Always Mickie (Cruz Brothers Book 3)

by Melanie Munton

  Seeing as how I was a marijuana virgin, it didn’t take long for it to hit my system. My limbs felt lighter, my head felt clearer, and my hormones were suddenly…there. Right on the surface. It was certainly a new sensation. I usually ignored my hormones.

  The marijuana department wasn’t the only area in which I maintained virgin status.

  Which was ironic.

  Because all I’d been able to think about since Dawson lumbered over here was sex.

  “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do in college, though?” I asked, ignoring the sudden desire to lift up his shirt and see what he was hiding underneath all that black material. “Spend what little money you have on drinks, drugs, and tattoos?”

  I was standing on my tip toes in order to see more of the stage. Even in my four-inch wedge sandals, it was hard to see anything over the silhouette of bobbing heads in front of me.

  “Wouldn’t know,” he said in a more subdued voice. “I never went to college.”

  My head whipped around to see a dark expression take over his features, before he quickly wiped it away and adopted the half-grin again. “You want a lift?”

  Um. “What?”

  Before I could squeak a word in protest, Dawson had his head between my legs—get your mind out of the gutter—and was propping my thighs up onto his shoulders. I felt myself rise above the rest of the crowd as he straightened to his full height. I quickly wrapped my feet around his back and gripped his head of dark hair for balance.

  Hell, what conditioner did he use?

  More importantly, I was sitting on a guy’s shoulders.

  A guy whom I’d just met.

  I could feel his facial hair scratching my inner thighs. His strong hands were clutching my knees, the touch feeling more like a caress than anything. His skin was warm, his breath hot against my fevered flesh.

  I was breathless.

  My insides burned.

  But this time, I couldn’t blame the pot.

  Chapter Two

  Dawson

  Ah, fuck.

  This girl was too innocent.

  Too young.

  Too good to be hanging out with the likes of me.

  Yet her killer legs were wound around my neck.

  Yeah, hadn’t been expecting that to happen.

  Her smooth-as-silk skin was plastered against my own, inciting images of a much different scenario happening between us had we been…anywhere else.

  I had told myself not to approach her. I’d fought with my conscience for several minutes as I watched her dance by herself, eyes closed, hips swaying. I knew I had no right talking to her. Knew she was there with friends.

  I knew that she was sunshine and I was darkness.

  But I’d felt strangely drawn to her.

  At that point, I would have shoved my way through Fort Knox to get to her.

  I’d just wanted to talk to her for a minute. Figure out if she was a snobby bitch that I could easily walk away from and forget about. Just a quick chat. Long enough for her to shatter the fantasy I had built up in my head.

  But the exact opposite had happened.

  She was gorgeous, yet adorable at the same time. She clearly had good taste in music. And she was funny. Hell, I’d almost laughed at one point, which didn’t happen often. Or ever.

  And now I was holding her.

  Pretty intimately.

  Christ, her denim shorts were touching my neck. And underneath those shorts…

  “That better?” I yelled, desperate for anything that would take my mind off our position.

  What a great idea, you jackass.

  “So much better!” she shouted. “I can see everything.”

  Good. That was what I’d wanted.

  To make her happy. Give her a reason to smile.

  Because in my world, there weren’t very many.

  Not when I had two younger brothers to help support. Granted, Mason was only a year younger than me. And Parker was in college, so they weren’t exactly kids anymore.

  But that’s what an older brother did. He took care of his siblings, watched out for them. It was what I’d been doing my whole life. And when you had parents like ours, all you had was each other to rely on. For love, support, protection.

  I was the protector in our family.

  No one messed with my brothers. No one hurt what was mine.

  Although at times, it felt like I’d done a downright shitty job of protecting them. And that angered me. Ate at me.

  But right now, I wasn’t feeling anger.

