Chapter 23
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
Dawson
I thought being in love would be completely terrifying. I thought I would feel trapped, but that’s not the case.
By putting words to my feelings, I feel…relieved.
I’m not an obsessed stalker, I’m in love… Wait, is that what obsessed stalkers tell themselves too?
Shit. No, I’m not a stalker. I’m just a dude in love for the first time.
And the last.
Man, that’s a hell of a thought.
Why do I feel out of control? Is that love? And wait, what if she doesn’t love me? Or doesn’t fall for me? It’s taken me almost three months just to get her to kiss my damn jaw. What if she doesn’t love me for like two years or some crazy shit?
Great. Now, I’m scared.
I lean into Ambrosia’s kitchen counter, about to reach for my phone to call Louis.
I need him to talk me off the ledge, but I pause when Ambrosia’s mom and aunt enter the kitchen.
The room is a bold orange with lots of brightly colored framed mosaics and photos of Puerto Rico.
I didn’t know what the photos were at first glance, so I had to read the small text.
The two women Ambrosia looks a lot like, with wide hips, bronzed skin, and the same whiskey eyes, grin like cats with canaries in their mouths.
There is a reason that Ambrosia is scary, and I’m sure she learned it from her mom and aunt.
I don’t want to be rude, but I sure as hell want to run to the safety of my mom and dad.
I know they are recording the ending of the episode since I totally mucked it up with my feelings.
“My husband liked you a lot.”
I was not expecting that, but hearing it makes me stand taller as I tuck my hands into my pockets. “I respected him a lot.”
Mrs. Mercer smiles at me as she sits down. Naylia pulls out a chair and taps it for me. “Come sit.”
My heart kicks up as I lower my big body into a chair that isn’t made for someone my size.
I push it back a bit since my knees hit the table, but I smile to show I don’t mind.
I look between the two women, unsure what to say but knowing I need to be here.
These two are the closest people to Ambrosia, and if I want to be in her circle, I need them to love me just as I love her.
Mrs. Mercer reaches for my hand, and I let her take it. She squeezes it. “I want to thank you for being there for my Ro when she was sad. She wouldn’t talk to us, but when I spoke to her after she saw you at the rink, she was better.”
I smile widely. “I don’t mind at all. I want to be there for her.”
They seem pleased with that as Naylia says, “You know she is very special.” When I nod, she nods too.
Then she leans in, her face so close to mine I can see the hairs on her top lip.
She is a beautiful woman, so I wasn’t expecting hair there, but I don’t have time to dwell before she tells me, “You know, I can kill a man ten times my size.”
I bark out a laugh as Mrs. Mercer says something quick in Spanish, and then Ambrosia’s voice fills the room.
“Tía, get away from him. You’re too close.
” She physically pulls her aunt’s chair away, scooting the woman to the other side of the table as she sets her with a look. “No flirting with my…my…Dawson.”
My heart swells as I gaze up at her flushed face. “Boyfriend.”
She gives me a look. “Shh, you.”
“She wasn’t flirting either,” I say with a grin. “She was threatening my life.”
Ambrosia glares. “Tía! Be nice.”
Naylia only shrugs as she gets up, and I notice my parents have entered the small kitchen.
A tense silence descends on us as I drink Ambrosia in.
She’s glaring at her aunt, but Naylia isn’t the least bit affected by her ornery niece.
She cuddles Ambrosia close to her and kisses her cheek.
She whispers something in Spanish, reminding me to download the Duolingo app.
Before I can, though, my dad announces, “We’re all done.”
“Go well?” I ask Ambrosia, and she nods without looking at me.
“Great.”
“Awesome,” I say as I unfold myself from the chair.
“Are you riding with us, honey?” Mom asks, and I look at Ambrosia. She meets my gaze, and I smile when she doesn’t say hell no or get out.
“Nope. I think I’ll stay.”
Everyone looks at Ambrosia then, and her flush deepens. Her mom stands next and says, “Oh, good thing I made rice. You have snacks? You’re good, yes?”
