Chapter 15
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Ambrosia
Okay.
Wait.
What the fuck is happening?
I remember looking for Dawson Sinclair.
Hearing he was with his brother under a tree from someone I don’t even remember asking.
My gaze zeroes in on him. I know that Louis and Jennings were with him, but the second I locked eyes with this buffoon of a man, I was coming for him.
Because I’m not dead, I couldn’t help but drink in his sexy ass before stomping right up to him.
I know we shouldn’t check out the enemy, but when the enemy has hazel eyes, dimples that are made to drive you mad, and a body that was meant for sports and railing you through a mattress, you check out the enemy.
I’m just a girl, people. Just a girl!
Who is ready to rip him a new one and potentially ruin his chances to pick a damn sport.
And having kids one day,
But now…
Now, all I feel are his warm, callused hands on my face.
His scent engulfing me and reminding me a lot of my dad’s sandalwood cologne.
Then his lips are on mine.
Soft, but hard.
I taste salt, but I love it because it reminds me of chips and salsa.
Fuck me, Dawson Sinclair is kissing me.
And it feels so good.
So right.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been kissed before. But this feels…
Why does this feel so right?
My anger multiplies.
I hadn’t realized my hands were pressed to his chest—Jesus above, he’s built like a damn wall—until I push him with all my might, tearing his lips from mine and putting space between us.
I open my eyes—shit, I had closed them!?
—to find him looking almost as stunned as I feel.
His eyes are all hooded and sultry. As if he is just as affected by the kiss as I am.
It wasn’t even anything to shake a stick at.
Just his lips pressing to mine. No tongue, no nibbling, no movement, just coming together, and damn it, it was nice.
No, it was wrong.
But right.
Jesus, he drives me crazy!
He looks so pleased with himself; it makes me irate.
And then he says, “Figured that was the only way to get you to calm down.”
I see red.
“I would call you a son of a bitch, but your mother is a lovely fucking woman, and I refuse to disrespect her like that.”
He smirks, crossing his arms over his chest and making himself appear bigger, all towering over me like he wants to devour me. “But you’ll disrespect me with no issue?”
I snort. “Damn right, because you are the sludge that gathers between periods. All boogers, spit, and lost teeth—and not good teeth, but fucking cavity-ridden ones,” I sneer, my body shaking.
“Damn. Tell me how you really feel,” he says with a choked laugh.
“Where do you get off? I’ve known you for five seconds, and you think that warrants a kiss? Did I give you permission to kiss me?” I snap, my eyes wide, hating that I can still feel the warmth of his lips on mine.
Get it together, Ambrosia!
Finally, he looks a bit guilty. He cups the back of his neck, and my God, is he blushing? “You didn’t, and I’m sorry if I crossed the line—”
“Crossed the line?” I repeat incredulously. “Hotshot, you jumped over that sucker and assaulted me with your lips.”
He eyes me, and why in the hell do I watch his lips move as he asks, “Assaulted you?”
“You don’t get to kiss me without permission!” I screech, but his eyes narrow in on my lips.
Now we’re just two idiots, breathing hard and staring at each other’s lips.
What is happening to me?
His eyes snap to mine just as mine do to his, and he smiles—the kind of smile I only see on his mom’s Instagram. “Blink once if you liked it,” he whispers, and I throw my hands up in rage.
“No, I didn’t like it because it wasn’t wanted!” I yell, stepping toward him but then stepping back when I get a whiff of his cologne.
That dangerous manly smell.
“First, you put on your stories that I’m off-limits? Are you deranged?”
“I did.”
I gawk at him. He has no remorse! If anything, he looks fucking pleased as punch with himself. “News flash, hotshot. I am nothing to you, you are nothing to me. You have no ownership of me or my body. Take—”
“Yet,” he says with such confidence, if I were a bystander, I wouldn’t even dare to doubt him.
But I do dare.
Oh! I so fucking dare!
“Never!” I snap back, glaring up at him. “We will never be a thing. You are you, all fuckboy and full of yourself, and I will not be your next conquest. This is not a challenge—”
“A prize.”
I snap my jaw shut, looking at him in pure confusion. “Huh?”
“You’re not a challenge,” he says almost shyly, which makes me laugh. “You’re the prize.”
I balk at that. No, you will not be charmed by him! My voice rises with each slap of my hands. “You.” Clap. “Do.” Clap. “Not.” Clap. “Know.” Clap. “Me!”
