Page 77 of Dallas Rivals

“Save the story for someone else, Mr. Walker,” she whispers, before walking away, hips swaying like it’s her God-given superpower to drive me insane.

And hell, it’s working.

Because the only thing out of control right now is the ache in my jeans.

The knock on the door is so soft it’s almost not there—but since the house is completely silent and I’m reading, I hear it right away.

When I open it, Oliver’s standing there with his hands on his hips, posture slouched, eyes on the floor.

“Hey…” I whisper.

“I don’t even know why I’m here,” he says, avoiding eye contact.

“Do you want to come in?”

I keep my voice low; the last thing I want is anyone hearing him knocking on my door this late.

He nods and steps inside, looking around like he’s seeing the room for the first time.

“I never come in here,” he admits.

I can tell.

“It has a door,” I say, pointing at it—the only thing my brain manages to come up with.

He blinks, confused.

“My father’s house didn’t have doors,” I add. “This is… a big improvement.”

Oliver leans against the small desk, crossing his arms. His eyes find me with a kind of quiet pity that makes my skin crawl. I don’t want him to look at me like that.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” he says softly. “Someone should.”

“Why doesn’t your family visit?” I ask, my voice gentle but persistent.

Oliver shrugs, his shoulders rising and falling as if the simple motion weighs him down. He doesn’t offer an answer, and the silence stretches between us.

“Have you ever invited them?” I press, hoping to understand the distance that seems to hang in the air.

“They know they’re welcome here,” he replies, a hint of defensiveness in his tone.

I meet his gaze, refusing to let the conversation slip away. “That’s not what I asked.”

His gaze cuts through me, sharp and uneasy, before he shakes his head slowly.

I smile, sitting down on the bed across from him.

“You could start by calling your brothers.”

“They’d think it’s boring. I don’t want them here out of obligation.”

“A kid could never get bored on a ranch,” I counter. “You’ve got a lake full of boats—they’d love it. I can help you plan everything, even though I still have no idea how to ride a horse.”

“I could teach you, if you’d like.”

Something flickers in his eyes—warmth, maybe even hope.

“I’d love that,” I say.