  I was feeling all kinds of protective over this girl—Mickie—but it wasn’t fueled by rage. I had no clue where it was coming from, but an overwhelming sense of possession consumed me. Around her, that feeling burned hot and bright, making me want to capture all of her goodness and hold it inside a bubble so no one else could penetrate it.

  I wanted all of that for me.

  You’re not making any fucking sense.

  I hadn’t even realized when intermission started.

  “Uh, Dawson,” Mickie murmured, wiggling her perfect ass around on my shoulders. “You can let me down now.”

  Right. I needed to get it together. “Sorry,” I replied, and carefully eased her to the floor.

  My hands skimmed down her waist as I lowered her, allowing me to feel her curves, memorize her shape. She had a body that would make a bishop sweat.

  And I suspected she had no idea.

  I loved seeing her blush, the pink tint moving up her neck to stain her cheeks.

  “Thanks,” she said quietly. “You saved the day. I would have been buried in the crowd the whole time without you.”

  I’m nobody’s hero, baby.

  “My pleasure,” I said, hearing the involuntary drop in my voice. Don’t freak her out.

  I was relieved when she smiled. “Do you want to—”

  Her words were cut off by her oblivious roommate. “Hey, Mickie. Cody and Corey were just telling me about this party…”

  The chick’s words trailed off, her eyes widening when she finally noticed me standing there.

  Mickie jumped in. “Oh, Whitney, this is Dawson.” She waved her hand at me. “Dawson, this is my roommate Whitney, Cody, and Corey.”

  “I’m Cody,” one of the douchebags corrected her.

  And I don’t care.

  Though I did care when the prick’s eyes fell on Mickie, looking interested enough that my whole body tensed.

  “So, what were you saying, Whit?” Mickie asked, ignorant of the inner battle I was waging. Of whether or not to pull her out of the gelled-up college boy’s eye line.

  Whitney, on the other hand, was still starting at me with her mouth ajar. She didn’t snap out of it until Mickie not-so-subtly pinched her side.

  “Um…” Whitney shook her head. “The guys were saying there’s a big party tonight over at Sigma Pi. We’re going to head over there now. You in?”

  Hell, no.

  I didn’t want her leaving me so soon. Especially not if she’d be going off with these visor-wearing toolbags. I glared hard at one of them—Corey?—to warn him off. He looked so blitzed, though, I was pretty sure he didn’t even know what state he was in.

  She was definitely not leaving with them.

  I had to figure out how to get her to stay.

  “Actually,” Mickie began, glancing up at me. “I think I’m going to stay for the rest of the concert.”

  Hell, yes.

  “You sure?” Whitney asked. This time when her eyes met mine, they held concern.

  “Yeah, go ahead,” Mickie replied. “I’ll just catch a cab home.”

  Or I can take you home.

  What the hell was going on with me? I didn’t get this way over girls. Ever. I had a strict no-clinging policy. It was usually a physical arrangement between women and me, and that was it. There weren’t feelings attached to any of it.

  So, what was it about this girl?

  Fifteen minutes later, her friends had left, the b
and had resumed playing, and I was once again alone with Mickie. Sort of.

  It felt that way.

  When I was near her, it was as if we were the only two people in the room. Hell, on the planet.

  More people had cleared out of the area in front of the stage, so Mickie was able to stand on her own feet and see the band. Pity. Even though the noise made it hard for any kind of conversation, we both seemed to be fine with it. I was content with standing there and sneaking glances at her every five seconds. And she kept on smiling like a kid at Disneyland.

  All of a sudden, she grabbed my hand and pulled me around to face her.

  “Come on,” she said, beaming at me. “Dance with me.”

  I gave a hard shake of my head. “Sorry. I don’t dance.”

  Her smile faded a little, which I hated to see. “Everyone dances.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck, not wanting to disappoint her. But I also didn’t want to scare her off, which meant…no dancing.

  “I don’t,” I replied. “Believe me, some people really shouldn’t be allowed to dance. And I’m one of them.”

