Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Did I have some trauma from that? A bit.
Thank you, therapy.
“Men have the tendency to drive us insane.”
“Which is why we drink, have drawers full of dildos, and read about fictional men,” Tía offers, and I can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of me.
When they wrap their arms around me, I lean into their embraces as I close my eyes. A plan forms in my head to apologize to the Sinclairs and hope they understand that their son is a jackass and forgive my outburst. If not, I’ll be professional and get the job done.
And completely stay away from Dawson Sinclair.
Because I’m not dumb. I am a woman in a man’s sport. A huge fan, at that, and super knowledgeable. Because of my love for the sport, I have been surrounded by beautiful men. When I was younger, I’d trip over myself to get them to notice me and want me. It’d work, but then they’d drop me faster than they could drop their gloves without even an explanation. I was left to feel unworthy and unlovable. No offense to pretty men, and I don’t speak for all of them, but they usually don’t want to be loyal or truthful. My tía tells me all the time to go for someone who isn’t that good-looking so he’ll worship me.
That hasn’t happened.
I honestly don’t think it will.
And Dawson Sinclair?
He doesn’t know how to worship anyone but himself.
CHAPTER
NINE
Dawson
Google search: Am I a stalker?
As I read the examples of a stalker, I suspect I’m toeing the line of being one.
Along with my most recent search, I have: Ambrosia Mercer, Rowe Mercer, Ambrosia: Rowe Mercer’s daughter, and The Rowe Report.
Did I buy a subscription to The Rowe Report so I could message her? I did.
Have I been all over her socials? More than I’ll ever admit.
Which is why I’m sitting in a hockey-themed coffee shop I didn’t even know existed. The Penalty Perk has a cozy, rustic vibe with vintage hockey sticks on the walls and penalty-box-style booths. It is decorated in the vivid colors of purple and black, which made sense when I did research on the owner. Ella Mae Thomas, the daughter of Jordie Thomas, a retired Nashville Assassins player. While I know Ella Mae and her family, I wasn’t tight with them the way I am with some of my dad’s past teammates.
I kind of feel bad for not knowing Ella Mae opened this place, especially when Louis knew. He’s apparently a regular and orders the Overtime Espresso Latte. Makes sense, it’s fucking good. A hint of cinnamon with a bit of caramel. I like it a lot. So much so, I have had one every day for the last week, waiting for Ambrosia. I have tried to figure out her schedule, but I think she comes in first thing and doesn’t post until later in the afternoon. So now, I’m coming here in the morning instead of hitting the ice for morning skate.
I know what you’re thinking. I thought the same, but we’re gonna ignore that I’ve never skipped morning skate.
Especially for a girl.
I’m on my third sip with my eyes on the door when it opens, the goal horn blaring to announce the incoming customer. It’s hilarious and loud, but the best part is when the staff all yell out, “Heyyyyyyyyyyyy, you’re welcome!”
It mirrors how the Nashville Assassins’ fans scream, “Hey, you suck!” when their team scores on their opponent.
Even I can’t help doing it along with them. That is, until my eyes settle on her.
Ambrosia the-girl-who-has-rerouted-my-brain-to-think-of-only-her Mercer.
So, she does post her drink in the afternoon, sneaky little thing, but none of that matters when my eyes move along her stunning body. She’s wearing a little dress that hugs her curves but flares at her thighs. She has on a long-sleeved brown undershirt, while the little overdress is made of a corduroy fabric in a rusty red. She’s wearing a pair of high brown socks that peek above dark brown boots. Her hair is in a high, tight bun, only a few strands escaping around her face. She’s wearing minimal makeup, mostly just gloss that makes her lips look utterly yummy.
Fuck, she’s gorgeous.
I tried so hard to recall everything about the night she said she witnessed, but there isn’t much of my freshman year I remember. That was why I didn’t go in the draft. I felt like I wasn’t at the top of my game, that I had let loose when I really needed to lock in. I may remember a Grace, but they all blend together. I lost myself back then, and while I may not have a clue what I’m doing career-wise, I know who I am.
I push that thought aside and grab my phone since a text just came through.
Jude: The Chargers are sending some scouts to the game this week. Let me know if you want to entertain this or not.