Saving Dallas

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

DEDICATION

To my grandmother for always believing in me.

Everything good in me I got from you in some way; you wonderfully, kind woman-my grandmother-Gloria Mae.

Chapter 1

Sitting alone in a bar, throwing back shots of Jack was not how I pictured my Saturday night. I had managed to wedge myself
into a corner of the patio bar shielded by the drop door that led to the bartender's area.  My intentions were to get drunk then make myself available to the first guy who could show me a good time with no strings attached. I was in a three-month slump and was ready to come out of hiding.

My ego had
recently been crushed by my previous boyfriend who, I thought was in love with me -- not that the feeling was mutual, but I thought it ensured his devotion to only me. He was perfect -- great body, good job, fast car – and he was a machine in the bedroom. Come to find out, I was not the only woman under his spell. Catching that skanky bitch from Arby's in his bed, wearing nothing but a smile informed me of everything I needed to know. I was replaceable.

Be
ing replaced by a five when you are nothing short of a ten can do some major damage to a girl like me. I'm used to getting what I want.

Being five foot four
with a body most people only dream of can get you a lot when it comes to men. Not to mention my long, silky brown locks, my perfect teeth, and a smile that would make the devil himself bow down.

But all of the
charm, looks, and money were not enough for Jeff. No, he had to go fuck it up with a fast food worker who drove a Honda.

So, for the past three months
, I have been sulking, crying, feeling sorry for myself, and praying that a damsel-in-distress moment would come along so Jeff would feel the need to come running to protect and take care of me. It didn't happen. This was the real world, and Jeff was a prick, and I had stooped low enough to come to The Country Tavern to get laid by some lucky bastard.

The urge to pee hit me
, and I was grateful for the change of scenery as I motioned to the bartender that I would be back and I came out of hiding. The bar had filled up, and the shots had definitely caught up to me. I put on my seductive face and made my way to the restrooms inside the bar.  Passing the pool tables and the main bar, I scanned the crowd to look for any potentials, but none of these faces could compare to Jeff's. Scolding myself, I went into the bathroom and did my business.

On my way out, I paused and looked in the mirror at the lovely creature standing before me. 
"You can do this Dallas," I told myself. I straightened my black Dior minidress, pushed my long soft curls to the front of my shoulders so they fell over my breasts, and flashed myself a smile before sauntering out of the bathroom to accomplish my goal.

I
headed back to the patio bar only to find my corner taken by a bunch of bikers.
Great.  Just fucking great
.  I pushed my way past them, ignoring the lewd comments, and asked the bartender for a Jack and Sprite. He gave me a small apologetic smile. "This one is on me gorgeous," he said as he passed over my drink.

"Thanks
," I replied with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. Turning to face the crowd, I realized my chances of getting laid were slim to none if I continued to be surrounded by intimidating bikers, so I strolled over to the opposite side of the bar.

"Hello ma'am."

I turned to see the face of an attractive male sporting a cowboy hat and Wranglers that did amazing things for his package. "Well hello yourself," I replied with my best fuck me smile.

"I must say that you have to be the prettiest thing I
’ve seen in here all night," he said with a southern drawl that had me smiling even wider.

"I was wondering if anyone would notice
, or if I was just going to have to drink alone tonight." I could tell he was taking in the sight of my perky D cups as he took my drink, sat it on the bar, and grabbed my hand to lead me onto the dance floor. Dancing with a cowboy does something to a girl. Maybe it’s the way they hold you, or the way you feel respected and appreciated. Whatever that feeling is that you get, I didn't have it. This apparently was not a real cowboy. He was offbeat, drunk off his ass, and had hands that wandered over everything other than my waist.

"
Whoa, cowboy
," I said as we both nearly tripped over several strayed bar stools. What the fuck was up with this guy?

"What’s the matter bab
y? You don't like my dancing?" He was laughing at someone over my shoulder. I turned to see a group of guys motioning for him to slap my ass and acting like a bunch of drunken frat boys, who they probably were.

Now, there are several things that really piss me off, but at the top of the list is being the butt of a joke. Who the fuck did they think they were? I pushed the prick posing
as a cowboy harshly – he didn’t even budge.

"Hang on baby the song ain't even over
," he said, moving his hand over my ass.

"Oh
, it’s over. Get your hands off of me." Angrily, I pushed him again, only to be rewarded with an ass slap. That did it. "Get your fucking hands off of me!" I yelled, pushing his shoulders as hard as I could.