  She considered me for a moment. “Fine. You stand there and pretend to dance, and I’ll make you look good.”

  Sounded fucking great to me.

  I don’t know if she succeeded in making me look good. But the view from where I stood looked damn appealing. Peering down, I was treated to the sight of her sensual dance moves as she lightly rubbed her body against mine. Her low-cut top allowed me to glimpse the generous swell of her breast. The way she tipped her head to the side put her slender neck on display, tempting me to bury my face in it. And the way all that curly hair of hers bounced around led me to imagining how it would look when she was bouncing over me in bed.

  Shit. That was a fantasy I wouldn’t soon forget.

  By the time the concert was over, there was a light sheen of sweat dotting her forehead.

  And I was hard as a fucking rock.

  We were nearing the point in the evening where we would have to say goodbye to one another, but I wasn’t ready to.

  “Well, thanks for the lift in there,” she said as we stood on the sidewalk outside the concert hall. “And for hanging with me after my friends left. You didn’t have to do that.”

  Was she serious? “No, I didn’t have to,” I said pointedly. “But I wanted to.”

  Did she not realize that?

  Her mouth spread into an almost-bashful grin that I had the urgent desire to kiss away. God, she was so damn cute.

  She stuck her hand out. “It was nice to meet you, Dawson. I had a really good time.”

  I looked down at her hand, but ignored it. I wasn’t ready to accept the night was ending.

  I wanted more.

  “Do you want to go somewhere with me?” I asked.

  Her arm fell back to her side, though her facial expression froze. A look of uncertainty washed over her face.

  “Where?”

  That was the last time I wanted to see anything akin to fear or indecision on her face when she looked at me.

  “Let’s get something straight first, Mickie,” I said in my no-nonsense voice. The one I usually reserved for my father when he was being his usual asshole self. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. I realize we just met and you don’t know anything about me. But I’ll never hurt you. You’re safe with me, okay?”

  She tilted her head and studied me, assessing me. Then she slowly nodded her head. “Okay. What do you want to do?”

  Outside, I think I managed a small grin.

  Inside, I was throwing a fucking party. Complete with confetti.

  “I want to play some games.”

  Chapter Three

  Mickie

  Games.

  As in, arcade games.

  And I had been worried.

  Dawson brought me to an 80s-themed arcade bar that was full of vintage games. I had to admit, it was one of the last things I would have expected from a guy who looked like the Undertaker.

  Don’t get me wrong, a really sexy Undertaker.

  But this was a guy who hadn’t laughed once since I’d met him, and who acted like it physically pained him to smile. Yet he took me to a place where my inner child was having a field day.

  Contrary didn’t even begin to describe him.

  He was a jigsaw puzzle that I desperately wanted to piece together.

  “I don’t get it!” I said, scowling at the screen and throwing my hands up in frustration. “I used to be a Pac-Man champion. I’ve completely lost my touch.”

  I pushed away from the machine in mock disgust, waiting for a hint of a smile from him.

  Hell, I would pounce on a twitch of his lips.

  “I’d like to take your word for it,” he said, walking beside me as we assessed the long row of machines. “But we abide by the whole ‘I’ll believe it when I see it’ mentality in my family.”

  It wasn’t a smile, but his teasing tone was an acceptable substitute.

  “How are you so good at all of these?” I asked. “You’ve gotten the high score on, like, every game we’ve played.”

  He raised an eyebrow. We were getting close to a smile. “Do I not look like the video game-playing type to you?”

  “Honestly? No, you don’t.”

  He leaned in close when he had to squeeze his way around a large group of people huddled around a machine. It brought his scent so close to my nose… And whatever that spice was, I wanted it wrapped around me from head to toe.

  “Fair enough,” he replied. “This place actually reminds me of somewhere my brothers and I used to go all the time back in Washington, D.C. That’s where I grew up. I like to come here every now and then.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. It probably sounds stupid, but this place is kind of a stress reliever for me.”

