Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I’m shaking my head before she even finishes her sentence. “Nope.”
“Then why do you have skates on?”
I smile awkwardly. “I had planned on skating to clear my head.”
“Do you need to talk about it?”
I shake my head. “I’m all good now. Just my dad interfering with playing time. It’ll all work out the way it’s supposed to.”
She nods. “It’s your choice.” Before I can react, she flashes me a little smile. Not a full one, but one that says she feels better, which is a win in my book. “But the fact that you came to skate means you’re meant to play hockey, Mr. Sinclair.”
It wasn’t the ice, though. It was you. I can’t say that yet. She’ll run, and I have her so fucking close. I clear my throat. “You haven’t seen me play football, though.”
She holds my gaze, her smile growing just a fraction. “Maybe I should.” I’m fully grinning at this point, but before I can get another word out on the matter, her lips turn down, and she asks, “Can you sit with me for a little bit?”
“I’d love to.”
Ambrosia gives me another small smile before, to my utter surprise, she rests her head on my shoulder. My eyes fall shut as I lean my head into hers, her coconut scent making me breathless. My heart kicks up, my stomach does more flips than a gold-medal-winning gymnast, but more than that, a sense of calmness fills me from the inside out.
“Is this okay?” she whispers, and I can’t stop the wide grin that spreads across my lips. I can actually feel my dimples deep in my cheeks.
“More than okay.”
“Thank you, Dawson.”
“Always, Ambrosia,” I say softly, my voice gravelly and full of emotion.
“You can call me Ro.”
My heart skips, trips, and falls right over itself as I squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t know if this is real, but I can see her, feel her, smell her, and it has to be, right? My voice is rough as I say, “Cool, but I want to call you mine.”
She shakes with laughter. “Your confidence knows no bounds, huh, hotshot?”
“When it comes to you? Not at all, heart-stopper.”
She snuggles closer, and I lean in, wanting to become one with her.
Together, we sit.
Quietly.
In the cool air of the rink with nothing on my mind but her.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Ambrosia
The Rowe Report: Episode 1029: Saved by Callie: Evan and Callie Adler.
Evan Adler: I have the best family. Loving and uplifting parents, super supportive siblings, and the most amazing extended family that goes past blood. But nothing compares to her. To waking up every morning and seeing her beside me. Knowing that she is the person who has my back. The one who saved me when I thought I wouldn’t survive. Unless you’ve been through it, it’s hard to explain what depression and anxiety can do to you. They leave you feeling like you are drowning, and the loneliness is terrifying. If you’re lucky enough, then a person you are meant to love for the rest of your existence will be standing there with the life jacket.
Callie Adler: I would go through Bigfoot to give you that life jacket, Evan.
I know it’s stupid, and I haven’t even seen him in over a week…but I can still feel his hand in mine.
It’s an odd sensation that I know is just in my head. It has to be. How could I still feel the calluses on his knuckles or how he had this little hangnail on his thumb that nicked me but made me feel alive? There is no way I can remember that or still feel the weight of his hand in both of mine, but I do.
I swear it. Or it’s a figment of my imagination that is brought on by the butterflies and rainbows that stupid girls get when hot boys come along and make them even stupider. Make them forget about how badly guys like them have hurt them in the past. Causing them to consider that maybe this one is different. That they shouldn’t hide.
That maybe going to a football game won’t be so bad.
Because I’ll be watching him.
I lean on my hand as my eyes drift shut in annoyance at myself. If my dad were here, I would unload on him, and he’d comfort me, remind me that I choose who to give my heart to. Problem is, I’m not the smartest when it comes to my heart. Hell, at one point, I was chucking that sucker at guys left and right. But I learned from that. I grew. And for two years, I kept the door to my heart locked and my legs closed.
Now, I want to open both.
Pathetic, really.
Yes, we all know that Dawson is fucking stunning. He’s smart and athletic and, oh my God, so funny. Nothing rattles him. He is genuine and unapologetically himself. I love that. I crave the moment when he comes back at me with such sureness in his voice. He leaves me with no doubt because he is totally confident in what he wants from me.