Just like I’m not letting her go.
Chapter 2
Heather
I can’t believe Dodge Ronson is holding my hand.
I follow along behind the massive man that’s been my crush and fantasy for so long, remembering the first time I saw him, walking next to Santa’s sleigh in the Christmas parade here in Frankenmuth, where my grandparents have their home.
It’s the most Christmassy place on earth, I think, and people come from all over the world to visit all year but especially at the holidays.
I was thirteen that first year. My heart frozen, just like the winter air, as I stood with my brother who had become my guardian. My grandparents were holding my hands as I fought off tears thinking of my first Christmas without my mom and dad.
I saw the reindeer first. They were just like out of a storybook. Bigger than I imagined, wild looking, but obediently pulling the enormous red sleigh down the center of main street with thousands of onlookers clapping and cheering as snowflakes fluttered down and the clock in the center of town chimed.
The bells all over their harnesses were jingling, their nostrils flaring. They snorted and trotted forward with Santa holding the reins and waving to the crowd.
That’s when I saw him, and I knew. Santa wasn’t in charge of those animals.
This man was.
He stood off to the side, bigger than any man I’d ever seen. The reindeer shot him wary glances every few steps as if checking in.
Are we okay?
Yes, you are fine, I’m here.
Okay, we will keep going then.
Then, our eyes connected, and he stopped.
Then the deer stopped, and the crowd went silent.
Santa looked at the monster of a man, then gave a few uneasy ‘Ho, ho, ho’s’ to the unsure crowd as my heart felt like it would burst from my chest. I don’t know how long our eyes stayed connected, but it felt like an eternity and a blink of an eye.
From that moment, he’s been a part of me somehow. Over the years, my thoughts of him twisted and changed. At first, he gave me a feeling of protection. Like he was there for me even when we weren’t together.
We’ve had moments of contact. Shared a few words here and there. He’s well known and certainly hard to miss.
The looks he’s given me over the years felt territorial. Possessive. And as I celebrated my eighteenth birthday, he was all I could think of.
Now, I’m here, and the beast of a man is holding my hand, dragging me down to the end of the bar where there are two stools in a darkened corner, and I can barely breathe.
My pulse speeds as he reaches down, massive hands encircling my waist like I’m a doll, and he lifts me to sit on the wooden chair as he stands just inches away, smelling like leather and sex.
“What do you drink?” I manage, my voice a low squeak as he looms over me, running his hand back and forth through his short dark hair like he’s trying to rub away something distressing. “Davis said anything you want…” I put the money on the top of the bar and see the bartender, Phil who owns the place, give me a wary glance as he heads our way.
“You’re not buying,” Dodge grunts.
“I know. My brother is.”
“No. What do you want?”
“I don’t really drink. I’m only eighteen.”
He winces like I’ve just reached down his pants and grabbed his dick, and it takes him a moment to stand straight again, but the look in his eyes has changed.
“What can I get you?” The bartender looks at Dodge with some tension in his knitted brow.
“She’ll have a virgin peppermint mocha.”
“And you?” I ask, staring at his face, thinking he’s the most entrancing man I’ve ever seen.
“Make it two. On my tab.” He grits out the words through clenched teeth and I see the muscles of his chest flex and harden under his t-shirt. The red and black plaid flannel shirt hangs unbuttoned over the top, and it strains at his shoulders as his biceps flex and I get lost in the sheer size of this man up close.
A league of small butterflies flap around in my belly as I try to quit staring at Dodge’s thick chest filling with each breath. His face isn’t what I’m sure most would consider handsome, but his thick brow and matching jaw hearken back to something primal, before men were refined and politically correct.
I’ve spent my short eighteen years making sure I was a stand on your own two feet sort of girl, but something about Dodge makes me want to throw myself onto all fours, beg him to pull my hair and—
“Here you go.” The bartender slides two white mugs toward us with pink whipped cream on top and a thin peppermint stick standing in the center. “Enjoy.”