Style | Dallas Winston

Chapter Eleven

"Southern nights, just as good even when you close your eyes, I apologize, to anyone who can truly say, that he has found a better way" -Southern Nights, Glen Campbell

(Happy Thanksgiving in July! Sorry this chapter is kinda cheesy)

"Dally?" asked Becca, just to make sure she understood this right.

"Yep," replied Maeve.

The morning after that eventful night, Maeve had called Becca to tell her everything that had happened. She spared no details when recalling how Tim, Curly and Dally stumbled in, bruised and bloodied. How Curly was stabbed and no one knew whether or not he was going to live—And she told her everything that went down in the bathroom with Dally, the fresh wave of memories hitting her, almost as if she was living through it all over again.

Her hands on his bare abdomen, standing between his legs, the feeling of his gaze over her, looking into his deep brown eyes. They say that eyes are the window to the soul—looking into Dally's eyes, normally you would see his cold anger. You could tell that he'd been hurt by the world, that there was a reason for his hatred of everything and everyone. But looking deep into his eyes that night, she didn't see that. She saw a certain softness she hadn't seen before. She had seen her own emotions reflected back at her.

"Dallas Winston? The one who's been arrested a dozen times? The asshole who's dating Sylvia Davens?" asked Becca, as if she was talking about a different Dally.

"That's the one."

"I just—wow. I mean I get it, he's hot, but really? Out of everyone you could've chosen?"

"I didn't choose him, it just happened! He was there with his hair, and his eyes, and his abs. Becca, his abs." she ranted in distress.

"That good?" She could hear Becca's smirk through the phone.

"Oh my god what am I going to do!" Maeve panicked, ignoring her.

"Try and get with him! Talk to him, flirt with him" Becca encouraged.

"Ugh you make it sound so easy, as if he doesn't already have a girlfriend, or if he would ever even consider feeling that way about me."

"I wouldn't call Sylvia his girlfriend—and of course he would want you, you're beautiful," reasoned Becca, trying to make her feel better.

"Thanks, but we both know I'm not the type of girl Dally likes."

"And what type of girl is that?"

"Gorgeous models who are flirty, confident and won't be concerned with his criminal tendencies or anger issues. Ones that don't expect anything more than casual sex," said Maeve, not hesitating.

"Oh. Well you don't need to be that. You just need to be yourself and if he doesn't like you then he's not the right one for you. But you have to put yourself out there, you can't just keep waiting around, make a move!"

She sighed. "Okay, maybe I will"

"Don't worry. It'll all work out fine." Becca reassured.

Maeve wished she could believe her.

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