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)
Go big or stay home.
There’s something about the tight fit that makes me stand a little taller (mostly because now that I’m dressed, I can barely breathe), and the sheer panels leave just enough to the imagination to make me wonder if I’m actually dressed too sexy.
It’s a fine line between looking good and looking like I tried way too hard, and I’m teetering dangerously close to the latter.
I glance down at my shoes. Beige, strappy, and clearly designed by someone who has never had to wear them for longer than ten minutes.
A man, probably.
I’d wobbled slipping them on, already envisioning my future as a meme: “Baddie tries to look cute, twists ankle before appetizer.”
I glance at the clock on my phone. Five minutes.
Time to grab my clutch and fill it with all the things I have in my other bag: gloss, ID, credit card, keys.
“Dinner’s going to be fine.” Gio, who’s been lying at my feet napping like the unbothered king he is, cracks one eye open at the sound of my voice. “I’m going to be fine. Worst-case scenario, he sucks at conversation and I can stuff myself with breadsticks.”
Love myself some carbs.
Yum.
I take one last look in the full-length mirror that is my closet door. Turn this way and that way so I can give my ass a glance. The dress, the heels, the makeup—I look pretty freaking gorgeous, if I do say so myself.
Damn, girl.
I hop in the Uber that just pulled up and we drive the several blocks to the restaurant; Gio—Human Gio, not the dog—offered to come pick me up, but I politely declined. Not because I don’t trust him, but because the idea of him showing up on my doorstep feels… too soon.
Also, there’s the matter of Little Gio.
My loyal, judgmental dog is home, probably snoozing in the exact spot where I left him. Introducing Human Gio to his namesake tonight feels like it’s going to be a whole thing and that can wait.
I giggle at the thought as I stare out the window at the city lights of Houston passing me by—everything feels a little brighter tonight.
A little more alive.
The ride is only a few, short minutes and my brain is already buzzing with what-ifs. What if I trip on the way in? What if I spill something. What if I have to fart?
He’s standing outside the restaurant when we pull up, looking so unbelievably handsome it should honestly be illegal. Like, dang. The kind of handsome that makes you rethink allll the questionable guys you’ve dated before and wonder why you ever settled for less.
My panties get wet by about 20%.
Gio is leaning casually against the railing for the building, his hands tucked into his pockets, shirt snug enough to hint at the body that spends more time at the gym than I spend watching Netflix. Which is a ton.
His hair looks effortlessly perfect, like he woke up five minutes ago and decided to make the rest of us mere mortals feel inferior.
Smoking hot.
I take one last deep breath, smoothing down my dress and checking my lipstick in my phone’s camera.
“Here goes nothing,” I mutter to myself as I step out onto the curb. For a second, I think my knees might give out. Or my heels might. Either way, I say a silent prayer that I can walk ten feet to him without face-planting and my life flashes before my eyes.
“Wow,” he says, his voice all warm and gooey. “You look.” He lets out a low whistle. “Incredible.”
And then I notice the flowers.
How did I not see them before?
The bouquet is a mix of soft pinks and whites, with little pops of green that make it look like something out of a Pinterest board. It’s not one of those over-the-top, massive arrangements you see in romantic comedies—just thoughtful, simple, perfect.
He holds them toward me. “These are for you.”
I take them, bringing them to my nose so I can sniff their delicate fragrance and smile into them, too, before raising my gaze at him.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice softer now. “They’re beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as you,” he replies, his tone so sincere I almost roll my eyes but don’t have the heart.
Gio surprises me further by leaning down and kissing me—on the cheek, next to my mouth. The contact is fleeting—just a whisper of warmth—but sends a zippy little jolt straight through me.
Straight to my lady parts, to be specific.
Panties = 25%.
Then it occurs to me.
I have a crush on him.
I have a crush on one of the nation’s hottest, most eligible hockey players and he’s gazing down at me as if I were…
As if…
He has a giant crush on me, too, all starry-eyed; the kind of look that belongs in a romance novel. The kind of look that makes you forget you’re standing on a city sidewalk clutching a bouquet of flowers while your brain turns to MUSH!