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)
“Oh, babe.” Poppy pats his arm like he’s a trauma victim. “You should’ve knocked louder.”
“I did knock!”
Luca groans behind me, looking like he wants the saloon floor to open up and swallow him whole.
“Okay,” Gio growls. “I’m leaving. I’m going to pee. Alone. Like a civilized adult.”
“Great talk, bro!” I call after him as he all but slams the door shut.
Poppy swings her attention back to me, her hat a little crooked, her drink somehow still full. “Okay, so now that Gio’s peeing out his trauma, you’re going to tell me everything.”
As if. “I will literally never tell you everything.”
My best friend pouts. “I don’t love who you’ve become.”
I laugh, dragging her down the hallway, Luca trailing along behind us. “It’s called privacy. You should try it sometime.”
Poppy notches her chin up. “Will you be saying that when I’m in a relationship and you want all the details?”
“When you’re in a relationship, we’ll renegotiate.”
“I’m holding you to that,” Poppy says, swaying dramatically like she’s in a perfume commercial. “Also, just so you know, I already put in a request to the universe. Tall, tattooed, emotionally available. And bilingual, preferably.”
“Ah,” Luca says from behind us. “A unicorn.”
Poppy glances over her shoulder. “Tell me you wouldn’t date a hot, emotionally available unicorn.”
Luca shrugs. “I mean... I wouldn’t not.”
“Exactly,” she says, spinning to walk backward, drink raised like a priest offering communion. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go make questionable choices near the margarita machine and try to convince Austin’s cousin to show me his abs.”
I turn to my boyfriend. “You know what would be amazing?”
“Hmm?”
“If you had a friend we could set her up with.”
He shakes his head instantly. “Nope. Not happening.”
I blink. “Wait—why not?”
He levels me with a look. “Because she scares me.”
“That’s not a reason. That’s a personality trait.” I throw my hands up. “Come on, Luca, you have a whole team full of hot, questionably mature, emotionally stunted athletes who need molding—that’s just what she needs right now.”
I sigh long and loud. “Now you sound exactly like my brother when I was single trying to mingle.”
Cockblockers, both of them.
“Babe, it’s nothing personal against her. I try not to get involved in anyone’s business.”
Hmph. That’s not convenient.
I sigh dramatically, snagging two pink cake pops from a tray shaped like a saddle. “Fine. But when she ends up dating some douchebag accountant named Bryce, we’ll both know it’s your fault.”
41
luca
Three Months Later
If someone had told me three months ago that I’d be hauling my worldly possessions into a high-rise apartment with its own freight elevator, I would’ve laughed in their face.
Laughed.
Mocked.
Told them to eat drywall.
But here I am. Sweaty.
Winded.
But Luca, what are you doing? You own a home!
True. I do own a house—and a large one at that—with a fenced in backyard, three-car garage, a built-in grill I haven’t figured out how to use, and a living room bigger than Nova’s entire apartment. And I left it.
Voluntarily.
If I’m going to find out what it’s like to live with a woman—to really live with one—then I want it to be her.
Let that sink in.
I’m not selling the house or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking. Cash and Skaggs are currently fighting over the primary bedroom (which is prime real estate) and deciding whether or not to rent out the other bedroom or turn it into an office.
I mean, yeah—I’ve had to downsize tons of my shit. Like, a lot. Half my wardrobe is currently vacuum-sealed in the back of Nova’s closet. My hockey gear now shares space with a box labeled “fall throw pillows” and since there are more hair products lining the shower ledge than I’ve ever seen in one spot at once, mine are gone. I’ll use hers.
I’m currently schlepping a heavy box labeled LUCA’S IMPORTANT SHIT (DO NOT TOUCH) that I know for a fucking fact she has opened. So goddamn nosey, that one.
Horrible at following directions.
But I’m here because I want to be.
Because I’m stupid in love with her.
Because I can’t keep waking up without her beside me.
“How many shoes does one woman need?” I grumble as I step into the walk-in closet, damn near tripping over her collection of boots, heels, and whatever the hell those bejeweled sandal-things are called.
Nova’s apartment is massive.
Like, absurdly large for someone who has always lived alone, and I can’t believe this view is going to be mine, now, too. The tall ceilings, massive windows…this view of the city skyline…
The bed in the center of the wall.
And can we talk about the kitchen? So jacked about the kitchen space; I can hide all the unnecessary appliances and shit I’ve accumulated over the past few years as a bachelor. What is that one thing called that cooks frozen crap in ten minutes? An air fryer?
Now this place is mine.
Kind of.
Sort of.