Chapter 13
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Dawson
Jude Sinclair: Does love change your game?
There is a pause.
Jude Sinclair: I think it changes everything.
Claire Sinclair: It does.
Jude Sinclair: I was young, wild, and getting more action off the ice than I was on the ice. I had no intention of changing until a certain redhead caught my eye. One look, one little grin, and I was a goner.
Claire Sinclair: I lost my mom early in life and was thrown on to a bachelor hockey player who had no clue how to raise a teenager.
I know he thinks he messed me up by falling for my dance teacher, but instead, he gave me a strong female role model, a person I call daily and love so much.
Even watching my uncle fall in love with my aunt didn’t convince me that I’d find my person.
I knew they were great together, and I felt loved by both of them, but I didn’t think that was in the cards for me.
I think that’s why when Jude came along, I thought we’d just hook up, that he’d never want me because no one did but Phillip and Reese.
Jude Sinclair: Meanwhile, I’m singing sonnets to her and paying my teammates to give her all tens when she tried out for the Bullies’ dance team.
Laughter.
Jude Sinclair: I wanted so badly for her to want more with me, and I swear it was payback for how I treated everyone before her.
Ambrosia Mercer: So you fought for her?
Jude Sinclair: Absolutely. My parents were in the middle of a nasty divorce, and I didn’t want to lean on my family because we were all going through the same thing.
I didn’t want to add to their pain with my own, but I knew Claire wouldn’t give me the time of day if I didn’t show her I was more than my reputation.
Ambrosia Mercer: Did his past bother you?
Claire Sinclair: I mean, yes and no. A past is a past, and I never considered that he’d step out on me. But I still couldn’t believe he wanted me more than just physically.
Jude Sinclair: I would never. Not when I looked at her and saw my wife, the mother of my children, and the person I would die for.
Claire Sinclair: We were young, and it wasn’t easy for us. We’ve made mistakes, we’ve had days when we wanted to give up, but neither of us would let the other.
Ambrosia Mercer: How did you keep fighting for each other?
There is a long pause.
Jude Sinclair: She’s mighty stubborn.
Laughter.
Jude Sinclair: But there is no other teammate I want but her.
I have heard my aunt and uncle’s love story a time or two, but this time is different.
I didn’t know that Jude was a manwhore. I thought he met Claire like my dad met my mom and fell hard.
I didn’t know he fought for her, changed his ways, and worked to reassure her that she was it for him.
Their story has me pressing my hand to my gut as I listen to the pure adoration in his voice as he speaks of my aunt.
He’s always like that. Jude loves Claire in a way that people dream of being loved.
In a way that has me wondering what it’d be like to be on the receiving end of that kind of adoration.
Or to give it away.
To someone other than family.
Unable to resist, I call him. He answers right away.
“Please don’t tell me you’re hurt.”
I roll my eyes, not even rewarding that question with laughter. “I’m fine. I’m calling for another reason.”
“Okay?” he says skeptically. “Am I agent or uncle?
“Uncle.”
“Bet. Hit me with it,” he says, his demeanor changing completely.
I can’t help but smile at his antics. “I heard your Rowe Report podcast.”
He chuckles softly. “Okay, but you already knew the story of Claire and me.”
“Sure,” I agree. “But I didn’t know you were a manwhore.”
He laughs loudly at that, and when he snorts, I laugh too.
“Oh, I was awful.” His laughter subsides as he continues.
“I was too good-looking, too charismatic, and it was easy to get what I wanted. I mean…” He pauses, and I lean against the wall that has a life-size mural of me throwing the ball in a game from two years ago. “From what I heard, you’re no better.”
I press my lips together. I never cared about my reputation before, not even when my family teased me, but now, I feel dirty. “I mean, yeah, I was bad for a while. But things have changed.”
He laughs at that. “Well, shit. Did my little nephew meet someone?”
I can’t help the smile that quirks at the side of my lips. “Yeah,” I admit. “But she knows my history, and I’m borderline stalking her.”
“Putting my agent hat on,” he tells me. “Please don’t stalk her. I’m already fighting for you to get signed. I don’t need a charge to fuck with that.”
“I’m not going to catch a charge.”
“Okay, cool. Hat off,” he tells me. “Now, listen to your favorite uncle.”
I snort. “You said it, not me.”
