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)
Me: He said he can’t do that.
AmbrosiaMercer: Bless his heart, he must be running on dial-up.
I laugh so loudly that everyone jumps. I look up at my family and grin. “She’s fucking funny, you guys.”
“Yay!” Charlotte says as Ashlyn gives me a look.
“Is she making fun of you?”
“Shh, fold paper,” I say, waving her off.
Me: I can’t with you.
AmbrosiaMercer: Yet you keep messaging me.
Me: Like my friend, I find you really interesting.
AmbrosiaMercer: I’m not. I’m just a girl trying to get through life.
Me: I hear that. So, again, do you have friends?
AmbrosiaMercer: Not that it matters, but no.
AmbrosiaMercer: Don’t feel bad for me, though, I have my mom and tía.
AmbrosiaMercer: It’s not a big deal
AmbrosiaMercer: I keep to myself, and I enjoy that. No one to disappoint me.
AmbrosiaMercer: Ugh, why can’t I unsend that? That sounded so depressing! I’m not a saddie, I promise. I’m just a homebody, and being friends means I have to go places and socialize.
AmbrosiaMercer: I don’t even know why I admitted that.
I don’t either, but I’m glad she did.
Me: Man, I thought I was your friend.
AmbrosiaMercer: No, you’re my number one fan.
Me: I am.
Me: Which, by the way, I love my hat, stickers, and shirt.
AmbrosiaMercer: Photo or you’re lying.
Me: Are you asking me for a dick pic?
AmbrosiaMercer: WTF. No one said anything about your dick, you loser.
Me: But I put the sticker on there.
AmbrosiaMercer: One, is adhesive good for penis skin? Not that I’m worried about your penis skin, but maybe you should be.
AmbrosiaMercer: And two, I mean, maybe I’ll get more women listeners when you pull out your cock for them. Make sure the sticker is upright and they can read the URL.
I snort loudly, getting more looks. Once again, I ignore them and walk off to get my shirt since I’m already wearing the hat and have the sticker on my phone.
Okay, all together now—we listen and we don’t judge.
Me: Sorry. No free advertising here.
I grin when I realize I’ve stumped her. It doesn’t happen between us. She always has something to say, but the bubbles keep appearing and disappearing.
AmbrosiaMercer: As in you lied about the sticker on your cock?
Me: No. As in I haven’t been with anyone in a long while and don’t plan to be when I’m pining for someone else.
I’m coming out of my bedroom to ask Louis to take a photo of me when I hear my mom’s voice. I bring in my brows just as she and my dad take me in. Mom has a bottle of wine in her hand, and my dad is glaring at me as he looks at me. “What in the hell? I knew she was lying when she said nothing was going on!”
All the eyes in the room move between us. “Huh?”
He points at me, taking in my bright-pink Rowe Report tee, which has a cartoon hockey player on it in the likeness of Rowe Mercer, holding a stick and a podcast mic in his gloves. Taped to his chest is a piece of paper that reads The Rowe Report. The hat has The Rowe Report in script, and the sticker is a puck with The Rowe Report written in the center of it. Dad’s eyes crinkle at the sides as he shakes his head.
We spent the morning together, having brunch after heading to the farmers market. Family time with all my family doesn’t happen often, but when it does, my cup gets filled. Am I the butt of jokes? Yup. Do Mom and Dad spoil Jennings? They do, and Louis and I hate it, but not really. It’s all a joke. We love being together. But not once did my dad bring up Ambrosia.
“When I talked to her, she told me nothing was going on between you two. But I should have known by the way she was defending you. And now you’re head-to-toe in Rowe Report.”
My mom is grinning, her eyes full of excitement. “I told you I saw something between them.”
“Yeah, Dawson making a fool of himself, and her thinking he’s dumb,” Dad supplies, but Mom smacks him playfully.
I ignore all that. “She was defending me?”
He waves me off. “It doesn’t matter. Just don’t hurt her, okay?”
“No, it does matter—” I try, but Mom cuts me off.
“She was upset that you were sitting.”
I feel like I grow ten inches across the chest by how I puff up. “She was?” I ask, and like I’m still a teenager going through puberty, my voice cracks. The was was way higher in pitch than it needed to be.
I smack my chest, but everyone is already laughing at my expense.
“Damn, he’s, like, really into her,” Ashlyn singsongs.
Not that I care.
Ambrosia defended me.
I knew she liked me!
“Are you coming with us?” Mom asks, and before I can ask where, my dad interrupts.
“Did she tell you we’re recording our episode today?”