and when he opens his mouth, coffee breath stinks up my sinuses. Makes me miss pothead guy.

You’re Shelby, right?

No. I’m not. I lie easily but not smoothly.

You’re not? He pulls his phone out and looks at a picture of what’s clearly my face, then directs his gaze back to me. He does it a couple more times. You’re being cute. I love a woman with a sense of humor. His laughter is even creepy as he holds his hand out to shake mine, flashing a trashy gold watch that I’m sure is meant to impress. I glance at him with disgust but feel so cornered that I briefly put my palm against his clammy one. His fingers wrap around mine at lightning speed.

I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let me go. You’re even prettier in person.

I’m sorry, I think you’re looking for someone else.

He shakes his head and tsks me. No. It’s you.

Um. No, I… Frantically, I search over his shoulder, desperate to figure a way out of this when I spot a man who just stopped at the bar to order a drink. Daringly, I point to my left. I’m with him, so there’s no way you have the right person. I clear my throat, and my gaze darts to the stranger, silently pleading with him to play along. Now this guy is handsome. He’s tall with dark hair that’s clearly not manufactured and is dressed like a teenager in a pair of ripped jeans and a faded concert tee, but somehow it works on him. What stands out the most is the gray color of his eyes, though—almost purple but smoky blue at the same time. I’ve never seen anything like it.

He rears his head back, and he zeroes in on my trapped hand and stiff body language. He must quickly deduce what’s going on because he gives me a slight nod. Myles angles his head suspiciously. "You’re with him?" he spits with distaste, and his fingers remain tight on me as I struggle to rid them from the confines of my own.

Yes, I’m with him, so as I already said, you have the wrong person.

My fake dude takes pity on me and adjusts his stance, lifting his chin at Myles. I heard her tell you she was with me already, so why the fuck are you still touching my woman? Damn. I stop struggling at the heat in his underlying threat as his words warm me and root me in place. He sounded really believable as though I actually belonged to him. My arm loses the elasticity, and I’m pretty sure my panties are wet after hearing his deep growly voice. I wish a man like him really did cherish me like that. I’ve never had anybody be so… possessive over me. I shouldn’t like it, but I do.

Myles quickly extracts his hand and then holds both of them up in surrender. Thank God, he’s a sissy and gives up. The last thing I want is for this savior of mine to get into a fight. Although I’m pretty sure he could take Myles with one arm tied behind his back. I apologize. Enjoy your evening. Myles takes his seat back at the table directly behind us, and since he’s within earshot, I can’t thank the stranger like I want to. Shit. Now what do I do?

My defender takes matters into his own hands when he puts an arm around my shoulder and starts leading me away. I quake at his touch and the delicious leathery, woodsy smell of him. Come on, darlin’. I’ve been waiting for you. I practically fall off my stool, but I walk with him around the corner to the back of the restaurant with his help.

When we reach a secluded table, he gallantly motions to the open booth where I scoot in, and he sits across from me. So I take it you don’t want to have dinner with him?

The nervous tension that’s been lingering since I started getting ready for this stupid blind date fades away, and I laugh so hard I have tears in my eyes. When I realize he’s staring at me, I moan in embarrassment and then bang my head on the table. The silverware clatters louder than I anticipate, and I silently curse myself. After taking a deep breath, I sit up and find him with a smirk on his handsome face. No. I definitely don’t want to have dinner with him. So, thank you for saving me, I owe you huge.

It’s all good.

I didn’t even want to get set up with him in the first place, but Bethany, who used to be my best friend until tonight, decided I needed to because it’s been so long since I’d been on a date and stupid me agreed and— I stop and roll my lips together. Sorry. You don’t want to hear this shit. Then I wince. Sorry.

He smirks. For what? That you said shit?

It’s rude.

You’re fine.

Sighing, I run my fingers through my reddish-brown hair. Seriously, thank you. You didn’t have to do that, but I really appreciate that you did. I dig through my purse and pull out a ten-dollar bill. Let me at least buy you a drink.

When I slide my hand across the table, he quickly covers it with his. Women don’t buy me drinks.

But I—

Darlin’, I don’t want your money.

At the endearment coming out of his mouth again, my eyes fly to his. Okay, I whisper. But instead of pulling away, I relax the muscles in my arm when he starts to rub circles across the top of my knuckles with his thumb. His skin against mine is… erotic, almost. Like foreplay.

When the innocent gesture radiates down to deep in my belly, I yank my hand away, shocked the simple gesture has such an effect on me. I try to cover up my erratic behavior with putting the money back in my purse. I’m just, uh, going to go. I’ll sneak out the back or something.

Don’t go.

What?

Stay. Have dinner with me.

I shake my head. I couldn’t. I’m sure you have plans with someone. I don’t want—

"I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want you to. And if you keep arguing, I’ll just insist it’s your way of repaying me for getting you away