Tíatsks at me. “Mija, my love, there is a very thin line between love and hate.”
Jesus Christ above.
“Believe me, the line is wide and pure black, and I’m sitting on the hate side,” I quip, shaking my head. “I want nothing to do with him, and I hope he listens to his parents’ segment just so he knows they believe in my theory and he’s stupid and wrong.”
Mom goes to say something but stops.
I bring my brows in tightly. “What?”
“Maybe have him on the show? Have him give his side of things. Maybe have a friendly debate?”
“It wouldn’t be friendly,” I mutter, which she ignores. NotTía, though, she chuckles.
“Then have a poll for listeners?”
I give her a blank look. It’s a great idea, and I’d love to rip him one on the air, but that would involve spending more time with than I absolutely have to. “I don’t want to be around him, Mom.”
She shrugs, andTíaleans in. “But you can impress him with your smarts, your knowledge of the game, and then your beauty.”
I giveTíaa look. I know that looks are subjective, that we are all different. I also know that my family wanted me to lean into my brain rather than depend on my looks, but I wish for once they’d say something like, my beauty could distract him.
Not that I want it to.
That isn’t the point of that thought.
I know I am a beautiful woman. I may not be what America deems the right body type, but I love how I look. It’s taken me a long time to love myself. I mean, it just happened last week, and it could change by dinnertime when my belly swells up from the cheesy chicken I’ll eat, but I wish my outside were good enough sometimes.
Or maybe I’m making something out of nothing, because I hate that I want Dawson Sinclair to find me attractive.
That I want to know if he truly wants to date me or if he was just teasing me.
“Pretty obvious why that’d be your nickname from me. Just one look and my heart stops.”
It doesn’t matter what he says. I’ll do everything I can to make sure I never see him again.
I have to, to protect myself.
“That won’t happen,” I say with way too much sadness in my voice. “I just hope that his parents don’t think less of me. I said that he’s too worried about getting his dick sucked—in front of them.”
Mom grimaces asTíaholds up her hand for a high five. “That’s my girl.” Of course I slap her hand because I’d never leave her hanging. “Apologize when they come in, and go from there. I’m sure if they didn’t want to do the show, they wouldn’t.”
“True,” I agree with a soft sigh. “I just wish I hadn’t gotten all flustered and lashed out.”
“It happens to the best of us,” Mom tells me, cupping my jaw. “Daddy asked me for nine towels in an hour. I had no clue he was just trying to get my attention. On the last towel, I threw it in his face and told him I’d call security on him if he called again. He smiled…” She pauses, such a beautiful, faraway look on her face as her eyes glitter with tears. “He smiled and told me how about I call him instead when I get off.” I can’t help but smile and swoon. My dad loved my mom with every beat of his heart. When he died of a heart attack, she said it was because he loved all of us too hard and it took him out.
Did I have some trauma from that? A bit.
Thank you, therapy.
“Men have the tendency to drive us insane.”
“Which is why we drink, have drawers full of dildos, and read about fictional men,”Tíaoffers, and I can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of me.
When they wrap their arms around me, I lean into their embraces as I close my eyes. A plan forms in my head to apologize to the Sinclairs and hope they understand that their son is a jackass and forgive my outburst. If not, I’ll be professional and get the job done.
And completely stay away from Dawson Sinclair.
Because I’m not dumb. I am a woman in a man’s sport. A huge fan, at that, and super knowledgeable. Because of my love for the sport, I have been surrounded by beautiful men. When I was younger, I’d trip over myself to get them to notice me and want me. It’d work, but then they’d drop me faster than they could drop their gloves without even an explanation. I was left to feel unworthy and unlovable. No offense to pretty men, and I don’t speak for all of them, but they usually don’t want to be loyal or truthful. Mytíatells me all the time to go for someone who isn’t that good-looking so he’ll worship me.
