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)
A tool bag.
With a drill.
For, like, wood.
He’s going to gloat for weeks.
And I’ll act like I hate it.
But I’ll just stare at his dimples.
“Like, for real, a can of fruit salad and whipped cream?”
I hold up my hand to stop him. “Sir, my mother added pecans like a fucking lady, okay? She even chopped them herself instead of buying them prechopped.”
“Well, damn, and I was being judgy.”
“So damn judgy,” I say with a smirk.
He snorts at that, shaking his head. “I can’t. That’s wild. So then they decided to name you Ambrosia?”
I smile with a shrug. Some would be very embarrassed by that story, but for some reason, it makes me smile. Leave it to my dad. He loved my mom’s can of fruit and whipped topping salad so much he wanted to name me after it. I mean, that’s kind of sweet. “Mom wanted to name me something very Puerto Rican, but Dad was set on Ambrosia because it was such a staple in their daily meals, so she got my middle name.”
“I like it a lot. It fits you.”
“A joyful fruit salad?”
He smirks. “Hey now. There were pecans.”
I snap my fingers. “Damn it, you’re right. They make it way better.”
“Too bad it wasn’t Pecan Joy.”
I grimace. “Could you imagine the debate? Is it peecan or pecaannnn?”
He grins as he pushes up his hat with his forearm, and like the fiend I am, I watch in awe. “But for real, you’re sweet like a salad and bring joy to everyone around you.”
I snort. “Dawson, I did not bring joy to you for the last couple months. I’ve brought headaches.”
His eyes are full of humor, and I expect him to placate me, but instead, he says, “Yeah. True.”
I crack up, throwing pumpkin guts at him. Our laughter fills the room as we continue with our work. I’ve never had a guy in my space. Even when I was dating, we always went to their places because I was nervous to have anyone here when my mom or tía could just walk in without any announcement.
Remember? They have no boundaries.
But I wouldn’t mind if they showed up. I mean, I would ’cause I don’t want to share Dawson with them, but I’m not hiding who I’m with. I like being with him.
A lot.
Especially when he’s bent all funny, with his pumpkin between his widespread legs. He is fully engrossed in his efforts, and I can’t help but watch him. He looks devilishly handsome after changing into his pumpkin-carving clothes, which are some basketball shorts and a Bullies Hockey tee. His legs are angled so high up that his shorts have fallen down his thick thighs and are showing his pink boxer briefs. I never thought I’d think that was sexy, but I do. Dawson has his hair pushed back under his teal Bullies cap, and I may sound like a freak, but I really like that the clothes he wore at the patch are folded over my couch. Even being so big, his knees up by his head as he carves, he looks relaxed and…happy.
It’s hard to believe he’s never done this kind of stuff with someone before.
And he’s happy to do it with me.
It doesn’t seem real.
I swallow and ask what I want to know. “So, you’ve never done this with a girl you liked before?”
His eyes cut to mine before returning to his work. His lips curve, and I know he likes that I asked. He wants me to know everything, just as he wants to know everything about me.
It’s a wild feeling.
“Nope. You’re my first in all aspects, honestly.”
I blink, and I’m sure as hell not ready to unpack that comment. I go for an easier one. “Not even when you were younger?”
He shakes his head. “Nope,” he says, popping the P as he holds his pumpkin back, his head falling to the side as he takes in his work. “I knew I wanted to be an athlete, and I fully focused in on it. While it’s a beautiful thing to see people in love, I wasn’t naïve enough to think it was easy. Everyone in my family got together young, and I mean, young. Mom and Dad were like nineteen, Jace and Avery, eighteen, and that’s crazy to me. I didn’t even know my favorite cereal then, but you expect me to pick my forever person?”
I nod in agreement. “Yeah, if I had chosen who I was dating at eighteen, I’d be divorced.”
He points his drill at me. “Exactly,” he agrees with a nod. “While they still got to their goals, we both know how our generation is. Very selfish and only about themselves.”
I nod. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“But that doesn’t apply to you,” he says with a wink, and my cheeks flush. “Everyone I met when I was younger never really wanted to know me. It was weird, but they never asked questions about me, only what my plans were and how much I thought I’d be worth. Then I heard a bunch of girls my junior year of high school saying they were going to try to get pregnant by me, and it freaked me out, so I decided to keep it totally superficial.”