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 have never heard a man beg like that, but I can’t think too hard about it. I push up higher before ever so softly pressing my lips to the bottom of his jaw. The hairs on his chin tickle my lips, and I want so badly to nuzzle them. I can’t, though. Even though it seems like it’s just him and me, I know our families are watching. As I pull back, it’s almost comical how surprised he is. His jaw is slack, his eyes wide, and when his hand moves to where my lips touched, he blinds me with the biggest smile.
“Your breath doesn’t stink, by the way.”
Even his eyes are smiling. “How could you tell? You missed my mouth.”
I wink. “Nope. I hit my mark.”
“Can I hit mine?”
I snort, flashing him a racy grin. His eyes brighten, and his laughter runs down my spine. He tries to reach for me, but I’m too quick. I move away to greet his family, but before I get to them, I glance back at him. His eyes are molten…and that smile. Jesus above, I’m in trouble. But really, what did I expect? I have been fighting this dude with everything I have, and now, I just willingly kissed him.
I feel like I’m in my own version of Hamilton.
I’m the British, waving the white flag.
Dawson, he’s Alexander Hamilton.
And he’s not going to throw away the shot I just gave him.
The Rowe Report: Episode 1049: A Delayed call from the Johanssons.
Brie Johansson: God, Vaughn was brash, cocky, and talented the moment I held out the mic to him. He made me want to kick him in the balls with how he made it seem like I was lucky enough to interview him.
Vaughn Johansson: I wanted her to notice me. I mean, look at her. She’s a knockout, but she was soooo professional.
Laughter.
Ambrosia Mercer: What changed?
Vaughn Johansson: I moved in across the hall from her apartment, and I decided she was going to be mine.
Brie Johansson: And one thing about Vaughn, or any hockey player with a goal, when they want to score, they will keep trying until that little hunk of rubber is in the back of the net.
Ambrosia Mercer: So you gave him a chance?
Brie Johannson: Rather, he took it.
Laughter.
Brie Johannson: And I know this is about how falling in love changed his game, but it changed my life. I went from being alone, hating men because I had been hurt so many times, and struggling to care for my brother, to having someone to lean on. To laugh with. To love. I’m not saying I elevated his game, because Vaughn has always been on top, but he sure as hell elevated my life.
Vaughn Johannson: Brie, sweetheart, you changed everything for me. I am a husband, a brother-in-law, and a father of three girls. The way I play, the way I live, the way I love. You elevated it all.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Dawson
I’ve had the privilege of meeting all my favorite hockey players. Of course, my dad, my mom, Jude, and Jace are my number ones, but I also encountered a lot of greats. Not only did they play with my dad, but I was able to meet guys like Pavel Datsyuk, Kimmo Timonen, and Peter Forsberg. It’s almost an out-of-body experience getting to interact with people you idolize and enjoy, and I thought nothing could top the moment of meeting Pavel Datsyuk since I have modeled my game after his. That is, until I’m sitting on the floor by a full-size old-school goal, leaning forward on my knees, and watching the girl I am totally obsessed with.
Ambrosia is just…fucking everything.
I have thoroughly enjoyed her voice and her commentary on her podcast, but what I didn’t know was she talks with her hands. Her eyes light up with excitement as she listens to her guests. Her smile, her real one, is unstoppable, and you can tell that she loves everything she is saying. That she is being true to herself, to what her dad built. Her confidence is just as beautiful as she is.
I wish she’d never doubt herself.
Ambrosia’s space is totally her. It’s all vintage hockey equipment, and I spot her dad’s name everywhere. It makes me wish he were here so he could see how amazing she is. I know he’d be so proud and probably give me a hard time for chasing after her. Not that it would matter. I’d tell him the same as I’d tell anyone—Ambrosia is it for me.
The room is a fun teal color with bright spots of yellow and orange. Her chair that she sits and moves in constantly is black, the only thing that isn’t bright. The couch my parents are sitting on is a sunny yellow with fun Latin-style pillows. She has a lot of photos of her growing up and also of her family. The food on the coffee table is in abundance, and Mrs. Mercer has made me four plates so far. Every time I finish one, she makes me another. I finally had to beg her to stop, and she just laughed, patted my cheek, and said something in Spanish that made Ambrosia giggle.