The moment Dawson’s black SUV pulls up to the curb, I see it. Of course, I’m standing at the front windows, watching with my thumbnail in my mouth. I’d have to be blind not to see his SUV.
Now that I know what it smells like inside his car—leather and that musky, crisp cologne I can’t seem to get out of my head for some stupid reason—I want to be back in…
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