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)
Totally not the same.
“But seriously,” I say, glancing down at Gio as he trots along beside me, blissfully unaware of the existential crisis happening just a few feet above him. “What do you think he sees in me? Objectively? Because I can’t figure it out.”
Gio barks, his tail wagging furiously as we turn a corner, and I roll my eyes.
“Yeah, yeah, I know—you think I’m amazing. You also eat cat shit and chase your own tail, so excuse me if I give little weight in your opinion of me.”
“Gio. His ex-girlfriends all look like runway models and here I am with my cardigan collection and a bad habit of accidentally quoting Jane Austen when I’m flustered.” I tug at my baby blue cardigan sweater; it’s layered over a white tee shirt.
My dog sneezes.
I shake my head, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. “No, I get it. You’re right. Cardigans are sexy.”
Never judge a girl wearing a cardigan.
Damn straight.
“Look, I know I’m not exactly a hockey WAG or a puck bunny, whatever they call them,” I say, my voice softer now. “And I know I’ll probably embarrass myself at least a dozen more times before this relationship is over, but…” I trail off, biting my lip as the thought forms. “He chose me, didn’t he?”
Gio barks.
By the time we circle back to my apartment, I feel a little lighter, a little less trapped in my own head. Gio prances happily inside, pleased with our stroll, and I can’t help but smile as I unclip his leash.
Within seconds he’s gone, off like a shot to grab a toy.
21
gio
My sister isn’t responding to her text messages.
Weird.
Usually, she’s glued to her phone, rapid-firing back sarcastic replies or random memes that don’t make sense half the time. Tonight though?
Radio silence.
I’ve called twice, too. Straight to voicemail.
The knot in my stomach tightens as I head down to her apartment. It’s probably nothing. Maybe she left her phone at work or went out with friends. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. She’s my sister. I know her better than anyone else, and this isn’t like her.
While I’m in the elevator, I shoot Austin another message.
Odd that she hasn’t gotten back to me, either?
Not that I expect her to be waiting by her cell, but still. We’re in that honeymoon phase and can’t get enough of each other…
After a long day of practice, my body is beat down and tired. My shoulders ache, my legs feel like lead, and all I want—the only thing I want—is to talk to one of the two leading ladies in my life. Is that so wrong?
A quick message. A phone call. Anything to remind me that the world isn’t just weights, drills, and endless team meetings. But no. I get nothing.
Not from my sister, not from Austin.
Fuck. Is this what pouting feels like?
I WANT ATTENTION. IS THAT SO WRONG?
The elevator dings, and I step out into the hallway. Her apartment is all the way at the end of the hall, and with every step I take, my mind spirals. Is she sick? Hurt? God, please don’t let this be one of those horror movie scenarios where I walk in and find her body on the— No.
She’s probably taking a nap. Or a shower.
She’s fine.
When I turn the corner to her apartment, I slow down.
Laughing.
I hear laughing…
It grows louder as I approach Nova’s door, muffled but unmistakable. Two voices, both female.
One of them is definitely my sister—her laugh is impossible to mistake, that obnoxious, almost hysterical sound that makes everyone else laugh, too.
Muffled voices.
Snorting.
I stop in my tracks, tilting my head.
I inch closer to the door, their laughter tumbling out in waves now. It’s not just polite chuckling—it’s full-blown, gasping-for-air kind of laughter. My brow furrows as I stand there, listening, torn between relief and confusion.
Austin?
I try to make sense of what I’m hearing. The two of them are absolutely losing it, laughing so hard it sounds like they’re struggling to breathe. I can make out a few words between the gasps, but they’re so garbled, it’s like listening to an inside joke I’ll never understand.
I knock firmly, loud enough to cut through their wheezing. The laughing stops immediately, replaced by the kind of silence that’s more suspicious than reassuring.
“It’s me,” I call out. “Open up.”
Nothing.
I knock again, harder this time. “Seriously, I know you’re in there. Stop pretending you don’t hear me.”
A muffled “Shhh!” comes from inside, followed by a burst of barely-contained giggles.
Great.
They’re messing with me.
This is so annoying.
I try the door handle and surprisingly, it turns.
I push the door open and step inside. The smell of one of Nova’s candles smacks me in the face first, followed by the sound of upbeat tunes from the sound system.
Then I see them.
My sister and Austin, cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by an array of snacks: half-eaten popcorn, an open bag of chips, and what looks like an entire cheese board they didn’t even bother putting on plates. A half-empty bottle of wine sits between them, two mismatched glasses perched precariously on the coffee table.