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)
“She sure did,” I lie. And listen, I’m not a fan of lying to my parents, but…yeah, I will for this.
“Ambrosia told you?” Dad asks, and I nod with more confidence than I have.
“Sure did. I was just about to leave,” I say, before I look over at Louis, who is slack-jawed, holding his vase with about fifty flowers in it. I wanted to fill it with over one thousand since that’s how many podcast episodes exist, but that idea is scratched. I’ll make her more later. Much to everyone’s surprise, since I asked them to stay all day and I was going to buy them dinner, I grab the vase from my brother and then look at my parents.
“But we weren’t finished yet—” Jennings tries, but I shake my head.
“This works. I’ll just ride with you guys.”
Mom gives me a look. “Good thing we stopped by for this wine that Louis picked up for us.”
I look back at my brother, and he winks. Man, I love that guy.
When Jennings goes to say something, I hit him with a dark look, shaking my head. “Thanks for the help, guys. I owe you.”
Louis shakes his head, and Jennings nods eagerly. Charlotte looks like a Disney princess with her hands up under her chin.
And Ashlyn, well… Of course, she has parting words. “Maybe when she sets those flowers on fire, you’ll catch the hint.”
I waggle my brows at her. “Nope. She’s gonna love them, and if not, I’ll have y’all over to make more.”
I ignore the hoots of laughter from the peanut gallery and especially the looks from my parents as I head out the door.
Because there will be some heat when I enter Ambrosia’s space, but not from her burning the flowers we made her.
At least, I hope not…
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Ambrosia
DoesMyBreathStink60: No, as in I haven’t been with anyone in a long while and don’t plan to be when I’m pining for someone else.
Pining.
He’s pining.
You knew this.
I did.
Am I pining?
Fuck me.
I don’t want to be pining, but I think I’m pining.
Sssshiiiit…
I’m not stunned to silence often, but Dawson’s message did just that. I’d be stupid to believe him. I mean, come on. Dawson Sinclair, celibate? That’s wild to me. But what if he is?
Why do I think he is?
Why do I believe he is pining for me?
Because you’re stupid.
Hating how mean I can be to myself, I can feel my brows touching as I violently text him back, needing verification. The click of my nails against the screen of my phone adds to the noise in the kitchen. My mom is making the stove rice, which is rice that lives on the stove until it dries out, and Tía is frying some tostones.
Me: So I understand…no girls, or guys, will or have seen the sticker? That you claim is on your penis skin?
DoesMyBreathStink60: Just so you know, I’d rather hear you say cock than penis skin.
Mother Mary.
DoesMyBreathStink60: But yes. Only one girl will be allowed to see it.
DoesMyBreathStink60: I’ve decided to focus on something more than meaningless hookups.
DoesMyBreathStink60: Not that you asked. I wanted you to know.
For once, it’s not my dyslexia that’s making the words hard to read. It’s Dawson’s confession. I can’t seem to understand or fully grasp what he’s said. I close my eyes, and the ladle I am using to stir the juice clinks against the sides of the glass pitcher as I really focus on my phone.
But his words stay the same.
I swallow as I drop the phone to the counter, running my fingers down my arm to pinch myself.
I wince.
Shit. So this is real life. Awesome. Which means I did wake up this morning, and just like I have since the moment I flicked his nose, I have done everything not to think of Dawson.
News flash, I suck at not thinking of Dawson.
It isn’t my fault, though. He’s everywhere.
The communications building, outside the space where we meet for the dyslexia group I run, and even at Best Buy, though, in his defense, I don’t think he knew I was there. He was looking at computers with Louis and Jennings, but seeing him sent those butterflies he causes to go nuts in my belly. Especially when Louis started giving him shit for fighting with their dad about sitting for this next week’s game. I wanted to defend him, remind his brother it’s Dawson’s choice, but it wasn’t my place.
I shouldn’t have wanted to do that.
It’s just… I did.
Again.
Apparently, I’m becoming a regular ol’ defender of Dawson Sinclair at every turn.
It’s insane.
It’s not me.
Yet…it is.
It’s his fault!
Each day, I learn something new about him, and I like the things I’ve learned.
That he skated before he walked.
That he didn’t start playing football until he was nine.
That his favorite girl cousin is Charlotte because she’s sweet and loves to eat cupcakes with him. And his favorite boy cousin is Harrison because he is the youngest boy and funny as hell.