And…
I tilt my head. “She was mean to you.”
The gorgeous girl in front of me looks away, shrugging. I can see the flush along her cheeks. “It didn’t matter.”
“It did. She called you names, when you were way hotter than her.” Her gaze whips to mine, narrowing as she searches my eyes. “And I mean that. I’m not saying that to be nice.” I remember saying that—or something along those lines. She presses her lips together, unsure how to take that. Needing her to know, I say, “I don’t drink anymore. Haven’t since that year, actually.”
She nods slowly. “That’s awesome, but that doesn’t change the fact that I saw you in the act, firsthand. Have you tanned your ass?”
I snort. “Nope. Whitest ass ever, according to my teammates.”
She grins, even if she doesn’t want to. “It was whiter than the moon.”
I lick my lips. “I’m not that guy anymore.”
She gives me a dry look. “Why are you lying? Everyone knows that Dawson Sinclair gets around.”
I mean, she’s not wrong. I’m not nearly as bad as I was, but that’s because it’s getting tedious. I’m tired of the same thing.
She sucks my cock.
I might eat her out.
I leave.
There is no connection. No smiles. No touching.
Not from lack of trying on their part, but I won’t allow it.
I don’t want to get distracted, yet here I am.
I lick my lips again, my gaze challenging hers. “Are you slut-shaming me?”
Ambrosia grins in that way that has my cock thickening at the sight. “You don’t deny it?”
“Nope, and all the girls I’ve been with know the score before we even do anything.”
She claps slowly, giving me a mock look of awe. “Oh my goodness, how kind of you.”
I can’t help but grin. “Hey, I’m nothing if not respectful.”
“I’m sure the female gender is so thankful for that.”
Her bored look is sexy, and I want more.
“They are,” I tease. “Especially when my mouth is between their legs.”
The look of pure disdain makes me harder. “I knew I smelled something fishy.”
I choke on air. Then I bark out a laugh as I shake my head. “Wow, you’re something.”
She doesn’t seem the least bit concerned with me. “I don’t care what you think of me or even what you do. Your personal life is all yours, hotshot.”
I bring up my brows in confusion. “Hotshot?”
“Oh yeah,” she says, all full of herself. “I can’t call you a playboy since all the girls you’re with know thescore, and you’re sorespectful. So…hotshot.”
“But you wanted to call me a playboy?”
