Chapter Five
Ava
When I wake up, Dawson isn't in my bed. I just lay there for a long time, convinced last night was a dream. I do such a great job convincing myself that I'm shocked when I see his marks on my throat in the mirror when I stumble to the bathroom.
"Crap," I groan, burying my face in my hands. It wasn't a dream.
I don't know if I want to kick my feet and squeal or crawl under the nearest rock and hide.
Unfortunately, I don't have time to do either. If I don't get my booty in gear, I'll be late. The last place you want to show up late is to a room full of eighth graders. They'll demolish the place.
I'm not even in my car before my phone is ringing.
"Hello?" I mumble into it, trying to juggle my stuff, the phone, and strong-arm the car door at the same time.
"Morning, sweetness," Dawson purrs in my ear.
I drop my coffee.
"Dammit."
I'm almost positive entire dreams are made just of his laugh. It strikes places it shouldn't, doing things that are all too delicious.
"You that happy to hear from me, huh?"
"I dropped my coffee."
"Need me to bring you more after practice?"
"No!" I panic at the thought of him showing up in my classroom. It'd be chaos and anarchy, literally. He's one of the biggest names in professional sports. My students would lose their ever-loving minds. They already think the fact that he's my stepbrother is the coolest thing since sliced bread.
"Damn, baby. You really know how to deflate a man's ego," he says.
I think he's teasing, but I feel like I should explain anyway. "It's just…my students," I whisper. "You're basically their favorite. If you show up, there's no way they're going to accomplish anything today."
"Ah. What about you?"
"What about me?" I ask, sliding into the driver's seat.
"Would you accomplish anything if I showed up today?"
I hesitate, and then sigh. "You know I wouldn't, Dawson."
"Good girl." I can hear his smirk through the phone. It's annoyingly hot. "I'll see you tonight then."
"Tonight? Dawson, you are not—"
"Baby." That sinful laugh echoes down the line again. "We've got dinner with our parents tonight."
"Oh. Right." My heart skips at least three entire beats. My mind does that sickening lurch thing, where I almost swear I can see the future. It does not look rosy. "Maybe I should—"
"If you even think about skipping it, I'll carry you to the restaurant over my shoulder, sweetness," he growls. "Think we can keep our little secret when I've got my hands all over your ass in a restaurant?"
"You wouldn't."
"Try me."
"Dawson!"
"Ava," he says, cool as a cucumber. "I told you last night, we're happening. I meant it."
My heart flutters, even though I'm pretty sure he's lost his mind.
"Relax, sweetness," he murmurs. "No one has to know."
I hesitate for a long moment, still not convinced it works that way, and then I sigh. Why bother lying to myself or him when we both know I want this just as badly as he does? It's what I've always wanted.
Is it going to blow up in my face? Probably. I can't keep a secret to save my life, especially not one this big. But I want to keep this one, especially if it means he's mine, even for a little while.
"Okay," I whisper.
"Good girl, baby," he practically purrs into the phone. "I'll see you tonight."
"See you tonight, Dawson."
He's waiting for me outside of Ember and Onyx in a pinstripe suit that hugs his broad shoulders just right. The way he looks at me as I hurry toward him has my whole body igniting in flames. Or maybe it's the way he grins, his dimples popping out at me. They're such a rare sight.
God, the man is beautiful.
"Damn, sweetness," he murmurs, his gaze crawling all over me. "You trying to start a riot tonight?"
"No." I spent an hour tearing my closet apart, looking for something suitable to wear—something that looks like I tried without looking like I tried.
I think the little black cocktail dress was the right choice.
It's flirty and daring without being too daring.
I feel confident and sexy in it, not at all like a teacher who spends most of her time trying to sneakily drop wisdom on a bunch of kids.
My cheeks catch fire when he places his hand against the small of my back, two inches too low to be anything but indecent.
He leans in, placing his lips against the side of my cheek.
To anyone who might be watching, it probably looks like he's just kissing me hello. The way he nips my ear says different.
"I'll be tearing that pretty little dress from your body tonight, baby," he breathes against my skin. "Right before you dig those heels into my back while I'm inside you."
Welp. There goes any chance I had of surviving this dinner with my dignity. My panties are already uncomfortably damp, and my brain is mush.
"Come on," he says before I even stand a chance of recovering. "They're waiting for us."
Right. Our parents.
Gulp.
It feels like everyone in the restaurant turns to look as he escorts me through the luxurious dining room to a table in the back. Half of them probably make as much as he does. I'm sure a few of them are as well-known as he is, but it feels like all eyes are on us.
Everyone except Mom and Dennis, anyway. They're cuddled up together on a banquette, with Dennis whispering something in her ear. She giggles like a teenager, her blue eyes shining with adoration. She looks so happy.
"Look who I found," Dawson drawls, breaking them apart.
Mom glances up, a bright smile overtaking her face. "Hey, sweetheart!"
They both rise, sweeping us into hugs.
"You look beautiful, Ava," Dennis says, smiling gently. I swear, the man is nothing like his son. He's so nice. There isn't a grumpy bone in his body. He kisses my cheek before releasing me to hug Dawson. "I'm glad you could make it, Son."
"Wouldn't miss it," Dawson murmurs, smirking at me. "You know I never pass up an opportunity to eat."
My knees aren't weak. I chose to sit. Really, I did.
