Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 102607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Luca: NEXT!
Nova: Picky much?!!
Luca: It’s my nickname. It has to fit.
Nova: Alright, alright. Let me think…
Luca: Take your time. This is important.
Nova: What about… Maverick?
Luca: Maverick? No.
Nova: You give off Top Gun energy.
Luca: I will take that as a compliment.
Nova: It was meant to be one.
Luca: Still…Eh. Not me.
Nova: Ugh!
Nova: FOCUS. Nickname.
Luca: Right, right. Hit me with another one.
Nova: Alright, fine. What about Ace?
Luca: Ooooh. That’s got a nice ring to it. I like it!
Nova: Right? It gives confident, smooth, maybe a little reckless.
Luca: Just a little?
Nova: Don’t get a big head.
Luca: LOL Ace it is.
Nova: Finally.
Luca: So let’s review: You’re Starshine. I’m Ace.
Luca: Also! Bonus—it’s a solid cover if we ever need to talk in front of Gio.
Nova: Code names? Me like.
Luca: Exactly. He hears me say “Starshine,” he’s just gonna think I’m dating some girl who’s obsessed with astrology.
Nova: NOT that we’re hiding anything from my brother. There is nothing between us.
Luca: Except our love child.
Nova: Our WHAT?
Luca: The cup, Nova. Try to keep up.
Nova: Oh my GOD. Do not call it that.
Luca: We’re bonded for life now…
Nova: We are not bonded for life you weirdo.
Luca: Shared custody says otherwise. Do you want to see the cup again or NOT?
Nova: Yes. I love my giraffe cup.
Luca: OUR giraffe cup.
Nova: I’m gonna need you to shut up.
Luca: Make me.
Nova: Goodbye, Ace.
Luca: Goodnight, Starshine. See you on Friday.
7
nova
It’s just a cup.
You’re going for the cup.
Utterly ridiculous.
“I’m not nervous.” I glance down at my chest. “But why are my tits out?”
On my phone screen, Poppy cackles, her video feed shaking as she nearly drops her phone. “I was about to ask you the same thing. That’s a lot of cleavage for dinner that’s not a date, Nova.”
I huff, turning back to the mirror and adjusting the neckline of my top. Boobs out, girls poppin’.
They’re serving.
“I didn’t do it on purpose.” It just happened.
“Uh-huh.” She doesn’t believe me.
“What? I’m serious.”
“Right. You accidentally put on the slinkiest, sexiest shirt in your entire wardrobe and have the girls out to play.”
I scowl at her reflection through the screen. “You think this is sexy?”
Poppy laughs. “Absolutely.”
I roll my eyes but can’t stop the corner of my mouth from twitching. She has been my friend for ages, the kind of friend who tells me when my makeup is too heavy and when I’m lying to myself or if my boobs are popping out. I love her for it.
I only wish we lived in the same city.
Last year, she moved across the country for a job she swore was her dream. And it probably is. But selfishly, I hate it. I miss having her within driving distance. I miss our late-night sleepovers because she was too lazy to take the Metrorail home and seeing her on the weekends.
I sigh. “It’s just a shirt.”
Poppy has been my sounding board since we were teenagers, through every bad date, every dumb decision, every heartbreak. She knows me better than most people, which is both a blessing and a curse.
Because she knows when I’m full of shit.
“Uh huh,” she says, humoring me. “And Luca is just a friend.”
I snap my fingers in her direction. “Exactly.”
She full-on cackles. “It’s precious that you’re in denial.”
“I’m not in denial.” I look down again, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s just a shirt.”
A sexy, low-cut shirt that goes great with my big hoop earrings. High-waisted jeans. Flowing hair.
I went brunette two days ago after being platinum blonde for ages, and honestly? I love it.
Blonde Nova was bright, sun-kissed, a little wild. She had fun, didn’t think too hard about things, made impulsive choices just for the thrill of it.
Brunette Nova? She’s different.
A little more grounded. Mature.
Looking at my reflection now—at the way my dark waves fall over my shoulders, the way my shirt dips just low enough, the way my lipstick is a shade bolder than usual—I wonder if I’m pretending. If I’m trying to convince myself of something that isn’t actually true.
Because if I was really going just for the cup, if this was not a date, then why do I care what I look like?
Poppy, of course, sees right through me. She always does.
“Anyway, how’s work?” I ask, hoping to change the subject. “Are they still treating you like a literal goddess?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
I groan. “Poppy. It’s not a date.”
She gasps dramatically. “Oh. How could I forget that people definitely get this dressed up to retrieve a cup.”
Of course I’ve told her all about our drinks.
How I wore sweatpants and how it hadn’t seemed to phase Luca one little bit. How he’d looked at me like I could’ve been wearing a trash bag and he still would’ve found me attractive.
How I laid in bed afterward, staring at the ceiling, replaying every little interaction in my head. That despite my best efforts, Luca has been living rent-free in my head for days.