Chapter 12

Nolan

I satin Dawson's candy apple red truck, feeling like I was going to pass out. I set my hands on my thighs, if only so my pants would absorb the sweat from my palms.

Dawson crawled into the driver's seat, and cranking the ignition. Music blared from the speakers, some Nickelback song that I didn't know all the lyrics to.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going yet? Or are you going to blindfold me?" I drawled sarcastically.

Dawson flashed me a smirk. "That depends, do you want me to blindfold you?"

The darkness in his voice called to my cock like a damn siren and I shifted in my seat, trying my hardest to quell my burgeoning erection as I looked out the window so he couldn't see my blush.

"No, thank you," I said with a cough and a swallow.

No way in hell was I walking into that trap. The last thing I needed was to come in my pants sitting next to the man of my dreams before we even got to the fucking restaurant.

Christ, I haven't felt this horny since I discovered I liked cock.

Dawson chuckled as he pulled the car out of the Towers parking lot.

And he didn't say a word. He only focused on the road, his lips pursed. Gone was the playfulness, the sexy banter, and in its place was an awkward tension that filled the space.

I looked over at him, wondering if I'd said something wrong, done something, or if maybe he was just regretting this whole situation altogether. Whatever it was, I decided to try and break the ice.

The speakers blared with Theory Of A Deadman, which I knew only because in high school the guy I dated was obsessed with the band. A part of me felt inclined to scoot closer, to close the space between us, but I didn't.

"Can you at least tell me if where we're going is close?" I asked.

Dawson turned briefly to look at me.

"About a half hour. Why, you got some other pressing engagement tonight? Another tv marathon?" he said, but his voice was not playful or fun. Instead, it was replaced with a bit of anger.

My eyebrows furrowed and I shook my head.

"Nope. I'm all yours this evening." I swallowed as I said the words, but they weren't as difficult to speak as I thought they would be.

Dawson's shoulders loosened a fraction as he pursed his lips.

Some band I didn't recognize came over the speakers, the singer practically screaming and making my ears ring as they sang about the sound of madness.

"How can you listen to this stuff? It's just freaking noise," I said.

Dawson huffed out a sigh of annoyance.

"Shinedown is not noise," Dawson said defensively.

"Well, not to you. But it's a little grating on my ears," I half-whined, following it with a pout.

Dawson shot me a look that I could only describe as domineering, and I half worried he was going to pull this car over and murder me for my disdain of what was clearly his favorite music.

Way to go, Nolan.

"You know," I started as I sat back in my seat, crossing my arms. "Technically, the winner should pick the music," I quipped.

That seemed to alter his mood a bit, replacing the moody Dawson in front of me with the charismatic Dawson I was used to.

"Bratty boys don't always get what they want. Sometimes they have to work for it," he teased back, flashing a half-smile.

I couldn't help that my mouth dropped open at his words.

Was he calling me a... brat?

The notion made me turn six shades of red, and Dawson only shook his head, a complete smile finally spreading across his face.

"Fucking hell, Nolan you need to stop doing that," he said, chuckling.

"Doing what?"

"Being fucking cute," he said, flashing me a grin as he hit his steering wheel.

Dawson thinks I'm... cute?

The words caused me to choke on my own air.

No fucking way.

He shook his head. "Driver picks the music, champ. Maybe if you're a good boy though... you can pick it on the way home." His voice was dark and enticing and my cock throbbed from the implications.

I shifted in my seat once more, casually adjusting myself in a way that wouldn't draw attention.

The last thing I needed was for Dawson to know just how freaking turned on I was at the moment.

Because I most definitely found Dawson Richards more than cute.

He was freaking perfect.

Too perfect for someone like me, and I was dancing dangerously close to the edge of Heaven. So, I decided if I was going to die on this hill, I was going to go down in style.

"Oh, I can be very good," I said, flashing him with a grin of my own. "With proper incentive, that is. I like rewards."

"Of course you do," he said as he continued to drive, turning up the radio.

But I didn't fight him on it. Instead, I just let myself take in the sight of him dressed like a fucking snack, the wind messing up his hair through the window, and I committed the perfect image to my memory.

Because I knew after all was said and done, that's all I'd have.