Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 102607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Pushed too hard, right?
Right?
My hands are clammy. I hate this life of lies!
I type back something breezy, trying to keep Gio from sniffing out my rising panic.
Me: Thanks. I take my vitamins every morning like a good girl but I’ll take extra so I can see your precious little angel baby <3 Don’t want to get my niece sick.
I love saying ‘my niece.’
Gio isn’t wrong when he said I need to visit them more; I can’t expect Austin to schlepp the baby all over the place for my benefit—I vow to do better now that I know it’s bothering my brother. It’s the least I can do considering how much he has done for me.
I suck—but only a little. And maybe it wouldn’t be this bad if Luca and I had some kind of plan. A timeline. A clue what we’re doing.
Are we keeping this a secret forever?
Is this some kind of romantic hostage situation where we keep sneaking around until someone—aka: Gio—inevitably blows a gasket? Or are we just delaying the inevitable because it’s easier to roll around in the sheets and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist?
I haven’t texted Luca all day—on purpose. I knew he had practice. I didn’t want to be annoying. Didn’t want to hover. I figured I’d wait for him to reach out first…
Screw that!
I’m done waiting.
Me: You okay???
I stare at my cell until the three little dots appear next to his name, screen burning into my eyeballs.
Three dots appear and I exhale. He’s typing—thank God.
He’s okay.
He’s alive!
Hello, dramatic much?!
Luca: Yeah. Rough day. Nothing to worry about.
That is literally the most Luca thing he could’ve said.
Always trying to carry the weight by himself. Always trying to make me feel better, even when he’s the one bleeding out.
Nope, not today.
I press my lips together and type fast.
Me: You threw up at practice and never told me about it. We’ve slept together. Your wiener has been INSIDE Mavis—pretty sure that gives me the right to worry.
Ha ha. I said wiener.
This time, the dots don’t come right away. They come. They go.
They appear again.
I can picture him now—sitting there with his head in his hands, maybe slouched on his couch with Nugget next to him, ideally watching TV.
Luca: I’m just tired, Nova.
Luca: And maybe…
Maybe…
Maybe WHAT?!
Is this him waving a tiny white flag?! Is this his cry for help? DOES HE NEED ME but is too proud to beg?!
SOS!
I launch off the couch, my body moving before my brain can catch up with it. I race to my bedroom like a tornado, yanking open the closet doors and digging through piles of clean laundry I never got around to folding.
I hate laundry…
My hands move on autopilot—sweatpants? Joggers? No, jeans. Hoodie? Wait—no, too warm.
Hair?
Still a mess.
Ugh, it's a damn disaster.
I stand in front of the full-length mirror affixed to the wall, running a brush through my tangled bun, trying to look presentable without looking like I tried too hard.
We all know this is a delicate art.
If Luca is sick. Or hurting—even if he won’t say it out loud—I would like to be there. I NEED TO BE THERE FOR MY MAN! and don’t care if he looks like hell or smells like barf and Gatorade!
Hear me roar!
I want to be the one who shows up for him.
I am bringing loyalty, a newfound emotional stability, and possibly—Pedialyte.
Grabbing my keys from the table next to my front door, I shove my phone in my jeans pocket. I am a woman on a rescue mission. No cape, just high-key anxiety and determination.
I go to my location app and pull up my last location—his house—poke on the address and let the navigator guide me.
It takes forever.
Every slow driver in the universe decided today is a great day to leisurely tour the city at twelve miles per hour!
UGHHHHH!
By the time I pull up to Luca’s place, my fingers are tapping anxiously against the steering wheel and I barely remember putting the car in park before yanking the keys out of the ignition.
I don’t even give myself a second to second-guess showing up at his place unannounced.
I just beeline up the walkway to the door—which, thank the lord above—is unlocked.
The place is quiet.
“Hello?”
I pause, listening for signs of life. No obnoxious video games blaring. No TV. No men’s voices.
No dog.
Nothing.
Okay. Phew. Thank God his roommates aren’t home. Don’t appear to be, anyway…
When I reach his bedroom door, my hand hovers over the knob. My heart is still pounding. What if he’s asleep? What if he’s mid-vomit? What if he’s actually dying and this is my last chance to be like, I like you I really, really like you.
I suck in a breath, turn the handle, and—
Luca is lying in the middle of his bed like a prince. Shirtless. Arms folded behind his head. Watching TV like he’s not the reason I practically drove here in emotional distress with electrolytes in my purse and murder in my heart.