Chapter 30
CHAPTER
THIRTY
Ambrosia
I brought my mom and Tía.
To Dawson’s game.
Listen, we’ve all decided I’m a big chicken, right?
Not only did I freak myself out about what to wear, deciding on a pair of fitted Levi’s, a Bellevue Bullies Hockey tee with an oversized Bullies Hockey sweatshirt—yes, I’m aware which sport I’m going to watch, but I don’t own any football gear—and my favorite Timberland boots, but I made myself puke three times from negative thoughts.
Because this thing between Dawson and me has been so good.
Perfect, even.
We’ve only been apart to go to school and for him to work out.
He watches me work, he sat in on another episode, where not only did he chitchat with Dart and Tennessee Miklas, but he was spoiled rotten by my mom and Tía.
They fed him, they took his clothes out of his duffel and folded them for him, not returning them to the bag.
If I hadn’t intervened, they would have put his clothes in my damn closet.
Mom was five seconds from Magic Erasing his shoes before I finally stopped her.
Oh, and they called him mija’s chico, which he ate up as soon as he learned it meant my girl’s guy in Spanish.
To the point that while he was driving deep inside me, he grunted roughly in my ear, asking if he was mi chico.
I came.
Hard.
Because he fucking is.
God, he is.
I love him in my space. I love him in my bed.
I love the feel of lying against him as we watch TV.
He’ll drag a chair from the kitchen to my workspace to sit with me as I work.
He doesn’t tell me how to edit my shows, but I do ask him what he thinks.
You can tell he’s a fan because he’ll bring up past shows I’ve done and what he liked and didn’t.
One of my favorite things to do is have our computers out to do schoolwork.
I tried to wear my headphones so I wouldn’t distract him when I listen to my notes, but he tells me I don’t have to keep them on.
I don’t know why that makes me feel good, but it does.
He shows me more and more that, to him, my disability doesn’t matter.
That feeling is something I wish I could bottle and give to everyone who struggles.
I love the way our computers touch just as our feet do, and it’s so sticky-sweet that I should be disgusted.
Instead, I’m too happy to feel anything but those sticky-sweet feelings.
I feel like I’m watching one of those corny Hallmark movies, where the girl falls for the hot sports player.
He, of course, ignores everyone for her and changes to be the perfect guy, and everyone gags.
I know there is that stupid third-act breakup where he’ll end up in a situation that’ll look like he is doing the opposite of what he’s been doing, and maybe I felt like that could happen before.
But now, there is no way. I have never felt so valued, appreciated, and seen as I do when I’m with Dawson.
The thing is, he’s been the exact same the whole time he’s been trying to get me to date him.
He wants me, and he isn’t shy about it.
But it was easy to think that way in our bubble.
Now, back to why I puked three times.
This is the first time we’ll be public, public.
We’ve gone to dinner and to the coffee shop, but I’m going to a Bullies game where my…
boyfriend is the starting quarterback against a rival.
I’d been fine until he sent me a voice text, asking me to spell out my name for him phonetically because the broadcasting department wanted to make sure they had it right for when they found me in the crowd.
When I insisted I’d be in the box with his family, surely they wouldn’t find me, he came back, saying that he knows me, I’ll be in the first row of seats.
Which is what prompted the puking.
All I can think is that everyone on TV will see Ambrosia Mercer, Dawson Sinclair’s girlfriend, and my stomach churns with nerves.
What if they catch me stuffing food in my mouth because, hello, this is a suite and they have a make-your-own-chili-dog bar.
Or what if people look at me and think, ew, he could do so much better.
Or think I’m only with him because he’s going places.
It all makes me so sick, the negative things I thought up, because what if he sees what people say and he decides he thinks the same?
Which is why I brought my mom and Tía. They not only give me a sense of safety, but they also distract people from me.
Both of them have such big personalities, no one noticed that I threw up in the suite bathroom because my nerves were going wild.
It’s not that I’m nervous around his family—I know most of them, but of course, I let my brain convince me that they would all hate me.
It isn’t until I come out of the bathroom and Louis grabs me and shakes my arm that I take in a deep breath.
“Listen, you could have six arms and legs, and everyone here would love you,” he says, his smile so kind.
Like Dawson, he is very handsome, chiseled jaw and the brightest green eyes.
He doesn’t have the dimples, but his lashes make his eyes seem so much brighter, like he is able to look into your soul.
“Come on. You haven’t met my aunt Avery yet, have you? ”
Avery is with her daughter, Ashlyn, who is cuddling Hadley, the baby of the Sinclairs, into her side.
It’s wild how much everyone looks like everyone else.
They all have the same eyes, but with the features of whoever married into the family.
It is so loud, but also so loving, in the box.
I come from a small family—my dad had no family, and neither did my mom, other than her sister—but this room has over twenty people, and you can tell they all love one another.
Do they get along? Not at all.
It’s absolute chaos.
I’m pretty sure Charlotte just kicked Louis in the balls as he holds a cupcake over his head.
