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)
Dammit.
Everyone is so busy.
Nova: Do you have any interest in having drinks or something? Tonight or whenever?
My heart stops.
Drinks with his sister?
I mean—we took in a Baddies game but had that to distract us. One on one drinks seems so intimate! What if she asks me personal questions about myself?
What if this is all some elaborate ruse to interrogate me?
Seriously.
She caught me in bed with her brother—screwing him.
I stare at her message for far too long, overthinking every possible scenario. Nova grilling me about Gio. Nova realizing I’m just a person trying to figure things out like everyone else and deciding I’m not good enough for her brother.
My phone buzzes again, her follow-up making my stomach twist.
This is so much pressure!
Like a first date.
Nova: No pressure if you’re busy or if it’s weird! I just thought it’d be cool to hang out.
I let out a breath, trying to focus on the “no pressure” part. She’s being genuine. Normal. Doesn’t seem to have an ulterior motive.
I kind of want to say yes. It’s not like I don’t have time.
I start typing before I can talk myself out of it.
Me: Drinks sound good! Tonight works!
I have no life.
Just kidding. Now I do, thanks to her brother.
Her response is immediate, as if she was waiting for my reply.
Nova: YAY! Let’s do it. 7 okay?
Me: Perfect. See you then.
Tonight is going to be a test of my ability to not say something awkward. And knowing me?
I’m going to say something super awkward.
Still, as nervous as I am, there’s a tiny part of me that’s excited. Nova didn’t have to reach out, didn’t have to try to connect with me—but she did. Perhaps this is a chance to show her who I am outside of the mortifying situation she walked in on, and the psycho hockey fan she’s witnessed on two occasions.
The rest of my afternoon drags by.
I sleep-walk through a lecture and have office hours. One short meeting with the TA.
By the time I’m racing home to walk Gio, I’m more than ready to clear my head.
The second I clip his leash onto his collar, Gio is bounding out the door, his stubby tail wagging furiously as if this is the highlight of his day. It probably is, honestly. The cool evening air hits my face as we make our way down the sidewalk, and I finally feel like I can breathe again.
“Well, buddy,” I start, glancing down at him as he trots along beside me. “You’re the only Gio in my life who isn’t making me want to vomit right now.”
He has no idea what I’m talking about, but that’s what makes him the perfect listener.
“You know your namesake is kind of a big deal, right?” I continue, my voice softer now as we turn down a quieter street.
“Professional hockey player. Famous. Everyone loves him.”
He’s so hot.
I don’t say this part out loud, even though the dog has no idea what the hell I’m saying.
“What if I don’t fit into his world?” The thought has been sitting in the back of my mind for a while now, quietly gnawing away at my confidence. Gio’s world is big, flashy, full of people who expect him to be perfect all the time.
The world I’ve created for myself is small, predictable, and comfortable.
Boring, until now.
Safe.
Just me, my dog, and I.
Gio pauses to sniff at a patch of grass, completely oblivious to the mini-spiral happening above him. I tug gently on his leash, and we keep moving.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong. He’s amazing,” I admit, the words tumbling out as if saying them out loud will help me make sense of them. “He’s funny and ridiculously good in bed.”
The sex is so good.
“That thing he does with his tongue? My God.”
Gio barks, snapping me out of my thoughts, and I glance down to see him wagging his tail again, his excitement undeterred by my brooding.
“You’re right. Sorry,” I say, laughing softly. “Probably not the kind of thing I should be sharing with you, huh?” I go on. “It’s not that I don’t trust him,” I continue, thoughts taking a sharp left turn.
“I do. But dating someone like him? I’m basically just a nerd.”
A sexy nerd.
“The weird thing is he loves it. Like—he loves that I’m a professor. I think it turns him on. Is that weird? Is that a fetish?” It has to be.
Gio pees on a garbage can.
“You’re right, intelligence is sexy.”
I shouldn’t discount that.
“I worked my ass off to get to where I am the same way he did.”
Well. Not exactly the same.
He uses his body, I use my brain.
That’s the polite way of putting it, anyway. The man spends his life skating around in full gear, dodging pucks and body checks, while I sit at a desk grading papers about the cultural hegemony and structural functionalism to students who barely make it to class on time.