Yeah. Not good.
I mentally build a wall, the highest one I can muster, and grab my heart before hiding behind that wall. When his rich chuckle comes after his three words, I make sure my pussy is in place behind the wall too since she’s already weeping at the sound. She’s a thirsty little bitch, and I need to protect every single piece of myself from him.
But once his eyes meet mine, I don’t know if the wall I built is big enough.
Because Dawson Sinclair is bigger.
CHAPTER
SIX
Ambrosia
Dawson comes to stand beside his parents, leaning on his forearm against his dad’s shoulder. He’s a little taller than his dad, and even more so when he’s on skates. My head practically tips back to look up at him. His hair is all messy, the dark locks falling into his eyes, sweat or maybe water dripping from the strands and along his nose. This close, I can see the acne scars from him picking at his skin during his teenage years. I have the same, but seeing his makes him a bit more human. I swallow as he looks down at me with an expression that says he knows I like the way he looks.
I know it.
Hell, I think all of Tennessee knows it.
He clears his throat, flashing a smile that doesn’t have any dimples. I call this his media smile. “You guys going to introduce me?”
I have to fight back the grin from being right.
I knew he would never remember me.
“Oh, Dawson—” Baylor says just as Jayden says, “No.”
I snort at that. I’m pretty sure my dad made it clear that if anything happened to him, all his buddies would keep all the sleazeballs away. Funny that Jayden is trying to keep his own son away.
Baylor smacks Jayden’s stomach before giving me a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I think someone skipped lunch.” She gives her husband a pointed look that he doesn’t seem to agree with.
Before he can argue, though, Dawson holds out his hand. “Dawson Sinclair.”
You will take his hand, and you will not remember how he defended you or how hot his thigh tattoo is.
I say those words in my head, but the moment his warm, huge mitten of a hand engulfs mine, I can’t help but remember it all.
How gruff his voice was.
The way he called Grace P. a leech.
How I felt when he licked his lips after asking to eat my pussy.
Just like that damn tattoo, the butterflies in my gut take flight.
In seconds, I’m being pulled into Dawson’s orbit, where girls go to be used and tossed aside.
Like when I was younger and my dad would scoot across the carpet in socks, only to zap me with his finger, I feel the zap from Dawson’s huge hold. Breathless, I pull my hand away quickly and wrap my arms around my middle, hating that I want to know if he felt that too. I know I look defensive, but with Dawson Sinclair, I need to be.
“Ambrosia Mercer.”
He hikes a brow at me, amusement curving his lips. “Ambrosia? Like the salad?”
I hear his dad say his name in a low warning, and his mom gives him a sharp look, but he ignores both. Mirroring him, I hike my own brow in a challenge. “Yes.”
“A story with that?”
“Maybe, but only people I like get it.”