Ambrosia nods slowly. “Yeah, Mom. We’re fine. You fed him like ten times.”
I nod. “I’m full.”
Of everything but Ambrosia.
She side-eyes me, and I wonder if I said that out loud. Naylia looks at Ambrosia then touches her nose. “The drawer.”
Ambrosia squeaks like one of those dog toys before turning beet red and then speaking very firmly and quickly in Spanish. Her mom laughs as Naylia only shrugs and says something back in just as firm a tone.
Meanwhile, my parents and I are wishing there were subtitles.
Her mom smiles then, smacking her hands. “Good. I’ll see you later, then? We’ll walk out with Jayden and Baylor.”
I don’t miss the warning look Naylia sends me—or the one my dad does—before they finally leave me alone with Ambrosia.
We have a solid ten feet between us, her leaning against the counter as I stand in front of the table.
Our eyes don’t part as we listen to our parents and her aunt get their things.
When the door clicks shut, I stand a bit taller and let out a long sigh.
I’m in Ambrosia’s apartment.
Alone.
I swallow past the lump in my throat and then flash her a smile. She tries to hold back her own, but she can’t. I hook a thumb toward where they left. “What got you all pissy with her?”
Her face flushes again before she waves me off. “Oh, nothing. She just knows no boundaries.” She rolls her eyes. “What else did they say to you?”
“Besides the threat of how Naylia can kill someone ten times her size?” Ambrosia snorts, shaking her head.
She leans back on the counter with her hands, pushing her breasts toward me in the most delectable way.
The way she is standing, her skirt is tight along her thighs, the ruffles playing against her skin the way I want to.
With my mouth.
I don’t allow myself to move.
Ignoring my stiff cock, I somehow get out, “Nothing, really. Your mom said your dad liked me a lot. I knew that, but it was nice to hear.”
Her eyes widen before she stands a bit taller. “You knew my dad?”
I nod. “Yeah. He coached me at Rink & Riffs.”
She looks away, biting on her lip. “I didn’t know that.”
“I thought you did.”
She slowly shakes her head. “I knew he would like you.”
I smile. “Really? It’s my charm, huh?”
She gives me a dry look. “No, you probably reminded him of himself. Cocky, confident, and a showboater.”
I laugh. “Showboater? I don’t show off.”
“You paid me for a solid week just to use a photo of me.”
I point to her. “Solid investment.” I hold up my phone to show her the photo, and she rolls her eyes again. “I’m also really funny.”
She shrugs, holding back a grin. “You can be a bit humorous.”
I waggle my brows at her. “I always make you laugh.”
She holds my gaze. “No. DoesMyBreathStink60 makes me laugh. You make me stabby.”
I grin, taking a small step forward. “How long did you know it was me?”
“Since the beginning,” she says, watching me take slow steps to her.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Why didn’t you?” she throws back with a cocked brow.
“I felt like it was the only way you’d talk to me.”
“And I felt like I could enjoy you without it being you.”
I pause, holding her gaze. “But that’s changed?”
Her teeth come down on her bottom lip as her eyes search mine.
The air in the room is thicker than game-day ice, and I feel my heart trying to come out of my chest. This is a core memory, and I will myself not to forget anything that happens.
Or how utterly beautiful she is. Her lashes are long, her nose shiny, and her lips glossed up to perfection.
She looks good enough to eat, and I’d give my right nut for a taste.
Without a word, she slowly nods, and my heart kicks up in speed. I smile, taking another step, almost coming toe-to-toe with her. “Are those tickets still at will call for me?”
My whole body goes on alert as I hold her shy gaze. I love how she always maintains eye contact. She may be shy or nervous, but she always looks me in the eye. I nod as I trail a finger along the back of her hand. She sucks in a sharp breath as I tell her, “Standing tickets for Ambrosia Mercer.”
She threads her fingers through mine. I squeeze them, and she does it back, sending heat up my arm. “Let me know the next time you’re playing, and I’m there.”
