Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 97767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Dolly jumps up, screaming and clapping, while I try to focus on anything other than the six-foot-four goalie who’s been living rent-free in my head since the second I saw him sitting at the bar on my corner.
Tonight Gio is sharp and unrelenting, blocking every shot being blasted his way, and the crowd is
Eating.
It.
Up.
“See? Just doin’ his job,” I say, gesturing toward him. “Nothing to be jealous of.”
Dolly whirls around to face me, her grin so wide it could rival the arena lights.
“Nothing to be jealous of? Are you blind? The man is out there single-handedly shutting down the other team, and I swear he keeps checking to make sure you’re still watching.”
I had noticed that, but I’m not about to admit it.
“He is not,” I argue, crossing my arms. “He’s literally focused on the puck. You know, like a professional.”
Dolly snickers, leaning closer. “Oh, sweetie, the only thing he’s more focused on than that puck is you. I mean, look at him! He’s putting on a clinic while you sit here pretending your stomach isn’t doing flips.”
“It’s not doing flips,” I say, immediately betraying myself with a deep breath to calm the chaos in my chest. “It’s nerves. And the beer—you know what it does to me.”
Lies.
All lies.
Despite my best efforts to play it cool, I can’t help but let my eyes trail after him, drawn to the precision in every movement.
The buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the period, and the players begin their slow glide toward the benches. The crowd cheers and claps, a sea of energy that doesn’t let up for a second.
“Last chance to admit you’re into him before he comes over here and proves me right.”
“He’s not coming over,” I say, my voice firm but my resolve shaky.
“Why would he? He has a game to play.”
Dolly grins, a knowing glint in her eye. “Oh, honey. He’s playing a different game now.”
She shrugs, unconvinced. “Suit yourself. But I’m telling you right now—if he skates over again, I’m taking a video. The internet deserves to see this.”
I glare at her, but the intermission show starting on the ice pulls her attention away before I can argue.
For a moment, I let myself relax, the noise and lights of the arena dulling the chaos in my head. But it doesn’t last long. Because no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about him.
I am a nobody.
With a smart mouth.
There is no way I’m ever going to see him again.
That thought should be comforting—it really should—but instead, it twists in my chest, leaving me feeling hollow as young kids in Baddies jerseys race oversized, inflatable pucks toward the goal while the crowd roots for them.
It’s adorable, really, but it does nothing to settle the storm in my head.
But just like that, the ice clears and players start filing back onto the ice. The fans roar, the energy climbing higher and higher, and for a split second, I let myself get swept up in it. Cheer along with them.
Houston is up by one, and the second period promises to be as chaotic as the first.
And then he skates out.
Moves with purpose, every motion fluid and precise, and then—he looks directly at me. Not toward the crowd.
Not at our section.
At me.
Gio Montagalo is not just playing hockey tonight.
He’s playing me.
6
Austin: You kissed the glass.
Gio: You made the sign! We had a deal.
Austin: For HIM not for you!
Gio: Okay that makes no sense—because I am him. Ha ha.
Austin: This isn’t funny. I’m horrified. The entire place was staring at me like I was part of the halftime show.
Gio: You’re welcome! Don’t think I didn’t see you smiling.
Austin: Why were you watching me, you had a GAME TO PLAY!
Gio: Obviously you’re good luck. I didn’t play like total shit this time. Coach thanks you.
Austin: You’re not funny.
Gio: You’re overthinking this. Besides, you’re texting me, so I can’t be that bad.
Austin: I’m texting you because I need answers.
Gio: Answers about what?
Austin: YOU LIED TO ME ABOUT WHO YOU WERE!
Gio: Not technically. I told you my name and you have my phone number—not many people can say that.
Austin: Not the point.
Gio: Actually that IS the point.
Austin: The point is, you conveniently left out the part where I’d been insulting you to your face.
Gio: Didn’t think it was relevant.
Austin: Not relevant? Are you kidding me right now????
Gio: What—you wouldn’t have insulted me if you knew?
Austin: Of course not! I’m not an asshole!
Gio: I liked that you don’t hold back. It was… refreshing.
Austin: Refreshing?
Gio: Yes. Most people kiss my ass. You didn’t. It was a nice change.
Austin: I can’t tell if this is some twisted ego thing or if you’re insane???
Gio: Why can’t it be both?
Austin: Oh my od! You are twisted.
Gio: Some call it twisted, I call it flirting.
Austin: Is this how you pick up ALL women?