Page 47 of The Stallion
Bria would most likely take months to develop remotely any romantic feelings towards me, and disclosing the MUR—who we were and what we did—would only complicate things between us even further.
But at this point, I ultimately had no choice. I had three weeks to bring Bria into my world and hoped she wouldn’t turn tail and run when I revealed everything to her—this sounded so much easier on paper.
Considering our timeline, I could focus on spending time with her during our first week together, attempting to break down the barrier that had formed between us and building our bond from the ground up, as it always should’ve been.
The only issue with that plan was committing myself to the feelings I had started developing toward her—the infatuation that was starting to loom over me like a dark storm cloud.
Pulling into the driveway, I sat in my car, staring blankly at the garage door,lost in thought.
What would happen if I let myself fall for Bria wholeheartedly?
What if she never grew to love me?
Was it fucked up of me to think that—worst-case scenario, if she fails her test in three weeks, I’ll have to kill her anyway?
Christ, Dallas. What the fuck have you done?
Chapter 18
Bria
Threedayshadpassedsince I’d left Phoenix—and I was bored out of my fucking mind.
The SUV Dallas had so quickly purchased for me was still sitting in the driveway—in the same spot where he had parked it only two days ago—undriven and untouched.
I texted Asher and told her to go ahead and continue practicing the squad’s routine that we had choreographed together for Regionals. We couldn’t afford to fall behind schedule, not this year.
It killed me to sit alone in this house, knowing she was coaching the team and not me. But the five-hour drive there and back would’ve been such a pain in the ass, and an unrealistic plan for me to continue long term.
Asher and I agreed that it made more sense for me to be there on the weekends instead. Since she was already established as theteam’s co-captain when I took over, it wouldn’t be an issue for her to fill in during the week.
Fortunately, the Savage Sirens didn’t train daily.
Half the team held full-time jobs, while the others were college students, so we had to be lenient in how we formed our practice schedule. We held our primary practices twice a week and every weekend, with the two weeks leading up to any competition ramped up to almost daily—if at all possible.
I was reluctant to tell her the reality of my situation—I still couldn’t fucking believe it myself. The details didn’t matter; she was always supportive of any decisions I made—and at the end of the day, I was still running away from home no matter how much I attempted to sugarcoat it.
If I were to spend all of my time here just waiting for the weekends to see my friends and teammates, then I would need to find a way to keep myself entertained before I went stir-crazy.
During the day, while Dallas was away for what I assumed was his day job, I spent most of my time rehearsing the parts of our routine that didn’t require three bases or additional bodies—essentially, the dancing portion.
When I got tired of practicing, I would turn on an at-home workout on the TV, doing everything from yoga to mat and wall pilates before collapsing on the couch and ordering takeout.
My days were bland, but the evenings were the worst. Dallas always left for his show shortly after sharing a silent, awkward dinner and didn’t return until well past three in the morning.
I had never felt so alone, and all because I was purposefully avoiding his company—refusing to allow my emotions to attach me to someone else so suddenly.
I only knew when he came home because I couldn’t sleep last night—tossing and turning, unable to relax. When I heard the front door open and close, I rushed to check the time on my phone.
Not once in the past three nights had he tried to sleep with me—not since the first—and for some reason, that small fact tirelessly gnawed at the back of my mind.
Why did I care that he was avoiding me? This was supposed to be nothing more than a ‘fuck buddy’ arrangement.
After all, he put me in this mess to begin with, so why should I be the one concerned about his feelings toward me?
Was I catching feelings for him?
I stared at the darkened ceiling, the entire house blanketed in silence—the ticking of the clock out in the living room echoing off the floor and walls.
