He's looking right at me as he says it, and suddenly the double-meaning of our words is all too clear, and what had been a light banter between us has turned into something much more provocative.
"I--"
I have no idea what I was going to say, so it's good that he interrupts me.
"And there's more," he says hurriedly, reaching into the tote and pulling out a clear plastic bag filled with my favorite snack in the world.
"Chocolate covered popcorn? From Serenity on Seventh? I take back every bad thing I've ever said about you."
He chuckles. "Then it was entirely worth the seven-bucks-fifty." He nods toward the stairs. "Come on. Let's play."
Once again, our eyes meet. Once again, neither one of us acknowledges how we really want to play.
"I'll get drinks and a bowl for the popcorn," I say quickly. "You go get the game set up."
I don't wait for him to agree, I just hurry to the kitchen, press my hands to the counter so I can draw a few slow, calming breaths, and then start to put together a tray.
I hesitate over the wine--because who knows where alcohol will lead, and the point of this evening is to see if we can force a wild lust to downshift to just friends.
Right, I think. Sparkling water it is.
I take the tray up to the game room and find that he's already set everything up. I ease in beside him and pick up my controller and try to remember exactly what I'm supposed to do with all these damn buttons.
Fortunately, Dallas takes pity on me and gives me a little tutorial, walking me through the first scene of the game, letting me get used to turning and shooting and punching and all that good stuff.
He also lets me have all the health bonuses we find. Not to mention the ammo.
"Told you I'd always protect you," he says with a grin.
I smile back but, honestly, his words make me a little melancholy. And when he looks sideways at me with a crooked smile, I know he realizes it.
"Should I apologize?"
I shake my head and grab a handful of popcorn. "Just play."
He does, and since we're partners against the zombie horde, I can't actually say he beats me. What I can say is that I died four times in the first fifteen minutes, and by minute seventeen Dallas is laughing his ass off.
"Do I need to tell you how pathetic you are at this game?"
"You really don't," I say as the screen flashes death number five.
"Remind me to come rescue you when the zombie apocalypse happens. Without me, you're zombie food."
I grin happily. This is the Dallas I know. The one I can laugh with and hang with.
And yet at the same time, this Dallas scares me. Because the Dallas who touched me so intimately in the cabana is the one I at least know how to fight, even though sometimes my willpower fails me. I can look at his harem. His ridiculous media antics. And I can honestly say I want no part of it.
But this Dallas is real. This Dallas is mine. He always has been.
And even though I know we need to just be friends, I'm not sure if he and I can ever "just" be anything.
After I die yet another time, Dallas takes the controller from me and switches off the game.
"Told you I was terrible," I say cheerfully, but my smile fades when I see his face. "What?"
"I don't want to tell you because I don't want to screw up a good evening. But you really need to know."
I frown. "Okay. I'm listening."