  “I get it,” I said. And I really did. “The concert tonight? Listening to reggae music kind of does the same for me.”

  When he nodded, I felt encouraged to probe for more. “So, do you live here in College Park? Or still in D.C.?”

  Since the University of Maryland was in College Park, I kind of hoped he’d say he lived here. He stopped at a Space Invaders machine and started a new game. I stood behind him and watched, fascinated with how comfortable he was at the controls.

  “I actually live in Baltimore,” he said. “I saw the Rasta Roots in D.C. a couple of years ago and wanted to hear them again, so I just decided to drive down.”

  “What do you do in Baltimore?”

  I hoped I wasn’t being too nosy. But Baltimore was only about a forty minute drive, and I was excited at the prospect of seeing him again.

  Once again, he got the high score, and we switched places.

  “I just work a factory job right now.”

  There was a moment of silence, and I briefly took my eyes off the game to peek up at him. He looked pensive, so I waited for him to continue.

  “I was actually thinking of joining the police academy,” he said in a low voice.

  When my character died, I gave it up and faced him. For some reason, he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  “That’s awesome,” I said. “Have you applied and everything?”

  He shook his head. “Nah. I don’t know if it’s the right fit for me. It was just something I’d been thinking about.”

  But it sounded like he’d been doing a lot of thinking about it.

  I put my hand on his arm, finally drawing his attention back to me. “If it’s what you want to do, you should go for it. You’ll never know if it’s the right fit if you don’t try.”

  His piercing eyes narrowed, spearing me with a too intense look. It was a look that made my stomach twist and my pulse spike.

  “You have a point,” he said, his tone sincere. “I’ll consider it.” It was a few minutes and another game later when he said, “You never mentioned where you’re from.”

  I laughed and immediately tried to smother it with my hand. I was told I had a very loud, very boisterous l
augh. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  I knew my accent was thick and beyond noticeable.

  His gaze met mine. Another almost-smile. “My guess is Jersey.”

  I nodded. “Very good. Yep, Jersey girl, born and raised.”

  We walked past a popcorn machine, and the smell of buttery, salty goodness pulled me in, making me realize I hadn’t eaten in…hours.

  “And now you’re here for college?” he asked. “Studying what?”

  “Nursing,” I replied, wistfully. “That’s the end goal, anyway.”

  The more he and I talked, the more I realized he wasn’t just a sexy Undertaker with a laughter deficiency. It felt oddly comfortable, walking around an arcade, talking about random things with him. I wasn’t usually so at ease around new people.

  But Dawson was unique.

  In more ways than one.

  I noticed the clock on the wall, and my heart sank. “Ah, crap,” I muttered. “I should get back to the dorms.” I cringed, having figured out he was beyond college age. “That sounds really lame, doesn’t it?”

  He snorted. So close to a laugh! “It’s not lame,” he said. “You were willing to come to an arcade bar with me tonight. If anything, I’d say you’re pretty damn cool.”

  My heart lifted once again. “I think you’re cool, too.”

  Now, that did sound lame.

  You’re not in seventh grade, Mickie.

  “Can I give you a ride back?” he asked.

  The hopefulness in his voice was hard to miss, and it made me melt.

  “Sure. If you don’t mind.”

  He pinned me with another one of those looks. “I’d never mind.”

  My insides were aflutter the entire ride back in his old pickup truck. Though it wasn’t from his busted shocks, which were sending the truck rocking all over the place.

  I was just crazy nervous.

  Practically trembling with excitement over this guy.

  He seemed to be in as bad a shape as me. He was tapping his fingers against the steering wheel and adjusting the controls on the dash, as if he couldn’t sit still. Not to mention the tension between us was becoming almost too much to handle.

  Between the reminders of what he smelled like and how his hands felt when they grasped my legs as I sat atop him, my senses were fritzing out.