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)
My throat goes tight as I hold her gaze. She’s right. My dad was the guy everyone loved, but he loved me, my mom, and Tía more than himself. As I’ve done before, I can’t help thinking what he’d say if he ever met Dawson. First, he’d tell him to pick hockey, for sure. But then, he’d talk to him. Not at him, but with him. In a way that would make Dawson open up to him without even realizing it.
Like he has with me.
Like I have with him.
Damn it, I know my dad would love Dawson.
I close my eyes, leaning my head on hers. Tía comes to my shoulders, so I use her as a pillar a lot. “Can I tell you a secret?”
She snorts. “If the secret is that you like their son a lot more than you let on and finally opened a vibrator? That’s between us.”
I groan loudly, pushing her away, and of course, she just laughs. Her hair is up in a tight bun, and she’s also wearing a Rowe Report tee with jeans, like my mom. I feel like my whole body is on fire with embarrassment as I set her with a dark look. “Tía! Boundaries.”
She winks. “We are Puerto Rican. We don’t have those or even know what they are.”
“We do. We really do,” I exclaim as Mom comes in. “Mom, she went through my drawers again.”
Mom nods, getting the fruit out of the fridge. “Yes, you opened some of your vibrators? Scared of that three-headed one, though, yeah?”
I curse in Spanish, much to their dismay, before I look to the ceiling. “Dad, please. Take me now.”
I ignore their laughter. Not yet, I tell myself. Let’s see where things go with Dawson.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
Ambrosia
When the doorbell sounds, I’m working on salting the tostones, and Mom says she’ll get the door. Nerves gather in my belly, but I’m excited to be recording a new episode. I have been getting so much attention lately, not only from the podcast but on The Rowe Report’s socials. Lots of new listeners and lots of comments. People love the new segment. Even my male listeners do, and I feel certain what Dr. Poncy said was wrong.
I can do this.
I will do this.
I know it’s the Sinclairs at the door, and I don’t allow myself to feel anxiety about their being here because they feel bad or because I made a fool of myself when Jayden called. While it’s hard, I have to remind myself that I am worthy of their time, and that while I may have acted like a loon on crack, I am a professional.
I will prove that today.
Maybe they’ll like me.
Maybe think I’m good enough for their son.
I have to stop thinking like that.
I grip the pitcher as Mom greets the Sinclairs, but I pause when I hear Tía say, “Ohh, you brought your son. He is ever so handsome!”
Please be Louis. Please be Louis.
Then I hear his voice, his low tenor that has my belly warming at the sound. “Thanks. It’s nice to meet you. Naylia, right?” Dawson says my aunt’s name like he’s been practicing it for months. “And Mrs. Mercer, I know where Ambrosia gets her beauty from.”
This guy.
I roll my eyes, willing my heart to calm as I pass through the beaded curtain to the living room, where everyone is welcoming one another.
Before I can greet them like I want, Jayden stands taller and side-eyes his son. “Oh, did Ro not tell you? She invited Dawson, apparently.”
Mom and Tía look at each other before shaking their heads, but when they turn to me, I’m not looking at them. Nope. My gaze goes right to him. He’s wearing black jeans with a pair of Nikes and a pink Rowe Report tee with a matching hat. The color makes his skin seem bronzed, and the veins in his arms are on full display today.
Arm porn at its finest, I tell ya.
His dark hair is curling along the brim of his cap in a sweet, boyish way. He stands with no cares, like he belongs here, and I want to laugh at the hilarity of it. At how much I love having him in my space. It’s apparent that he knows I know he lied about my inviting him, but he doesn’t care.
He stands proud.
In all his beautiful glory.
At first, he’s using his media smile, but when our eyes meet, his smile morphs into one I wonder if is only for me. His dimples are deep and his eyes sparkling, and the air is knocked out of me with a whoosh.
Sweet Lord, he makes it hard to breathe.
I somehow recover. “Well, he lied to you. He wasn’t invited.”
Dawson snorts, his eyes darkening and leaving me wanting to press my body to his. The room goes quiet, four pairs of eyes moving between the two of us, but our gazes don’t move off each other.