Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 17621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 88(@200wpm)___ 70(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 88(@200wpm)___ 70(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
Ava
I've had bad ideas before, but getting wine-drunk and playing He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not might be my worst yet.
Especially since the subject of my petal-plucking spiral is none other than the world's favorite wide receiver, Dawson Iverson.
I'm convinced he hates me.
Does that stop me from dreaming about him every night?
No.
But dreams are one thing.
Finding him in my bed?
That's another problem entirely.
I'm dangerously close to forgetting all the reasons this can't happen…
and that has disaster written all over it.
Dawson
I fell for Ava Grant the minute our parents introduced us.
She's a sweet little minx who can't lie to save her life.
Unfortunately for both of us, she values her privacy… and that's the one thing I can't give her.
I've tried to stay away.
I've tried to be good.
But when she lies about dating her neighbor?
I snap.
No one touches what's mine. No one.
This pretty little brat is about to learn the truth.
This isn't hate.
This is obsession.
And I'm done playing by the rules
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Prologue
Ava
One Drunken Night…
Playing childhood games to sort out our futures was a bad idea. I know this because my head is swimming from the four bottles of wine we demolished, I've got a small pile of flower petals in front of me… and my future is not looking rosy.
"It's settled," I say, flopping back against the cushions of Emelia's couch. "He loves me not."
According to the petals, Dawson Iverson, my new stepbrother and the hottest wide receiver on the planet, hates me. I am not sad about this. I'm not. It doesn't even matter if I might, maybe, possibly have the tiniest crush on him.
"What?" Seraphina peers over at me through glossy eyes. "Says who?"
"The petals." I wave in their direction. "I plucked two. The truth has been revealed."
"Bullshit," Nova says, scooping up petals, only to sprinkle them across my legs like some crazed flower girl. "I refuse to believe those petals are telling you the truth. Are you sure you did it right?"
"How do you do it wrong?" Emelia asks. "You pluck the dang petals. I definitely did my cootie catcher wrong, though." She glowers at the folded paper on the coffee table in front of her. "I'm too drunk to count, and that's why it landed on Royce."
"It's a cootie catcher, not rocket science, Em," Seraphina says, laughing. "You did it right."
"Did not," she grumbles, poking the folded paper like she thinks it might bite her. "There's no way it landed on him twice."
"Royce and Emelia sitting in a tree," Nova sings, flopping backward across a pillow on the floor.
"Real mature, Nova." Emelia throws a pen at her, earning loud laughter in response. "We're still waiting for you decide if you're going to fuck, marry, or kill Hux."
"Easy," Nova says, "kill." Her face does not agree with her lie. It scrunches up like she's in the process of changing her mind about her brother's best friend. "Wait…"
I hide a smile behind my hand. One of these days, she'll admit that she's in love with Huxley Saint. At least one of us should get a happily-ever-after out of my stupid idea. It won't be me.
"Ugh," I groan. "If we remember this tomorrow, I'm going to be so mad."
"It was your idea," Seraphina reminds me.
"I know." I crack my eyes open to glare at her. "Why do you think I'm going to be mad?" I'd much rather forget that I spent part of my night eagerly hoping for a damn flower to tell me that Dawson is in love with me.
Let's face it, the man hates me. With a capital H. And now I have to spend every holiday for the rest of my life sitting across from him and his insanely hot scowl.
I am not sad. I'm not.
I may be a liar, though.
Chapter One
Ava
"Mom, I really don't have time for dinner tomorrow," I protest, clutching my cell to my ear as I jog across the parking lot toward my car with my bag tapping against my thigh. "I have a million things to do."
"You don't have to stay long," she says. "Dennis and I just want to see you kids before we leave."
"Leave?" I stop jogging to frown at the phone. My bag stops a full three seconds after I do, slamming into my leg hard enough to send me stumbling two paces. Maybe I should take Emelia's advice and clean it out. "Where are you going?"
"Our flight leaves on Friday, dear."
Crap. I forgot about their honeymoon trip. My new stepfather is taking her on a month-long cruise to celebrate. She's been looking forward to it since he gave her the tickets during their reception last month.
Am I a terrible daughter for forgetting? Probably.
In my defense, I try to block out anything remotely related to spending time with Dawson. It gives me anxiety. I cannot control a room full of thirteen-year-olds five days a week and juggle anxiety. It's just not humanly possible.
"Dawson will be there," Mom says, like she's sweetening the pot. "He'd love to see you. He thinks you've been avoiding him since the wedding."
"I have not." I totally have. Am I telling my mother that? Absolutely not. The last thing I'm admitting to her is that my new stepbrother stars in far too many of my fantasies these days. I see his hot, grouchy ass at dinner, and all I think about is the dirty things he did to me in my dreams the night before. It's all kinds of awkward. "I've just been busy."
"Well, he'd love to see you."
She's dangling a carrot in front of my face without even realizing that I'm addicted to…well, the thought of his carrot. Will I go just to see him? Yes. Of course I will. I have an unhealthy obsession with the man.
It's a sickness, really.
Maybe I need a therapist instead of ridiculous games and too much wine with my three best friends, affectionately known as the Sisterhood. Surely therapy is a better coping mechanism for an unhealthy obsession than plucking petals from a daisy and playing MASH to decide if Dawson loves me or not, right?