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)
Gio’s eyes flick over me like he’s noticing something. My face? My expression? The hoodie?
Please not the hoodie.
He tilts his head. “That mine?”
I freeze. “What?”
He gestures with his stick. “The sweatshirt. That mine?”
It’s not.
I didn’t have the heart to show up to a game wearing anyone but Luca’s number except if I turn around and let my brother see…
Game. Over.
So I lie.
“Yeah,” I say quickly, nodding once, firm. “Yup. Yours.”
And then he’s gone, gliding back to the goal like he didn’t nearly blow up my entire life with one simple question.
I let out a strangled sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.
Poppy calmly pops another piece of pretzel in her mouth. “Best performance of your life.”
“Do you think he believed me?”
“Hell no. I was lying when I said that was the best performance of your life.”
I glare at her. “You are the worst emotional support I’ve ever had.”
She shrugs, unbothered. “I support you by keeping you humble.”
“I’m going to puke.”
“Shh…” She holds her soda toward me. “Sip. Don’t hurl.”
I take a sip of her soda like it might dissolve the panic fizzing in my bloodstream.
It doesn’t.
Poppy watches me for a moment, chewing slowly, her gaze a little more serious now beneath the usual chaos. “Um… what’s the actual plan here?”
I blink at her. “What?”
“With Luca,” she says, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “What’s the plan? Because you’re clearly not done with him, and I just need to know if we’re pretending this is still casual, or if we’re in full-blown Romeo and Juliet with hockey sticks territory.”
I open my mouth. Then close it. “I—I don’t know.”
“Nova.”
“I don’t,” I insist, dropping my head back against the seat. “It wasn’t supposed to get this far. We were just… flirting. And kissing. Er, maybe doing other things. It wasn’t serious.”
Poppy gives me a knowing look. “And now?”
I sigh. “Now I think about him constantly. Like, stupid stuff. What he’s doing. If he ate lunch. If his shoulder’s still sore from the last game.”
Poppy’s expression softens. “Of course you are. You’re a disaster.”
“Gee, thanks.” I groan, dropping my face into my hands again. “This can’t keep happening.”
“It is happening,” she says gently. “So, what are you gonna do about it?”
I peek at her through my fingers. “You’re really asking for a plan right now? While I’m sweating through my bra and trying not to get outed in a public sports arena?”
“Duh.”
“Your brother’s a walking overprotective warning label. The whole ‘locker room loyalty’ thing is real. But Nova…” She leans in. “You light up when you talk about him. And if that doesn’t count for something, I don’t know what does.”
I blink hard.
“Don’t you dare cry in public,” Poppy warns, nudging me with her elbow. “You’ll mess up your hot girl makeup.”
I sniff. “I’m not crying.”
“You’re misting.” She shoves the pretzel at me. “Take a bite.”
I bite off a chunk with my teeth and chew. “Whatever.”
We sit in silence for a beat, the game carrying on down on the ice, players skating and shouting and slamming into the boards, both my brother and Luca oblivious to my turmoil.
Finally, I say, “I have to figure this shit out.”
Poppy nods. “Good.”
“I want to see him tonight,” I mutter, not sure she can hear me above the roar of the crowd. “After.”
I wonder if his post-game ritual is the same as my brother’s: hot tub, cold plunge, shower, pajamas, junk food.
In that order, depending on his mood, if they win or lose.
She does. “Of course you do.”
My sigh is loud enough, too. “I also don’t want to sneak around forever.”
“Then don’t,” she says it simply—as if it were simple.
I raise an eyebrow. “Okay brainiac, what do I do? Casually drop it into conversation? ‘Hey Gio, pass the ketchup—by the way I’ve been sneaking around with your teammate, please don’t commit homicide’?”
“I mean, that would work.” She points at me with the remaining pretzel nub. “You’re the one dating a hockey player. That life is gonna come with some ups and downs. If you’re lucky, this is the most drama you’ll have.”
I laugh.
Poppy smiles sweetly.
Then I watch as she shoves the pretzel into the last of the cheese dip, stuffs it in her mouth and says, “If you do decide to tell Gio, I want to be there front and center to see his reaction.”
Brat. “You won’t be, but thanks.”
“I can take the heat off.”
“There won’t be any heat.”
Lies we tell ourselves…
“This whole thing gives me anxiety,” I grumble, sinking further into the hoodie with Luca’s number on it, which now feels less like a comfort item and more like a giant neon arrow.
Or sign.
“Part of this is your brother’s fault for giving you rules—he should know better than that. You’re hot, you’re single, he’s on a team with eligible bachelors.” She snorts. “He’s cockblocking, that’s what he’s doing and it’s rude. RUDE I SAY!”