He ignores me. “When Claire came along, no one else mattered. If that’s how this feels, then chase her, dude. Girls love to be chased, not stalked… Well, some like being stalked too… Be careful, but most of all, don’t give up.”
I blink. “That was a lot to take in.”
“Yeah, I’m not the best at advice.” His laughter has me laughing. “Just listen to your heart, not Little Dawson.”
I snort at that. “Listen, he isn’t little.”
“God, you should have been my son.” We share a laugh. “You’re a cocky little fucker, but you’re good like your dad.”
I smile as my heart swells, but I admit, “I never wanted these feelings.”
“None of us did, yet when your person comes into your life, you might as well call her Miley Cyrus ’cause she’s coming in like a wrecking ball.” I hear the grin in his voice.
My uncle Jude is a hoot, if you haven’t noticed. “So, even if she is trying to shut me down, I should keep going for her?”
“Does she like you?”
“Oh, fuck yeah,” I say with no doubt. “She has been hurt, though.”
“Well, first you gotta be patient, and then you gotta show her you’re different.”
I nod even though he can’t see me. “That was my plan.”
“Good. Now, putting my agent hat back on—” I groan, and he laughs at my expense. “Don’t get distracted by this girl.”
It’s right then that I see my teammates coming toward me. Excitement burns throughout my body at the sight of them. “Already am. No use in trying to talk me out of it. Love you.”
I hang up, much to his protest, as I start bouncing on my toes like I’m waiting to throw the ball to an open receiver for the winning touchdown.
The excitement is coming out of my pores because I know that Ambrosia had to love what I did.
That she agreed automatically to come to my game.
I mean, I spent all my free time making the signs and Post-it notes for her.
I drew little pictures that went with what I said.
They were terrible, but I wanted to make them special.
Pretty words are just words, but really bad sketches of me are special.
At least, I hope she thinks so.
When they hand me the signs, they don’t look excited or pleased with their actions like they were when I asked them to do this.
Instead, they look a bit dejected.
Shit, did my heart-stopper tear them a new one?
I wouldn’t be surprised if she did. She’s got that black cat energy for sure.
What? I was watching Hocus Pocus last night while I was making posters.
“Did it go badly? Did she cuss you guys out or something?”
Hunter, my center, cringes.
“No, man. But she started crying.”
My stomach drops.
What?
I grip the posters, my knuckles turning white from how tightly I’m holding them as my heart pounds in my chest.
Grayson, my tight end, winces. “And not good tears either.”
My breathing is ragged as I draw in my brows in confusion.
I don’t like when girls cry. It makes me feel weird, which is why I’m always honest with my intentions.
Knowing I made Ambrosia cry not good tears instantly makes me feel sick.
I go over everything I did—the signs, the words, the drawn pictures.
It was all cute and adorable. Why would it make her sad?
“I don’t think she’s interested, dude,” Hunter adds.
“Yeah, may want to lay off,” Maverick, my left guard, says before walking off with the guys. All of them look defeated, like my failure is theirs.
But I can’t give up.
Right?
What the hell? Girls like big gestures, and I know damn well she’s feeling me.
I could see it in her eyes. The way just a simple touch had her flushing and me wanting more.
We had two very important and core-memory-making moments in The Penalty Perk.
And while she said one thing, I know she didn’t mean it.
She may want to, but we both know her words are as flimsy as a piece of used tape.
Shit, the way her mouth opened in shock was downright sinful, and I had to physically fight myself to keep from sticking my tongue in her mouth without warning from the way she was looking at me.
I’ve never had the primal need to kiss someone, but I do with her.
It may have been easy to ignore attraction or even chemistry with everyone else, but there is no ignoring this pull between us.
I get it. She’s been burned by some shitty dudes, but I’m not them.
I bet they were all pretty words and trash actions.
She has no clue what is coming for her or how hard I work for what I want.
I want her.
And I don’t mean in the naked sense.
I want to talk to her. I want to impress her.
I want her to come to my game to show her that, yeah, I may not be able to pick a damn sport, but I can share both with her.
I’ve seen rom-coms, I’ve been stuck in the car with my cousins when they listen to romance audiobooks, I know what girls like!
I need the chance to tell her I’m DoesMyBreathStink60.
When I do, she’ll see how easy it is for us.
That I’m her biggest fan, and that I’m not like the jackasses before.
But am I?
