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)
It made me curious.
It made me obsess over Ambrosia more than I care to.
I don’t think of girls. I don’t have the time or the mental space to fill. Though, instead of plays, I was thinking of how sassy and sure of herself she is. How she doesn’t back down from anyone. How she didn’t seem the least bit affected by my presence. How she told me off right in front of my parents without a second thought. She flicked my fucking nose. Like I was a misbehaving dog.
No one has ever done that.
Nor has anyone ghosted me so thoroughly that even I’m impressed. I haven’t seen her—not at The Penalty Perk, the rink, or even on campus. When I asked Ella about her, she gave me a look and said that she didn’t come in anymore, that Ambrosia had her drink delivered instead.
Stay away from me.
I mean, damn. I know she wants me. I could feel it from just a look in her eyes, and I realize she’s been hurt, but she’s gone so far as not to go in to get her coffee on the off chance I’ll be around. I would be because I’m not backing off.
Not when I have never felt this feeling before.
Not when I crave her grin.
Or the way she glares at me.
No, I’m going to get a chance with Ambrosia Mercer, and I won’t fumble it.
I tried to get into the employee directory, but unfortunately, that’s in my dad’s office, and he kicked me right out with a stern, “Leave her alone.”
Rude, really.
I have stalked this damn campus, asked around, and no one seems to know her. It’s maddening. When I tried to slide into her DMs on Instagram, I became pretty sure she has me blocked! I can see her content, but I can’t contact her or tag her in anything. It’s the craziest thing, and it’s driving me absolutely crazy. I even tried logging into Louis’s account, but that bastard told me no.
What a brother he is.
When I’m not on the field, I’m on the ice. And when I’m not on the ice, I’m doing everything I can to get information about Ambrosia Mercer. I started commenting on all her episodes, and when her name popped up as ON, I messaged her right away. Then I chatted with her for two hours, forgetting I had a paper due, and when I realized it, I still didn’t get off the chat.
Just like her episodes, her messages are quick-witted and funny. I am sucked in, and it is nice being DoesMyBreathStink60 and AmbrosiaMercer. I almost told her it was me, but I didn’t want to break the truce we had.
The bubble we’re in.
I need that connection to her.
And this right here is why I don’t have time for girls.
Except…I’m making time for her.
I have to.
But I need more.
Listen, I’m just as confused as you are by this turn of events.
“Ugh, what do you need?” Surprised by Charlotte’s tone, I lean in across the desk. My cousin’s eyes meet mine in a way that doesn’t seem the least bit welcoming. Which is her job description, mind you. “You only come in when you need something that may get me in trouble.”
That has me smirking. She moved my classes when I forgot to confirm them and replaced my ID for free when I lost it. She may be onto something, and who am I to break that streak? I hold her gaze as I pull my bag in front of me and open it. Cookies from Audrey’s Cupcakes. It’s something new she’s trying, and I had to have them after listening to her episode of Ambrosia’s podcast. I set the box on the desk and waggle my brows at her. “But I always bring your favorite snack.”
She eyes the box, licking her lips.
Ha. Got her.
“What do you need, Sinclair?”
Charlotte reaches for the box, but I hold it closed. She glares, and I smile even brighter at her. “I need Ambrosia Mercer’s schedule.”
Charlotte rolls her eyes, then holds up a finger. “One, that’s against the law and her right to privacy.” She holds up another before blowing her bangs out of her eyes. “Two, that sounds like a girl’s name, and when did you start caring about girls?” She holds up a third finger. “And three, did you pick hockey yet?”
I fold her fingers down, enveloping her hand in mine as I hold her gaze. “I know, but let’s ignore that. Yes, and I don’t care about girls. And not yet—are you coming to my game this weekend?”
She gives me an exasperated look. “Yes, but I’d rather you protect your body for hockey.”
I run my hand down her face and shush her, which she snorts at, batting at me. Then I look around to make sure no one is paying us any mind. I lean in, and with a low voice, I say, “Just pull it up and take a picture of me with the schedule in focus.” She goes to complain, but I open the box. “I got all your favorites. They even had the Dubai one you wanted to try.”