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)
No truer words.
“You think Gio is gonna to be mad? Let him! Let him be mad! He doesn’t get to gatekeep your joy because he got his first.”
Right.
I know this.
Poppy softens her tone. “You’re not letting anyone down by falling for someone who wants you. Who respects your self-imposed weirdness and doesn’t run for the hills when you start spiraling.”
“I’m not going to panic.”
“You’re going to panic a little,” she amends. “And I’ll help you figure it out.”
“So—what do I do?”
My bestie hums. “First thing I would do if this was my brother being a dick, would be to text him and tell him you have a date. At least lay the groundwork.”
Yikes. That sounds scary.
“Or,” Poppy amends again, seeing the look on my face. “You can text Austin, since she’ll be on your side no matter what.”
I scrunch my nose. “I don’t think I’m ready for that level of honesty with those two yet. I have no idea if Austin will actually keep it a secret from my brother—they are so caught up in their own love story.”
Poppy sighs dramatically and slumps in the booth. “Alright. Then my advice is this: don’t say anything yet. Just go. See Luca. Let it happen. No pressure. No labels. No secret sibling betrayal yet.”
I raise a brow. “Yet?”
She grins. “Look, I’m not saying sneak around forever. But give yourself permission to see where this goes. With no one else in your head about it.”
“I’m serious,” she continues, chewing. “You can’t keep doing the whole hide-and-deflect routine forever because you like him.”
I groan and let my head fall against the wall beside my table, the wood chair creaking under me. “I barely know him.”
Poppy arches a brow, clearly enjoying herself. “And you like him.”
I hesitate, then nod slowly. “And I like him.”
“FINALLY.” She throws her hands up, nearly knocking over her latte. “She’s admitting it, everyone! Nova Montagalo likes a man and she hasn’t shoved him off a cliff yet!”
“Would you keep your voice down? People are looking at me.”
“No one is looking at you.” She levels me with a look, leaning closer to her phone to study my face. “You’re glowing.”
I scoff. “I am not.”
I might be.
I can feel the flush on my cheeks.
“You are. It’s giving ‘first crush at summer camp’ and I’m totally obsessed.” She grins, smug and victorious. “For once you’re talking to someone who doesn’t have commitment issues and an Instagram account full of gym selfies.”
I press my lips together, trying not to laugh. “That was one guy.”
“That was three guys.”
Touché.
Fine.
It was three—possibly four?
There’s no doubt I have a type: big, broody, fit. Blame it on my brother, I’m used to men who stay in shape and take care of themselves, considering I’ve been surrounded by them almost my entire life.
The kind of guys who keep their jaws clenched, their texts short, and their gym bags in the passenger seat like it’s their second girlfriend.
I grew up on the sidelines and in the back seat of my mom’s SUV, half-asleep with a Gatorade bottle rolling around on the floor. I knew how to tape an ankle before I could drive. Learned the language of grunts and shoulder shrugs.
I am fluent in locker room jargon.
My brother taught me muscles were armor, and being tough was better than being open. And somewhere along the way, I equated being closed off with safety.
Maybe I date these guys because they’re familiar.
Predictable.
I know how to read them—when they need space, when they’re upset but won’t say it, when they’re using sarcasm to hide the fact they care more than they want to admit.
Or maybe I just like the challenge?
If I can be the one girl who cracks through the hard exterior, I’ll win some kind of prize. Emotional intimacy, I guess. Or at least the illusion of it…
“Your face is doing the thing again,” Poppy says, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“What thing?”
“You know—the one where your soul floats six inches above your body and starts monologuing about emotional intimacy and why hot, emotionally repressed guys feel like home.”
My brows go up. “Is that what I look like?”
“Worse.”
I huff out a laugh, fiddling with the corner of my paper napkin.
“Maybe I date these guys because it’s what I’m comfortable with. I know when they need space, when they’re upset, when they’re using sarcasm to hide the fact they’re butt hurt.”
“Mm,” Poppy hums. “Sounds like someone I know who happens to share your DNA.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. My brother. I’m familiar with the theory.”
Poppy leans forward again, expression wise beyond her years. “And now you’re finally tired of playing games.”
I don’t say anything.
She grins suddenly, like she can’t help herself. “Which brings us to the most suspicious non-date date of all time. Grocery store boy.”
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t.”
Poppy lights up. “Oh, we are absolutely doing this. Nova, you’re going on a date at a grocery store. This is not normal.”