Page 8 of Dump Tackle My Heart
So long as I can get up close and personal with her again.
Taste her sweet, honey-dripping slit—fuck.
Now I’ve got a full-blown hard-on in the middle of the car park, and my brother is looking at me like I just sprouted a second fucking head.
“Oi,” Koa barks. “What the fuck you standing there for, bruh? You meditating, or you glitching out?”
I exhale through my nose and clench my jaw.
Don’t kill him.
I’m about to be off on a holiday promo.
There are cameras somewhere.
Always are.
I catch Daniela’s gaze for half a second.
Emerald eyes. Sharp. Cool.
She looks right through me like I’m a fucking ghost.
Then—cue the eye roll.
A perfect flick of annoyance as she turns back to Finley and her damn checklist.
It shouldn’t gut me.
But it does.
I hustle to the SUV, pop the trunk, and toss in my bag.
Close it with more force than necessary.
Grip the keys in my hand for a beat just so I don’t stare at the woman of my dreams like a fucking creeper.
Too late.
“Dude,” Koa mutters, sidling up beside me. “You look like a lunatic.”
“What?”
“Stop creeping on her, mate. You look like a cartoon wolf about to blow steam out your ears.”
I push off the trunk and walk to the driver’s side and get in.
Koa slaps the door shut and leans in on my side of the car.
“You got the addy plugged in?”
“Yeah. Yeah, bruh. I’m not a moron.”
“Didn’t say you were. Just, y’know.” He shrugs. “Don’t fuck it up this time.”
I scowl. “I don’t even know what I did.”
“That’s the problem,” he mutters, then claps me on the shoulder and steps back. “Happy first Thanksgiving in Consequence, brother. Try not to get in over your head without at least talking to the girl this time.”