Ashlyn is giving everyone a death glare.
Baylor is trying to clean up the mess that the kids made, while Claire is chasing her kiddos, who made the mess.
Avery keeps trying to get everyone to calm down, but then Jace, Jude, and Jayden break out in a game of tape ball hockey in the small space.
All the wives and their mom protest too.
The kids love it, though—hell, even Tía joins in.
It’s overwhelming but also so heartwarming.
This is the chaos that raised Dawson.
And I love it.
When the game starts, just like he said, I end up in the front right beside his dad. Jayden gives me a smug look, and I roll my eyes.
“Yes, Mr. Sinclair?”
He snorts, his eyes crinkling at the sides.
While Dawson does mirror his mom, he also has a lot of Jayden in him.
Like the slope of his nose, how his jaw dips a bit before meeting his chin, the fullness of his lips.
Jayden’s emerald gaze cuts to mine, and he shakes his head. “Nothing is going on, huh?”
I look away shyly, my cheeks burning with color. “Things happened.”
“You can say that again,” he says with a laugh.
And that is all that’s said.
From the moment Dawson hits the field, I’m transfixed by him. While he wears 60 on the ice, on the field, he’s number 6. Apparently it’s the closest thing to sixty… I just nodded when he told me.
I have to remind myself, we listen and we don’t judge.
Today, the team is wearing their all black uniforms with small teal accents, and I have to admit Dawson looks so fucking sexy.
He’s all big and towers over a lot of his teammates.
He doesn’t have an undershirt on like some of his teammates since the weather is cooler, so I’m able to admire his thick biceps and veiny forearms. His large hands wrap around the ball just as they do around my hips and throat.
Um, this is not the place to be thinking that…
The whole box is on their feet when Dawson is on the field, and when he’s not, they are doing whatever they need to before he goes back on. The support for him is beautiful, and I’m not surprised he hasn’t made a choice. Why would he, when they show up like this for him, no matter the sport?
“What do you think he’ll choose?” I find myself asking.
Jayden swallows, shaking his head with a stern look on his face. “He looks damn good down there, but when he’s on the ice, all I see is a player of his mom’s and my caliber, and I know that’s where he belongs.” I nod in agreement, and he looks over at me. “What do you think?”
I shrug. “I think it’s his choice, and I’ll support whatever he wants.”
His dad grins. “You are Rowe made over, aren’t you?”
I laugh, leaning back to recross my legs. “He did nickname me Ro, which he said was for Ambrosia, but I think it was for his name.”
We both laugh at that as we go to stand once Dawson hits the field again.
I swear I can hear him from where I am as he yells out plays.
When he throws the ball, I find myself holding my breath in anticipation of the receiver catching the pass.
When the defense breaks the line, I fully expect to see him get hit, but he’s just so fast. He does this sliding thing with the ball tucked to his chest like a teddy bear and his legs out in front of him that shouldn’t be cute, but it is.
While I love him on the ice, I have to admit, watching him on the field is a sight to behold.
Especially when he throws seven touchdowns, one being a seventy-two-yard bomb that had the whole stadium losing its mind. No one even saw the receiver get loose and head for the end zone, but Dawson did. They won the game, sending Vanderbilt home with their tails between their legs.
It was freaking awesome.
I thought everyone would leave then, but we don’t. We eat, we drink, and we shoot the shit. I’m deep in a heated debate with Jude and Jayden about how Tampa Bay will kick the Assassins’ ass, with Jace on my side, when the room erupts in cheers.
I look up, and there he is.
I have seen Dawson in a jersey for hockey and for football, in athletic clothes, in nice clothes, and in nothing at all.
Dawson Sinclair in a dark blue suit that is tailored to his thighs and shoulders…
that is a sight everyone should experience once in their lives.
The light blue button-up shirt makes his eyes look greener, and the slutty little gold chain around his neck is downright sinful.
He looks good, real damn good, and breathing isn’t an option as I take him in.
But then I notice he’s ignoring everyone and coming right for me.
And apparently thinking isn’t happening either, because I let him take me in his arms in front of his whole family and mine before he covers my mouth in a lusty and not-PG-13 kiss. His tongue strokes mine before I smile and pull back, giving him a sharp look.
But Dawson, he’s beaming.
“So, what did you think?”
His fingers move along the top of my jeans, under my sweatshirt, and I lean into his chest, wanting to be closer. “I think you’re insanely talented.”
Dawson squeezes my hips, giving me an expectant look. “So, which is it? Hockey or football?”
I know this matters to him. I can see it in his eyes, and while I can tell him all day which to choose, I won’t. I reach up, cupping his jaw, loving the feel of his beard against my palm as I say proudly, “You.”
His smile falls a bit, adoration burning in his eyes. “Me?”
“Just you. I choose what you choose.”
He leans in, his forehead pressing to mine, and his eyes search mine. I can feel his heart pounding in his chest, and it’s as if he wants to say something, but then he exhales. “But if you had the choice, it’d be hockey?”
I grin. “All day.”