I swear, it’s as if he isn’t the least bit affected by my outburst. “I do, though,” he says simply, moving closer.
“I know you have a standing appointment to get your nails done every Sunday at noon after church with your mom and aunt.” My eyes widen.
“I know you like to eat all foods, but your mom’s pasteles are your favorite.
That you like to snack on Big Chewy Nerds when you’re working on your podcast, and that your studio is full of all your dad’s old memorabilia.
” I’m stunned to silence. “I know your coffee order and that you’ve resorted to DoorDashing because you’re scared to see me.
Because you feel this, and while you’re afraid to let it happen, you can’t help but wonder, what if you did? ”
I blink. His words are so calm, so confident, and his eyes shine with promise.
My mouth goes dry, and all I can do is roar, “Are you stalking me?”
He grins, his dimples flaring. “No. I’ve been listening to your podcast, and according to Google, I’m not breaking any laws.”
Damn it all to hell. Why is he doing this to me? I inhale sharply and shake my head before pinching the bridge of my nose. “You Googled if you were a stalker?”
“Yeah. I don’t want to go to jail before I can convince you to give me a chance.”
I sigh deeply, squeezing my eyes shut. “Stop. Please stop,” I practically beg.
“I just want you to come to my game, then give me an hour after.”
I’m already shaking my head. “No. You will forget I ever challenged you. That I flicked your nose and demanded you believe in my theory—”
“I do.”
My mouth parts a bit. “Dawson, please.”
He takes a step closer, his eyes searching mine. “I believe that your theory is real for some people, and I didn’t think it applied to me—until I met you.”
I blink. I am not na?ve enough to believe his words. “You just want me because I’m resisting.”
He licks his lips, his eyes never leaving mine. “Then stop resisting so I can prove you wrong.”
My heart is basically in my throat, my body is vibrating with want, and I feel like I’m drowning underwater and he is holding the life vest I need. Breathless, I beg, “Please forget me entirely, because this will never happen.”
I’m gesturing my hands wildly between us until his fucking mitten of a hand wraps around my wrist, and he pulls me to him.
I stop before I plow into him, letting out a very unladylike squeak as his eyes lock with mine.
That damn scent of his, woodsy, fire-pit-like, and all male, hits me, and I’m left speechless.
Like a fool.
Fucking dude continues to make me a fool.
I go to scream and smack his hands away, but the look in his eyes has my lips pressing together in confusion.
His eyes are soft, full of guilt and vulnerability, a look I have never seen on Dawson Sinclair.
I gaze up into his stunning greenish-brown eyes as he says, “I can’t.
” Before I can tell him to fucking try, he continues. “I need you to know I’m sorry.”
I can only blink, but then I remember who the hell I am. “For what? You’ve done a lot to me in the last couple weeks.”
He smiles, his eyes playful, and I hate how that transforms him from fuckboy into the boy next door. I feel his thumb moving along my pulse point and I go to yank my hand away, but he doesn’t let me. “Just a second,” he pleads, almost like he needs my touch to survive, but that can’t be.
He is Dawson Sinclair. He can have anyone.
That thought is like a bucket of ice being poured over me.
I have been here, in front of a guy as he tells me how badly he wants me, only for him to fuck me senseless and then ghost me the next day.
I yank again, and he lets me go, though I don’t move away, for some reason.
“I’m sorry for kissing you when you didn’t want it, but I would like to point out that you’ve been looking at my lips a lot. ”
I wrap my arms around my middle, breathing deeply. “An apology should be just that, not with context to it.”
His eyes flare with humor. “You’re right. I’m sorry for kissing you.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll wait for you to give me permission.”
“I won’t.”
“Oh, heart-stopper, you will,” he says, so low I feel it in my gut.
The flutter that swoops and takes flight inside me is terrifying, but I don’t look away.
“I won’t apologize for the story about you being off-limits because, for one, that photo was fucking hot.
” He moves then, holding up his phone to show where I am now his wallpaper.
You’ve. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me.
“That is not okay.”
“Why?”
“That’s my photo.”
“Yes, but now it’s my wallpaper on my phone.”
“I have the rights to it.”
He grins, that devilish grin that has my stomach clenching. “Can I pay for the rights for it to be on my phone?”
“They’re out of your price range.”
His eyes dance. “I’ll pay you daily. Just give me your Venmo.”
I scoff. “You sound very nepo baby right now. Just throwing money around.”