Dallas fumbles with something under the collar of his jersey. There’s a flash of gold and I watch as he pulls out a necklace—my necklace. The one I thought I lost two months ago and gave up trying to find. He’s wearing it without a care in the world, and something about his smug confidence tells me he’s had it in his possession for a very long time. “Seems like I have a good luck charm with me,” he says, rough and low. He holds up the M and keeps his eyes on me as he kisses the letter then runs his tongue over the chain. It feels like he’s running his tongue over me and the places of my body I
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