Dawson sweeps my mom into a hug, making a big show of kissing her on the cheek. Her laughter rings out around us before she swats him, making him grin. "My dad taking good care of you, Janice? If not, the offer still stands."
"Sweet boy," she says, touching his cheek.
"What offer?"
"I offered to put my foot up his ass," Dawson says, sliding in next to me. Ordinarily, the banquette would be plenty big enough, but ordinarily didn't take into account his sheer size. He's pressed up against my side in one long, delicious line, crowding me up against the wall on my left.
I'm officially trapped between his body and the wall. And all I can think about is how I was trapped between his body and the fridge last night.
"There's no need for that," Mom says, oblivious to the sinful heaven I'm trying not to revel in over here. "Your dad is taking great care of me."
"Glad to hear it," Dawson murmurs.
"I ordered a bottle of wine for the table," Dennis announces.
The groan slips out before I can stop it.
Naturally, everyone turns to look at me.
"Sorry." I grimace. "Bad memories."
"Of wine?" Dawson cocks a brow.
"Girl's Night was Saturday," I explain. "We may have drunk too much."
"Ah." Dawson smirks at me. "What else did you do?"
"Nothing much," I practically squeak. Is there a world where I tell him that I plucked petals from a flower and played MASH while trying to figure out if I had a chance in hell with him? Absolutely not. I'd rather die.
"Uh-huh." His hand lands on my thigh.
I jump, jostling the place setting in front of me.
"My bad," I mutter, reaching beneath the table to shove his hand away. That lasts for all of two seconds before it's back on my thigh, creeping higher.
I'm going to kill him. Murder and maim and…Oh God. His hand is between my thighs. Our parents are across from us.
Send. Help.
Help does not come. I might, though.
This is going to be a long, long night.
I'm not wrong.
Dawson spends precisely all of dinner toying with me. One minute, his hand is between my thighs, pressing against my sex.
The next, he's using it to illustrate a point in a story. What story?
I don't fucking know!
It's hard to keep track when I'm trying not to have a shattering orgasm in front of my mother, my new stepfather, and approximately ninety of LA's upper echelon.
I'm going to murder him. I mean, I'll probably ride him to completion first. But he's definitely dying for this.
There is nothing discreet about the way I'm gripping the goddamn banquette like I'm trying not to lose my mind. And there is absolutely no way my mom hasn't heard me whimper at least twice.
My only saving grace is that she's so wrapped up in Dennis that she hasn't noticed my slow unraveling yet. At least, not until Dawson slips his hand between my legs again and I groan.
I actually fucking groan. At dinner. With our parents.
He's dying a slow, horrible death.
"You okay, sweetheart?" Mom asks. "You look flushed."
"No," I croak, my nails digging into the back of Dawson's hand. "I'm not feeling well."
The bastard beside me has the actual audacity to place his hand against my forehead like he's checking me for fever. "Hmm," he murmurs, his eyes glinting. "You feel a little hot, Half Pint."
A little hot? I feel a little hot?
His thumb presses against my clit through my panties. "Maybe I should take you home. You may be getting something."
"I can take care of myself," I grumble, acutely aware of the way my mom is watching me now.
"Nonsense," she says. "Let Dawson take you home, dear."
I see the Universe is still conspiring against me. Awesome.
"Yes, let Dawson take you," he says, and I narrow my eyes at him. He just gives me an innocent look, but we both know what he meant. He's being evil on purpose.
Well, two can play this game.
"Fine," I say sweetly. "Dawson can drive me. And then I'll just call my neighbor if I need anything. He's such an amazing man. I'm sure he'll be happy to help take care of me."
Dawson's eyes narrow, turning this unholy possessive shade of hazel. His lips compress into a tight, unimpressed line. I almost laugh out loud. Even though he knows my neighbor is ninety and I have no interest in him, he's still jealous.
I should not love that as much as I do.
He slides his hand out from between my legs before sliding from the booth. "Come on." He reaches for my elbow, practically hauling me to my feet while our parents watch. "Let's go before you throw up in Janice's purse again."
"Oops." I smile sweetly as the heel of my shoe digs into the top of his foot. "My bad. Didn't see your foot there."
His teeth grind together.
"Will I see you again before you leave?" I ask my mom.
"Probably not. But I'll call you from the boat," she promises, reaching for my hand to squeeze my fingers. "I love you so much."
"I love you too." My throat gets tight. "Promise me that you'll have fun and take all kinds of pictures."
"I'll make sure she does," Dennis says, sliding an arm around her shoulders.
"Thank you," I whisper to him, grateful that she has him now. He's good for her. He's good to her, too. If my dad could have chosen someone for her, I think it would have been a man just like Dennis.
"Come on," Dawson murmurs softly, his hand around my elbow. "Let's get you home."
I don't protest. At least not until we're through the gauntlet of the restaurant and outside, breathing the salty tang blowing in from the ocean.
And then I wheel around to face him, ready to commit nine kinds of violence and mayhem.
"You are such a—"
That's as far as I get before he's backing me into the dark alley, his lips already covering mine. He kisses me like he's going to lose his mind if my taste isn't on his tongue right this second.
My hands plunge into his hair, holding him to me as I attack his mouth with the same ferocious need. It pours through me in unrelenting waves, and I know, all the way to my soul, that I am so screwed. Literally. Figuratively. And every which way one can be screwed.