Chapter 26
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
Ambrosia.
Before we get back to our pumpkins, Dawson asks, “So you’ve done these things in past relationships?”
“No one has ever wanted to carve pumpkins with me, but I think it’s because I talked a lot of shit and scared them off.” That has him barking with laughter, and I smile widely. “And I’ve never gone with one to a pumpkin patch since I always did that with family.”
“Until me.”
“Until you,” I agree as my chest warms. “I tend to date very goal-driven guys, so no one really made the time to do things like this.”
I feel his gaze on me, and I hope he knows how much it means to me that he has. “They should have made time. That’s not goal-driven, that’s selfish. You should have been one of their goals—not that I’m complaining since they were stupid and didn’t make you a goal, and now you’re mine.”
I give him a come-on expression, and he grins like he isn’t using the bricks of my walls as pucks and sending them to the back of the goal.
I blow out a breath, trying to will my heart to calm down. “Not everyone is like you.”
“No wonder you dumped them.”
I snort. “They dumped me. Well, except for the last one.”
“They dumped you? Wow, you picked some real D1s, huh?”
I laugh a little louder as I nod. “Totally,” I snort. “They all just wanted to get in my pants, and then as soon as I assumed we were in a relationship, they’d quickly remind me we weren’t or just ghost me.”
I glance up to find him still watching me. I want to tell myself that his pumpkin will suck with how much he’s been watching me instead of his work, but again, he brought power tools.
“Man, good thing I came after you, because you don’t know how to pick them.”
I throw more guts at him, and he dodges out of the way like I’m a defensive end coming in for the tackle. He is so quick and athletic. It’s sexy, but the look he flashes me, like he can’t believe I threw guts at him, has me giggling so hard I can’t breathe.
His laughter matches mine, the playfulness of the situation making me as gooey as the guts all over us. I love it. I have never laughed this much in my life. I feel like, for the last couple years, I’ve been just like Dawson. Focused on everything but what makes me truly happy.
Dawson makes me happy.
Which, while scary, I’ve come to realize I can’t fight anymore.
As our laughter subsides and we get back to our pumpkins, Noah Kahan sings about calling your mom.
I can’t help but sneak peeks of Dawson as he works, and it isn’t because he’s so gorgeous…
Okay, it is, but I’m also trying to get a glimpse of his pumpkin.
It’s no use; he’s practically surrounded it with himself.
I wish he’d surround me like that with his big ol’ body.
I’m not usually overly sexual, but there has been this sexual tension between Dawson and me since that night at the party.
Or maybe it’s an intimate tension, because while I do want to be railed seven ways to Sunday by him, I also want him to hold me after.
I bet he would whisper the dirtiest of things, and then when I was done screaming his name, he’d whisper the sweetest. I never thought he’d be one of those aftercare kinds of guys, but I think he would be with me.
As much as I fought it, I’m starting to trust that this thing between us is different.
Which, again, is petrifying.
“Why are you flushed?”
I promptly choke on my spit and start coughing like a carrot is lodged in my throat. Dawson eyes me, leaning over to pat my back. “This actually doesn’t help when you’re choking. Do you need the Heimlich?”
I laugh between coughs. “No. I swallowed wrong.” His brows rise, scandalized, and I smack him. “Stop!”
He grins, reaching over to hand me my water bottle. I take it and sip slowly, trying not to be embarrassed. “I feel like this is a ploy to get out of our little contest.”
I give him a dry look. “Yes, let me die so I don’t have to face your pumpkin of power tools?”
He waggles his brows. “Exactly.”
I hold back from throwing anything at him since everything around me is hard, and I also don’t want him to think I’m violent.
Okay, more violent than I already am.
Dawson chuckles as we get back to work. We are chitchatting about classes when he asks, “Did you ever hear back about that internship with FanDuel Sports?”
I shake my head. “No. They said I’d know one way or another by the end of the year.”
“And you’ll go to Knoxville?”
“For the internship, yes. So that’ll suck, scheduling between boys’ and girls’ hockey, but I could give away my girls’ broadcasting.”
It’s actually what I plan to do. One of my classmates would love the opportunity, and I need the free time in my schedule if I get the internship.
“You know, my dad was telling me that broadcasting for the Bullies could be intern hours,” Dawson says, and I meet his gaze. “He said he was going to talk to you about it.”
“I didn’t know that,” I say, surprised. “And I’ll do both, honestly. I want to get my name out there.”
“For sure. You should.”
I shouldn’t be surprised by his support and willingness to want me to establish my reputation. To follow my dreams. He’s just as driven as I am, but this is new. Would time apart ruin what we’re building? Would we allow it to when we know how badly we both want what we want?
“Would that be a problem for you?” I find myself asking, and he tilts his head as he gazes at me.
“What?”
