I can’t get her off of my mind.
Everything about her is absolutely everything that I want and Dragon is right, I want her, I get off on the fact that she’s good and clean, but I can’t let myself indulge. I can’t ruin her.
Chapter Sixteen
PAMELA
My heart and head feel a bit better after my talk with Pinkie. I understand her better now and know that she’s had a hard life. Really hard. Her story, it reminds me of my mom. I can understand why she had a bad day. It doesn’t mean that I can forget what happened with her and Dylan, it’s obvious that there is something there, even if she says there isn’t.
It’s been a few days and immaturely I’ve continued to avoid Dylan. Though, I think he could be doing the same with me because he hasn’t sought me out either. I’m cleaning the kitchen, trying to make myself useful when I hear someone clear their throat behind me.
Turning around, rag in hand, I lift my gaze to the man who is watching me. I don’t know how long he’s been there, but he’s leaning against the doorjamb and his eyes are really focused. It’s Mamba.
“Yes?” I ask, my voice soft, wondering what he wants and why he’s watching me the way that he is.
He doesn’t move from his place, staying far enough away from me that I don’t feel intimidated, but he is definitely here for me. I watch him, unsure of what to say and waiting for him to speak.
“You either gotta be all in or get the fuck out,” he announces.
My entire body jerks from his harsh tone. “Excuse me?”
“Jaguar fucked up, he did it big time. He betrayed us, but he’s not a bad person. He’s getting his shit together and he needs an Old Lady.”
“Why?” I ask, wanting, not needing to know more.
Mamba shakes his head, his gaze never leaving my own. “We all do, Jailbait. We all need someone who accepts us for who we are. Who supports us, who keeps our asses in check.”
“This isn’t about me,” I say softly, pointing something out that he already knows. “This is about you, about that woman who left, right?”
He clears his throat again, taking a step toward me. “It is and it isn’t. Jaguar deserves someone who loves him for him. Not because he’s their hero, not because he wears a Beast cut, not because he knocked her up, but because she just loves him.”
“And you?” I ask.
“Everyone deserves that, Jailbait.”
I hate and love the nickname that I’ve gotten from these men. I love it because I know that they don’t give them to just anyone and I hate it because it’s a reminder that they all think of me as a kid, as a little sisterly type and that sucks the big one.
“Guess I’ll get the fuck out then, since Dylan avoids me and doesn’t want anything to do with me, at all.”
“Yeah?” he snorts. “You gotta make a move, babe.”
“Me?” I ask, placing my palm against my chest. “Trust me when I tell you, I’ve tried. Almost embarrassingly so.”
He watches me for a long moment, just watching, not actually doing or saying anything, then he tips his chin down and pushes off of the jamb. He turns his back to me, stopping to look over his shoulder.
“Thought maybe you were for him. Guess I was wrong. Don’t got the grit.”
Without another word, he walks away from me. I watch the doorway long after he’s gone, unable to really see anything. That’s how Dylan himself finds me. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, cleaning rag in hand, staring like an idiot.
“Sunny?” he asks, his voice full of concern.
The way he says his nickname for me, the sweet tone, my entire body jerks and I drop the rag as I turn my head slightly to look at him.
Swallowing, I try not to do it, but I do anyway. I take all of him in and I can’t even pretend that he doesn’t affect me. He’s beautiful, dangerously handsome, rugged, and broken. It’s the broken thing that gets me. I’m not a woman who wants to fix someone, hell I’m broken in my own way too, but I think that’s the draw.
We can be beautifully broken together.
I want that. It’s stupid, I should want someone who has all their shit together, someone who can help me with my broken shit, but instead the only person I want is probably worse off than I am.
Clearing my throat, I look down to my feet, then lift my gaze up to meet his. “Dylan,” I exhale. “I think…”
My words trail off because I don’t know what I think, not really. I know what I want, but I can’t make him want it too. I can’t make him see what apparently everyone around here sees. I can’t make him claim me or want me and it’s not fair to force it, no matter what Mamba says. No matter what any of them says.
“You think?” he asks.
Shaking my head, I decide not to say what I’m thinking. It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s made it clear what he wants and doesn’t want. And I am who he clearly does not want. Bending down, I pick up the cleaning rag and turn my back to him, I decide to get back to cleaning.
I don’t expect it, so I jump when I feel his heat at my back. He’s standing so close to me, so close that I can feel his breath against the back of my neck. Then he reaches out, placing his palms against the countertop, caging me in, all the while he doesn’t touch me.
“Sunny,” he says again, his voice soft and soothing, sexy as shit.
Pinching my eyes closed, I try not to drum up the memory of the way it felt when his hands were on me, touching me,