Shit.
What am I doing?
I almost don’t even recognize myself, but…it feels right.
Which is scary as fuck.
Blake, the second-string quarterback, meets my gaze, and I still have to know. “What happened?”
He shrugs, looking unsure as he whips his blond hair to the side with a swipe of his hand.
Blake’s eyes are a bit sullen as he swallows hard before leaning in.
“It was weird, man. She just stood there, her face all white and frozen as her eyes filled with tears. It didn’t seem like she was pissed, but embarrassed instead. ”
“What? Why?” Once more, Blake swallows, and I know he’s hesitating to tell me what he thinks. “What?”
He kicks the grass. “I don’t think she can read.”
I can’t help it. I laugh just to keep from strangling him. I don’t like the feral anger that roars inside me because he is implying she is something other than perfect. “No fucking way. She’s fucking brilliant and throws out stats like it’s nothing. I’ve been messaging her for weeks.”
Blake chews on his lip. “Dude, I could tell the tears she cried were from embarrassment. She asked me to read the note and then asked me what the signs said.”
Huh.
No.
That can’t be right.
Our conversations flow easily on the app, but then why would she ask him to read to her? That not only confuses me but also has guilt burning in my chest. I rub the spot as I look anywhere but at him. “Really?”
“Yeah, bro.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “She was really crying?”
“Yeah,” he says, kicking the grass again. “And I asked Bammer and Jippy, and they said she asked them to read their notes too.”
Shit. My stomach turns in on itself. If she truly can’t read, then I’ve done nothing but remind her of that over and over. My voice is gruff as I ask, “Did she cry then?”
He shakes his head. “No. I think the reason she did today was because we drew a crowd, and they were all taking pictures and squealing for her to say yes.”
Well. Fuck.
I run my hand through my hair as I let out a long breath. “So, you’re probably right, and she was mortified,” I say more to myself than to him.
“Oh yeah. She was brighter red than a tomato, and the tears made her eyes seem wider. She really is pretty.” I flash him a dark look, and he throws his hands up. “For a girl I have no interest in.”
Don’t ask me why I needed him to say that.
But I do, especially with the guilt that is overwhelming me right now.
It all just seems wrong, though. Like, unreal.
There is no way in hell she can’t read. She’s getting her master’s in sports communication; you have to read and write for that.
She is quick when she types me back, but what if she’s voice texting?
I know how I get when I’m embarrassed, all growly and pissy.
She may not be an athlete, but I feel like she has an athlete mind-set with how big her goals are.
I’m not saying that nonathletes aren’t goal-oriented, but usually, they don’t live and breathe making their goals happen.
It takes being beaten up by a sport you love to look past the hurdles in order to make what you want to happen.
I actually did a paper about this my junior year, and the research was fascinating.
When I told Ambrosia about it as DoesMyBreathStink60, she agreed and told me about a paper she did for her psychology class about being an athlete.
It was refreshing and…fuck, I like talking to her.
I am sure she likes talking to me.
Above all, I need to apologize for upsetting her.
I pat Blake’s shoulder. “Thanks, man. Drinks on me.”
He gives me a sad smile before walking away as I bring out my phone. My mind is reeling, and I need someone to help me think this through. I hit Louis’s number, and he answers right away. “What’s up, brother?”
He says it like the Madden NFL streamer Sketch, and I can’t help but bark out a laugh. He’s such a dork. “Bro, my plan backfired. She cried.”
His laughter stops, and I know he’s probably frowning. He helped me with the posters last night and promised he’d talk me up at the game I invited her to. “No shit. You made her cry? You’re a right bastard.”
I roll my eyes. “Where are you?”
“Quad with Jennings.”
I head toward him. “On my way.”
“Great. Love when you interrupt my date with my boyfriend.”
“Right? Third-wheeling is my favorite.”
I hang up to his laughing and jog toward the quad as my mind plays through every interaction I’ve had with Ambrosia.
Her quick little grins, her bright eyes and flushed cheeks.
The way she stepped right up to me, looked directly at me, and then flicked my nose.
Even with the shock of it, I memorized how her head fell back and her lashes kissed her cheeks as she glared at me.
How sharp and clever she is. How fucking dazzling she is.
How not having the chance to see what she can add to my future seems worse than not picking between football and hockey.
A thought that annihilates me and makes me jog faster.