Page 61 of Dallas Rivals

He’s dressed in his best, even wearing that cologne I used to love—only now it doesn’t hit the same. It’s not like Oliver’s scent, that mix of cedar and smoke that still lingers somewhere in my head.

Roger’s talking a mile a minute about campus gossip, new assignments, professors, the whole academic circus. I couldn’t care less. Honestly, I’m bored out of my mind.

Every now and then, I try to steer the talk toward something that actually excites me—plants, the new trick Joan pulled at the ranch—but he just looks at me with that pitying smile, like I’ve fallen off the map.

He reaches across the table and squeezes my hand gently.

“You must really miss the academic life. I’m sorry, Cala, I keep rambling about it.”

My brows knit together, confusion mixing with a spark of irritation.

“I like my work,” I say, a little sharper than I mean to. “It’s rewarding—more than getting a pat on the back from some pompous academic who teaches because they can’t make it in the real world. Out there, everything depends on you. You see it in the first sprouts, in how the land gives back what you put into it. Food that actually sustains us. Honestly, I don’t miss my old life. If anything, I feel sorry for people who’ll never know that kind of fulfillment.”

Roger swallows hard, caught off guard.

“I’m sorry, Cala. I didn’t realize you felt that way. I’m… I’m really happy for you.”

His thumb strokes the back of my hand, but it only grates on my nerves. I want to pull away, to run.

Because the truth is, I know this can’t go anywhere—and yet, here I am, sitting in it, just to avoid hurting someone.

I really need to learn how to say no.

“I think I’m gonna head out, Roger. I’ve got a long day tomorrow.” I start gathering my things.

“Wait! Don’t you wanna try dessert? They say the dulce de leche empanada’s amazing.”

“No, sorry. You know what they say—time’s money.”

When we step outside, Roger’s smile looks tight, muscles working too hard to hold it together.

“Wanna come back to my hotel?”

“Roger…” I sigh.

“I know, I know,” he says, already defeated. “Had to try. I meant it when I said I missed you—but I can tell you’ve moved on.”

“Not just that. We live four hours apart. You know this wouldn’t work.”

What I don’t say is I don’t even want it to.

“I get it.” He hesitates. “Can I… kiss you one last time?”

It sounds more like a wish than a question. And thanks to the guilt complex my mom kindly installed in my brain, I nod.

He steps closer, a half-smile tugging at his lips and just when he’s inches away from kissing me, a horn blares so loud it makes him jump out of his skin.

We both stare at the SUV parked across the street; its headlights are flashing like a goddamn disco.

“Is this a joke?” I mutter.

The tinted window rolls down and Oliver Walker blooms into view, that crooked, almost wicked smile on his perfectly symmetrical face.

“Need a ride?” he calls out, voice all smug.

I want to kill him.

“Isn’t that your boss?” Roger asks, just as stunned as I am.