I can’t allow another person to laugh at the things I can’t do.
I force myself to swallow past the lump in my throat. That can’t happen again. No, I need to stay the hell away from Dawson Sinclair.
Just as I’m about to roll off the couch to head toward the kitchen where I know there will be food, I feel nails along my scalp and a hand along my back, rubbing up and down my spine in a loving way.
“Ah,mija, did it not go well?”
My mom’s voice is soft, hesitant, as she leans into my side, rubbing my back, which means mytíais at my head.
“I have a Costco-size box of batteries if you need them for your dildos.”
I sputter with laughter, which I know is what she wanted. I roll to my back, my mom’s hand falling to my stomach as mytíamoves my hair out of my eyes, wiping away the stray tears that remain. I take in a deep breath through my nose, and I knowthey’re watching me, waiting for an answer, but I feel like I may cry more if I admit what is wrong. I let out the breath I was holding in a long whoosh.
“The meeting was fine. We went over what is different between broadcasting for the girls and the boys. It’s nothing I can’t handle and I’m actually excited for it, but when we discussed them coming on my podcast, I felt like they agreed to do it out of pity.”
Mom brings in her dark brows that are arched to perfection. “Why,mija?”
I chew on the inside of my lip, hating how I can still see the swirl of green in his hazel eyes, how the smirk made it really hard to form complete sentences and how damn good he looked, towering over me in all his glory.
Why does he have to be attractive?
Why did I like the feeling from being under his gaze?
Why do I want to hate him, yet still want him?
“Their son is so full of himself and came at me funky. Telling me that Dad’s theory wasn’t real, and that love isn’t a contributing factor to success, when he hasn’t even been in love. But what really gets my gears grinding is itisa factor. He is loved, with so much support from his family. So how can he not see that love does have something to do with it?”
Tíalooks as if she might slash tires as she starts humming Tina Turner’s “What’s Love Got to Do with It.”
“Did you say that?” Mom asks.
I frown. “No. I didn’t think it until now.”
She pats my face, rubbing my nose with her finger. “Ah, I hate when that happens.”
Tíanods in agreement as I continue to rant. “He was so cocky, and he kept flirting with me, which was basically offensive.”
Mom’s brows furrow whileTíaarches hers. “Why would flirting be offensive?”
“Because he didn’t mean it,” I shriek, surprising all of us. “He was just messing with me! He’s Dawson Sinclair. He’s a wildly talented athlete and hot as all hell. He can have and has had any girl he wants. I’m nowhere in his orbit.”
Mom rubs my belly asTíagives me a disgruntled look. “I think you mean he isn’t in your orbit.”
I wave her off. “Hell, both. We are on two different wavelengths. He has no clue what he wants, which is evident in his inability to choose a sport and his revolving door of females. While I am locked in and ready to soar.”
Mom’s head falls to the side as she stares at me. “Do you like him?”
I laugh, shaking my head as the sound fills the room, but even I can hear there is no humor in my laugh. It’s forced. Shit. Do I like him? What I know of him, no, but his game, it’s inspiring. He works so hard to be able to play both sports. If only he focused on one, he’d be unstoppable. His drive to eat well, train well, and keep his head mentally well is wildly attractive. I don’t know him, though. And I think if I did, I would like him.
A lot.
And he’d break me.
Quickly, I blurt, “Hell no. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s stunning. But he is a walking red flag, and I don’t even have time for green flags.”
Tíasnorts as Mom continues to eye me. “Maybe you need to get to know him.”
I meet her hopeful gaze and shake my head. “Mom, no. I don’t want anything to do with him. He is too full of himself, and he makes me want to crash out. I’ll end up in jail if I have to be around him more than necessary.”
