Dallas got a tattoo. I noticed it as soon as I walked in the downstairs guest room at Erick's place.

Phoebe asked me to help her move the furniture back into place after everyone was gone which was when Dallas excused himself to his room for the night. Aubrey had woken up so Erick volunteered to tuck her back in, leaving me occupied for a solid thirty minutes before I thought it was time to creep into Dallas's room.

But then Erick came back down to lecture me. "Do what you want, Meek, but I think you're both idiots," he said before he sauntered into the kitchen.

I pressed my lips together and glanced at Phoebe for some form of reassurance, but she turned away to busy herself with picking up shreds of wrapping paper off the floor. With a sigh, I followed after Erick with my tail between my legs.

"You're not wrong, okay? I know I shouldn't keep entertaining this, but . . ." I trailed off. But what? I couldn't justify seeing the man behind his girlfriend's back for a second time. "You remember what you said about, uh . . . soul ties, or whatever?"

Erick stopped messing with the dishwasher and turned to face me with curious eyes. "Yes."

I stared down at the granite countertops, tracing along the dark grey lines that lead nowhere. My tongue felt too big for my mouth to say it. I was never good at speaking words, I was much better at writing them. And even then it was iffy. I felt Erick's eyes on me and I faltered even more.

"You know I've never . . ." I started to say, glancing up. "He's just so— Fuck, man, I can't get over him. I thought I was, you know? It's been two years since that summer and that should be enough time to forget your feelings for someone, but—" I buried my hands in my cropped hair, harder to latch onto but still enough so to tug on. "I never will, Erick. I literally never fucking will."

He didn't say anything for a minute. I feared he thought I was a lunatic. Maybe I was. We hooked up for a summer, whoop-de-fucking-doo. I wasn't sure it was means for—dare I say these words, even in my mind?—falling in love with someone. Mom said she fell in love with my dad in ten minutes, but I couldn't believe it. Love took time, it took patience. It didn't take half of a summer and some soul-tying sex.

Did it?

"Meek . . ." Erick mumbled. "You have to decide if how you feel about him and how you think he feels about you is worth breaking that girl's heart. If it is, then you both need to grow up and stop pretending like she's just gonna leave on her own."

I knew this. I knew this.

With a shaky breath, I only nodded. I tugged on my sweater, feeling self-conscious with my feelings out on the counter like this. "Want some hot chocolate?" he asked. I cracked a smile and nodded, taking a seat at the island to wait for my best friend in the whole wide world to make me some hot cocoa.

Eventually, I had a steaming mug in my hands and I was ready to face Dallas.

I held my breath as I knocked on the bedroom door and waited. It opened to reveal a now shirtless blonde in plaid pajama pants that I recognized as Erick's. They were slightly short on his longer legs, the size difference between my former lover and my best friend clear as day. He stepped aside to let me in and I entered slowly. My hands burned from the ceramic mug, steam clouding my vision when I raised it to my lips.

"Is that coffee?" Dallas asked hopefully.

"Hot cocoa," I said with a sheepish smile.

He peered into the mug curiously. "Can I have some?" he asked. I furrowed my eyebrows, but nodded nonetheless. He didn't take the mug from me, only stepped close and held my hands in his to bring it to his mouth. I watched closely as he took a sip of my hot chocolate, the tiniest bit of foamy whipped cream leaving a trace on his top lip before he licked it away.

I took a deep breath and stepped away, moving to place the mug on the dresser beside me. My eyes trailed to his torso, bare and daunting before me. The room was lit by only a lamp on the bedside table, casting shadows over the curves and hills over his abdomen. As my eyes crept lower, I caught sight of a shadowy black something sticking out from the waistband of his pajama pants.

"Is that a tattoo?" I blurted.

Dallas's chin dipped as he looked down at it as if he'd forgotten it was there. "Yup," he said, hooking a thumb into his pants and pulling it lower to where I could see the entire piece.

