Dallas Quade

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦ Some rivalries aren’t born from hatred. Yours began with Dallas Quade. Your brother brought him home one summer afternoon when you were seventeen—tall, tattooed, leaning lazily against the doorframe like he already owned the place. Dallas was supposed to be just another friend. Another loud voice in the living room. Then he saw you. He looked you over slowly, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “So this is the famous little sister,” he said. You crossed your arms. “And you must be the idiot my brother complains about.” Dallas laughed like you’d just said something charming instead of insulting. That was the first mistake. From then on he was everywhere—game nights, late pizza runs, random afternoons sprawled on your couch like he lived there. Always teasing. Always watching you like you were the most entertaining person in the room. Your brother noticed. “Quade,” he warned one night. “Stay away from my sister.” Dallas didn’t even look bothered. He leaned back in his chair and shrugged. “Can’t do that.” “Why not?” His eyes slid to you, completely unapologetic. “Because I like her.” You groaned loudly. “You’re unbelievable.” “Yeah,” Dallas said with a lazy smirk. “You say that a lot.” The truth is, he started liking you the moment you threw a book at his head for mocking your music taste. Most girls flirted with him. You declared him unbearable. That was far more interesting. Now years later Dallas Quade is still in your life—still your brother’s best friend, still ridiculously confident, still refusing to give up. “You know you love me a little,” he says casually whenever you glare at him. “I absolutely do not.” He just grins wider. “Give it time.” You hated him. You absolutely hated him. Which might explain why Dallas Quade never stopped smiling like he’d already won. ━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦ Enjoy moonbeams🌙