“If this continues—”
“When this continues,” he corrects. “It’s all about how to talk things into existence.”
This guy.
“When this continues,” I start, and I can’t ignore the pride and wonder in his eyes, “will the distance be an issue for you?”
“Never,” he says simply and without hesitation. “We will make it work.”
He said a total of six words, and I feel like he wrote me a sonnet. “Good to know.”
His lips quirk, and I smile as we go back to our pumpkins.
Only a few minutes later, when I hold mine out to take it in, he asks, “All done?”
“Yup,” I say proudly, and he grins back.
“Me too.” I wiggle in my seat as he holds his pumpkin and counts down. “Ready?”
“Ready!”
We turn at the same time, and I lose it. I’m wheezing, I’m laughing so hard when I take in the very detailed bowl of ambrosia salad carved into his pumpkin. “I can’t with you!” I squeal, shaking my head.
“Come on. I had to!”
“You even did the grapes!”
“Of course I did.” And he did. Little grapes are falling from the salad. His detail is impressive, and I can’t help but think it’s the best pumpkin I’ve ever seen in my life.
When our eyes move from the pumpkins to each other, I smile. “Let’s light them.”
“Hell yes.” He helps me up like I weigh nothing. “I love how there is absolutely no detail in my football.”
“I didn’t bring power tools.” I cackle as we move to put them outside on my patio. I love that I’m on the ground level because all the passersby will be able to see them. I don’t know that anyone else will know it’s ambrosia salad, but I do, and it makes me insanely giddy.
He gives me a side glance. “I’ll get you some.”
Why does the fact that he wants to buy me power tools make me hot?
I need help.
Together, we get our battery-powered candles and put them inside. He takes photos of me, and then I do the same for him. Then he takes some of us together before we head back inside. He stops me when I’m shutting the sliding door, showing me his phone. “This might be my new wallpaper.”
The photo of us with our pumpkins is absolutely adorable. His is better than mine by a mile, but we’re both so delighted, with bright smiles and rosy cheeks. When he gets to one of me looking at him like he is the pumpkin-carving God, I swoon. “I love that one.”
He beams. “This one is better.”
It’s us looking at each other. I thought before that we wouldn’t look right together.
Him being so hot and me being a solid seven, but even my insecurities can’t deny how good we look.
His hazel eyes shine, but my brown ones bring contrast and depth.
My bronzed skin makes the color in his cheeks brighter, and while I’m all curves, that makes his sharper angles softer. We look good. Real good.
Jeez, I’m obsessed with us.
I sigh deeply. “Yeah, I love that one too.”
He presses his side into mine and wraps an arm around me. “Wanna go Instagram official with me?”
I side-eye him. “For what?” He hip checks me, but I don’t go anywhere since he’s holding me. I shrug. “I mean, I guess.”
“You guess?”
I move to finish shutting the door. “I mean, it was only one date.”
“The best first date, and it can be my prize for kicking your ass at pumpkin carving.”
I roll my eyes. “Hardly kicked my ass.”
“I annihilated you.”
I lean against the glass door as I look up at him. “Fine.”
“Fine?” He steps closer, his big body crowding mine.
“Fine that I annihilated you, which I did, or fine, we’re official?
” I smirk up at him, and he grins back as he leans in, his scent driving me wild.
He brings his hands up, cupping my face, and then I’m holding my breath as I gaze up at him.
“’Cause fine, I annihilated you is true, and I’ll accept that response.
But fine, you want to be officially mine?
Sorry, heart-stopper, but I’ll need more enthusiasm or you’ll wound my poor little ego. ”
“Little?” I ask, and he grins widely, those dimples blinding me.
His hands are warm, protective, and I need him closer.
I wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him against me.
He takes a deep breath, his eyes fully trained on me as every inch of him touches me.
He’s so solid, so thick, and when I arch my hips into him, I can feel his arousal.
He draws a sharp breath, his eyes hooding ever so slightly as his pupils dilate.
He feels so good, and I want more. I love how big he is, how small I feel in his arms, but most of all, I love how he is looking at me.
Like I’m the lighthouse, and he’s the ship.
He’s the moth, and I’m the flame.
Like he’s my quarterback and I’m his receiver.
I’m his stick, and he’s ready to score.
I could go on forever. I may not be able to read well, but I’m wordy as fuck.
But I need him to know something.
“This was one of the best days of my life, Dawson.”
His cheeks fill with color. “It’s not over.” Dawson’s forehead drops to mine as he moves his thumbs along my cheeks, our eyes locking. “Be mine, Ambrosia.”
I feel his heart pounding in his chest, but that’s not what has me breathless. No. It’s the vulnerability in his sweet eyes. The set of his jaw. The slight flush of his cheeks.
I want to be his.
Unable to keep it in, I whisper, “I already am.”