It was an American traditional tattoo, an anchor with a flower in the middle. It had no color, though it didn't need it. It looked beautiful on his skin. I resisted the urge to reach out and touch it—although I wasn't sure he'd protest if I did.

"It's for my dad," he said quietly. "He got a shitty anchor stick-and-poke the first year he was locked up, so I got it as a sort of tribute to him."

He snapped his waistband back in place and backed up to sit on the bed. I remained standing, my eyes following his every move. We stared at each other until I couldn't fight the crack of a smile, making me roll my eyes and look away. I wasn't sure what to do. It was simultaneously very tense and awkward, and yet completely normal. As it normally went these days.

"Are you going to see him soon?" I asked.

Dallas nodded. "Tomorrow." On Christmas Day.

"That's nice of you," was all I could say.

He leaned back onto his elbows. My eyes followed the stretch of his stomach, the gorgeous curves of his hips and the muscular biceps that held him up. Even if I wasn't in love with him, I would never be able to resist that body. Jesus Christ, that body. Like a bucket of cold water over my head, I was suddenly very aware and very self-conscious about how I looked after all this time.

While he clearly kept up with his workout routines and kept getting his daily dose of vitamin-C, I was paler and smaller than ever. I had lost nearly fifteen pounds—all from my stomach and face—and still never got enough sleep. No wonder he ghosted you. My bones suddenly felt like they were jutting out and my clothes too baggy. A quivering, encompassing nervosity began to sludge over my brain before he spoke again.

"Y'know . . ."

My eyes snapped away from my stomach and back up to his face. I frowned subconsciously, hoping he didn't do the thing where he read my mind again. I hated when he did that.

"Phoebe never comes. I've asked a million times, but she always refuses, so I end up going alone every time. My dad already knows all about you . . . You could come with me, if you want. I met your mom, so it's only fair that I intro—" He stopped when he saw the expression on my face. "I don't even know why I suggested that. I'm sorry. It was a stupid idea."

I opened my mouth to speak, but I couldn't come up with anything to say. He wanted me to meet his dad? After everything? I most certainly wouldn't, of course.

My hands were sweating, which only brought attention to the fact that my entire body was sweating. "Shelby won't go with you?" I asked, my throat feeling entirely too dry.

Dallas's face screwed up ever so slightly. "I've never asked."

I let out a shuddering sigh, looking down at my feet. This endless cycle of comparing myself to his actual girlfriend was exhausting. I had to face the facts, even if they scared the shit out of me. And it was time to be honest with Dallas and lay it all down on the table.

"Look—"

"Can I kiss you?"

I blanched, closing my mouth entirely. Why did he always have to be so blunt? He sat up and pulled himself to his feet, taking a few careful steps towards me. I was rooted to the ground and I couldn't move. "You said you didn't want to fuck tonight," I breathed, my voice wavering just a bit. I knew I sounded weak with how hard I was breathing just by the proximity.

"I don't," he said, his voice as smooth as shellacked wood. He took another step closer. "If you're about to tell me that this is our last night together, I'd like to kiss you first."

My heart pitter-pattered in my chest. "I wasn't going to say that," I said, though I wasn't exactly sure if that was a lie. The words may have been cut short, but I had no idea what was going to come next.

Dallas stood in front of me again. This time there was no mug of hot liquid to protect me from his closeness. My eyes trailed up his stomach to meet his eyes, the pretty blue that stained my skin every time he looked at me. I felt nothing but want, a harsh, scratching feeling that I never saw coming, but always existed when it came to him. That wanting is what got us in trouble.

He reached up and touched my face, his entire hand engulfing my cheek. I melted into his touch, folding immediately.

"What were you going to say then?"

I hesitated, tilting my head to press a soft kiss to his palm. His thumb traced the lines under my eyes from all those sleepless nights wondering if I'd ever find the happiness I once knew again. Without answering, I simply obliged his request and leaned forward, kissing him.

Kiss now, talk later.