Three things happened next. One:
I was flat on my ass, seeing stars as my head bounced off the wooden deck. Two: The massive creature that landed on top of me was being dragged out the side door, along with his shithead friends, by guys in leather vests with reapers on the back. Three: I was looking into the bluest eyes I had ever seen, and they belonged to a face that instantly had my panties wet. "You ok, babe?" asked a voice that sounded like it belonged to a fucking movie star. I closed my eyes, trying to ease the pounding in my head and gather my thoughts.
What the fuck happened?
Who is this beautiful creature leaning over me?
Had my damsel in distress moment finally arrived? Was my dress over my waist, showing my goodies to everyone in the bar?

Strong arms grabbed me and hauled me to my feet. Without even opening my eyes
, I knew by the feel of his shoulders he had the sexiest arms that had ever held me. I opened my eyes and nearly gasped. He was perfect. His hair was dirty blonde and cut short. His chest was strong and big, and the white thermal he wore, even under a leather vest, defined his muscles all the way down to his waist. His jeans were slightly torn giving me a view of his leg that let me know this guy worked out -- hard.  My gaze slowly moved back up his body, stopping momentarily on his crotch, making me have thoughts of him in my mouth. My eyes finally made it to his face. That face. Strong jaw-line, light blonde stubble, lips that screamed "kiss me," and eyes that were the color of the ocean.

"You like what you see?" he asked while adjusting my dress and keeping a firm hold on my waist. His hands on my body had me clenching my legs together trying to fi
nd a release for my aching center.
He asked me a question.
What the hell was it again?

"I'm fine
." I replied all breathy like some kind of fucking virgin teenager getting ready to screw the high school quarter back.
Get your shit together, Dallas.

His face held a s
mirk as his eyes laughed at me -- taunting me. He was sex in leather, and I didn't care if the way I looked at him made me look like a complete fool, or if he was getting pleasure out of me looking at him like I could take him right here in the bar.

"Well I can see that,
but how is your head feeling?" he asked still smirking at me. 
Arrogant asshole
. I managed to find my voice and inner bitch. Fueled by too much alcohol, a shitty night, and the fact that I would be going home alone -- again --
un
-fucked. I responded, "Its fine. Thanks for your help, but I believe I can manage from now own without the help of you and your goon squad." I looked around to see a few standing guard behind him, but the rest had disappeared. Thankfully, the crowd had gotten over the drama and was back to drinking and having a good time ignoring us completely.

Surprising me, he laughed.
Damn he had a great laugh
. "I'm glad you are feeling better. My goon squad and I will be at the bar if you need anything. Don't worry, your boyfriend still has a few teeth left and I'm sure tomorrow morning he will be calling begging for your forgiveness."

"He's
not
my boyfriend."
Why was I getting so defensive?

“
Could have fooled me, or do you normally let strangers fondle you in public? If so, maybe me and my goon squad, as you call them, can get in on the action." He was laughing at me. This sexy beast towering over me was making an ass out of me.

"For your information, I did not allow him to do anything. I asked him to stop several times. If I had plans to get fondled to
night by someone he would definitely not live up to my standards."
Liar
.

"So, do I live up to your
standards? Miss?"

"Dallas, my name is Dallas, and no, you do not. Biker trash isn't on my to-do list tonight."

"Dallas, what an interesting name you have. And I could have sworn the way you were looking at me all "fuck me" like, that I was most definitely on your “to-do” list, as you say."

Shit.
I was at a loss for words
.
Probably because his hands were still securely on each side of my waist and the throbbing between my legs had only intensified over the past few minutes. Instead of coming back with a comment that would leave him shocked and wanting more, I did something I never do. I walked away. Well, I tried to walk away. I removed his hands, which let go of me easily causing disappointment to my groin area, and turned around to see the floor coming up to my face before those big strong arms were around me again.

"Slow down babe
. I think you might have a mild concussion."

That’s all it took. I was putty in his
arms. I had prayed for a damsel-in-distress moment, and God had given it to me. It wasn't Jeff, but it was something so much better. Who cares that he rode a motorcycle, and was probably working as a mechanic while out on parole? I came here for something and I was going to get it, and if this biker bad boy wanted to give it to me I would gladly take it and regret it tomorrow.

The poundin
g in my head was loud. And hurt -- a lot. Mixed with the laughter and loud music, it was too much.