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)
Austin: No, no, no not at all, I swear—I am not a liar. I just… don’t know how to talk to you yet. I’m figuring it out.
Gio: I’m easy to talk to, what are you talking about?
Austin: You’re intimidating as hell!!! Don’t pretend you weren’t aware.
My fingers are moving a mile a minute, texting faster than I’ve texted before.
Gio: That is not my goal. The last thing I want is for you to feel uncomfortable with me. If you do, I apologize
Austin: Oh, I TOTALLY feel comfortable with you. All I meant was… I’m still wrapping my brain around the fact that we’re friends.
Gio: Friends?
Gio: You’re my lucky charm
Austin:
Gio: And.
Gio: You like me. Admit it.
Austin: ADMIT IT?! You’re going to be waiting a long time, buddy.
Gio: Shhh… I’m a patient man.
Austin: Tell you what—if I show up, it’ll be entirely on my own terms.
Gio: Deal. As long as those terms include you being there. And you sit your sweet little ass in that special seat.
I tap my fingers against the steering wheel, waiting for her reply. The message is delivered, the “read” receipt taunting me like I’m in the net and missed an easy save.
I could sit here all night if it meant winning this little back-and-forth with Austin. She’s stubborn as hell, but I know she’s got a weak spot for me somewhere in there.
The phone buzzes in my hand.
Austin: You don’t give up, do you?
I grin. Victory is mine.
Gio: Nope.
My thumbs hover over the keyboard. Should I add something flirty? Dirty. Something to make her blush?
No.
Not yet.
Don’t want to freak her the fuck out and scare her away.
Austin: I feel like this deal heavily favors you. Where’s my incentive?
Gio: I told you. You can have WHATEVER you want…
The three dots appear. Then vanish. Appear again. She’s typing, erasing, and typing again.
I grin at the thought of her overthinking this.
Austin: Whatever I want, huh?
Gio: Yup. Name it.
She likes this game as much as I do.
Austin: I’ll have to think this through to make it worth my while, since I’ll be doing all of the work.
Gio: YOU'RE doing all the work?! What about me, I’m busting my balls down on the ice! That seat is cushy!
Austin: Technically, yes. But being your lucky charm is A LOT OF PRESSURE. What if I’m there and you still lose next week??
Gio: We won’t.
Austin: You don’t know that.
Gio: I’m also not willing to risk finding out.
Gio: So tell me what you want.
10
austin
Icannot force myself to wear a MONTAGALO jersey.
I want to.
But I can’t.
The man is cocky enough; I’m not about to stroke his ego by showing up to the game wearing his name across my back and his number across my chest.
Nervously, I check my makeup one more time, leaning forward for a closer look as I rub glossy lip stain over my bottom lip with the tip of my pinkie finger.
I slide into my boots, glancing down at Gio.
My dog.
Yes.
My dog's name is Gio—have I failed to mention that?
And I know what you’re thinking: “Austin, there is no way you can tell the man you named your dog after him. He’ll think you’re a total psycho!”
Bullshit. Plenty of people name their pets after their favorite players. People get tattoos of their faces, their numbers, their freaking stats! People do far crazier things, and let’s be real—there are probably a dozen other animals named after Gio out there.
Mine is just one of many.
So there.
"Listen, buddy.” I look down at him. “I’ll only be gone for the first period." I pause, reconsidering. "Maybe two." I sigh as he stares up at me, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. "Okay, fine—I might stay the whole time. But I won’t be late."
I crouch down, scratching behind his ears. "I’ll keep an eye on you with the cameras, and if you’re having a rough night, I’ll have Dolly come check on you. Deal?"
He just keeps gazing up at me with those big, soulful eyes.
"Don’t look at me like that. You can’t come with me."
He blinks.
I give him more pets.
"Gio, seriously, stop. You had school today, played with all your friends—you should be knocked out in your bed right now, not making me feel bad about leaving."
I stand. "Be good, okay? No guilt trips. No chewing the couch cushions. I mean it this time."
He tilts his head, all innocent and adorable, as if he has no idea what I’m talking about. But he knows: Gio is a chewer and often gets into trouble, hence the cameras throughout my apartment.
Video evidence.
"Alright, I’m going. And I will be checking the cameras.” I narrow my eyes.
I grab my keys and the sign I made for the last game that screams GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER, and sprinkled in glitter.
Thank God I saved it because I’m too lazy and too busy to make a new one.