Chapter 20
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Ambrosia
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.
When Dawson is on the road, he has an outfit that he wears for the trip there.
He wears the same suit to all his games, hockey and football, and he has a specific outfit for the trip home.
He never changes. It’s always the same three sets of clothes.
No matter the weather. Even the same boxers and socks until he has to replace them.
I laughed when he told me about a time that Louis washed his pink sweatbands from a Glow Run with Dawson’s travel boxers, turning them bright pink.
He was mortified, but they looked so good on him, now he only wears pink underwear.
I think my face was as bright as said underwear when I was watching the video he had recorded to show me his pink boxers.
Even with his teammates dogging him, he just laughed and showed the line of his pink boxers and a bit of abs that left me drooling.
But it was his confidence as his friends made fun of him that really got me going.
It’s impressive how nothing seems to set him off course.
Everyone is telling him to pick a sport, but he won’t.
He wants both, and he isn’t above working for it.
Then there is this thing with me.
True to his word, he has only sent videos and voice messages.
He isn’t posting on Instagram anymore, almost as if these things are only for me.
I crave them. I no longer dread seeing one of his buddies.
Instead, I get excited, which is so bad.
I know that, but I can’t help it either.
I’m trying so hard to keep him at arm’s length, but I’m also holding on to DoesMyBreathStink60 like my favorite teddy bear.
It feels safer over the messaging app. I can hide my face and the feelings that are growing.
I can fake that I’m still firmly in my own orbit and not floating around in his.
Being under his gaze, feeling his heat, knowing what his lips taste like, how I want to run my thumb along his hangnail like a freak… I feel wildly out of control.
A feeling I’m starting to want desperately.
The calmness of the two of us in that rink? Yeah, I want that.
As much as I want to convince myself that he’ll hurt me, I know I’m no longer able to. Nor can I ignore the fact that he hasn’t given up.
And everyone gives up on me.
I press my teeth into my bottom lip as I go back to stirring the limeade I added Tajín to for a little kick. It’s my favorite thing to serve at my recordings, and it’s always a hit. Tía comes whirling into the kitchen like a mini Latin tornado and kisses me on the temple. “Ah, mija, so gorgeous.”
I preen at her since I did try to look nicer than I usually do.
After my moment of craziness when I told Jayden Sinclair that I hoped he thought about what Dawson wanted, I wanted to impress him.
I will not read into that, and neither will you.
Instead, we will admire the fact that I am wearing a little bright-yellow skirt that has ruffles at the bottom.
I paired it with a black Rowe Report tee and left my hair down in very tight curls. I put on some makeup, but not much.
I just want to look good for them.
I want them to like me.
I want them to think I would look good beside Dawson.
Whoa. Did I just think that?
What. The. Hell. Am. I. Thinking?
The ladle clanks against the pitcher as I pull it out, throwing it into the sink. Tía comes up behind me, hugging me into her chest. “What’s wrong? Are you nervous?”
I swallow around a lump in my throat as I nod. “A bit.”
“Why? You’ve been excited about this.”
“I just want them to like me.”
“They will, mija. I know they will. You are so smart, so gorgeous, so talented.”
I lean into her. “The last time they saw me, I flicked their son’s nose.”
She grins against my shoulder. “Yes, but now you’re sitting in the bleachers with him and cuddling.”
I furrow my brow. “We weren’t cuddling. We were just close.”
“You hold his hand?”
Shit. “Yes.”
“Your whole side touch his?”
I relent, rolling my eyes with a sigh. “Okay, we cuddled.”
“It’s okay. Get naked next.”
“Tía!” I squeal since I will not allow myself even to think of that.
Dawson naked?
Thighs.
Chest.
That thing he says is his cock but looked more like a baseball bat in his shorts.
His eyes devouring me.
Is it hot in here?
“What? Just saying,” she says, patting my hips as I pull in a deep lungful of air. “I like him. I like that he listened to you. Men don’t listen.”
I set her with a look. “Dad did.”
She smiles at me, heartache shining in her eyes. “Your dad wasn’t just a man. He was an example for men.”
My throat goes tight as I hold her gaze.
She’s right. My dad was the guy everyone loved, but he loved me, my mom, and Tía more than himself.
As I’ve done before, I can’t help thinking what he’d say if he ever met Dawson.
First, he’d tell him to pick hockey, for sure.
But then, he’d talk to him. Not at him, but with him.
In a way that would make Dawson open up to him without even realizing it.
Like he has with me.
Like I have with him.
Damn it, I know my dad would love Dawson.
I close my eyes, leaning my head on hers. Tía comes to my shoulders, so I use her as a pillar a lot. “Can I tell you a secret?”
She snorts. “If the secret is that you like their son a lot more than you let on and finally opened a vibrator? That’s between us.”
I groan loudly, pushing her away, and of course, she just laughs. Her hair is up in a tight bun, and she’s also wearing a Rowe Report tee with jeans, like my mom. I feel like my whole body is on fire with embarrassment as I set her with a dark look. “Tía! Boundaries.”
She winks. “We are Puerto Rican. We don’t have those or even know what they are.”
“We do. We really do,” I exclaim as Mom comes in. “Mom, she went through my drawers again.”
Mom nods, getting the fruit out of the fridge. “Yes, you opened some of your vibrators? Scared of that three-headed one, though, yeah?”
I curse in Spanish, much to their dismay, before I look to the ceiling. “Dad, please. Take me now.”
I ignore their laughter. Not yet, I tell myself. Let’s see where things go with Dawson.