“Will do,” I somehow get out, even though my heart is pounding like mad in my throat.
“Can I ask you something?” she says, so quietly I almost don’t hear her.
“Anything.”
“Anything?”
“Any fucking thing, Ro. I want to tell you it all.”
“You do?”
“And more,” I promise, clenching my fists in my pockets. “And I want to know anything and everything about you.”
Her lips quirk. “I’m boring.”
I scoff. “You’re anything but fucking boring, Ro.”
She looks away, her grin making her cheeks look bigger. In a low voice, she asks, “Did you mean it?”
I pull my brows together, and I’m unable to hold back any longer. I reach out, taking her chin between my thumb and forefinger, guiding her gaze back to mine. Her face is flushed, her eyes dark, and those damn lips are all plump, kissable, and will be my downfall. “Mean what, heart-stopper?”
“That no one has seen your penis skin.”
I know this is a serious moment, and an important one even, but I can’t help my laugh. She does the same, but then our gazes lock and the laughter subsides. “I did,” I say, hoping she believes every word. “I haven’t been with anyone in over six months.”
Her brows furrow. “We’ve only been…doing whatever this is for three.”
I nod. “I was getting tired of the same thing over and over. I got a concussion last season, so I spent the summer really focused on my nutrition and training. I did a lot of my hours for SafeSport, and I slept a ton.”
“But you let me think you were fucking around—”
“No, I didn’t. I have been honest since the jump that you’re all I want. That no one matters but you.”
She swallows before looking down between us. “I haven’t been with anyone in two years.”
“I don’t care about anything but you and me.” She looks up, and I take another step toward her. When she pulls in a deep breath, I smile, and her eyes move to my mouth. “I really like this skirt.”
I move my fingers along the ruffles, and she inhales another deep breath. My fingers graze her bare thigh, and I quickly look up to make sure it’s okay. Her eyes are dark, hooded, and fuck, I want her. “Maybe you can give me your number and we can make this real?”
“Maybe,” she says, arching into my touch.
“And I can take you to coffee.”
“Maybe.”
I smile and her lips twitch. “When you said you were going to the apple thing with my family, you know you were saying you were coming with me.”
She holds my gaze, nothing but playfulness in those whiskey depths. “Maybe.”
I lick my lips. “I want to do basic shit with you.”
“Like?”
“Movies, dinner, pumpkin patch?”
Her eyes widen, and she barks out a laugh. “Really?”
“Really.” My socked feet touch her bare ones, and she looks up at me with such a sweetness in her eyes, I feel like I’m getting a cavity.
“I’m a pretty bad-ass carver of a pumpkin.”
“Not as good as me.”
We stare each other down, and the love I have for her spreads throughout my body. Her lips curve, and she shakes her head in exasperation. “You’re going to make me fall for you, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely.”
She sighs deeply, reaching out to take hold of the hem of my shirt.
When she pulls, I go willingly, holding myself back from pressing my whole body into hers by placing my hands on the counter behind her.
She tips her head back, and I bend mine down, resting my forehead on hers.
Her eyes move back and forth between mine as we share the same air.
Her scent is as intoxicating as her whole face, and I’m speechless while I gaze down at her.
She moves then, her lips barely touching mine before she whispers, “Don’t hurt me, okay? ”
I could take her lips. I could kiss her and devour her in mere seconds, but I don’t. Instead, I meet her gaze and then kiss her nose. “I’d rather tear my own heart out of my chest than ever fumble yours.”
Her eyes widen at that, but before I can pull back to keep from kissing her, she says, “Kiss me, Dawson.”
I inhale, my heart in my throat. “Not yet.”
Her brows shoot up. “Why?”
“Because when I do, I want you to know in your soul that what I just said was the truth.”
She presses her lips together, and I know she doesn’t believe me. I give her a sad smile then kiss her cheek. “Be ready tomorrow at noon for our day date.”
And then I leave.
Without tasting her.
But knowing I will.