Page 35 of Power Pucking Play

"Let's start with the basics. What made Lexi Brookes the hard-hitting, De Luca-bashing journalist she is today?"

I hesitate, then figure, what the hell. In for a penny, in for a pound.

"My dad," I admit. "As you already know, he was...is...this big-shot sports journalist. The kind of guy who'd miss my birthday to cover the World Series."

Gio's quiet for a moment. "Sounds like a real prince."

"Oh, he's charming all right. Charmed his way right out of our lives when I was ten. As a result, Mom got a drinking problem. I got a postcard from the Olympics. And he got a Pulitzer."

"Jesus, Lex," Gio murmurs, and the nickname catches me off guard. "That's rough."

I shrug, aiming for nonchalance and probably missing by a mile. "It is what it is. Made me who I am, I guess. And in a way, my dad is probably the reason I've always been drawn to stories.As a kid, I devoured books like they were candy. And then, in college, I discovered the power of journalism."

Gio nods, his gaze intense as he listens.

"I wanted to be the one to tell people's stories," I continue. "To give them a voice and shed light on important issues."

"That's admirable." The words are genuine, and for some reason, they make me want to reveal even more.

"But it's not just about writing," I say, surprising myself with how easily this confession slips out. "It's about connecting with people. Getting beneath the surface and finding the heart of a story. It's about making a difference, no matter how small. I like to understand people." I shrug. "Probably because I didn't feel understood myself when I was young." I laugh, the sound humorless. "Wow. Nothing like daddy issues to fuel a career in sports journalism, right?"

Gio stops walking, turning to face me. "Is that why you're always gunning for me? Trying to prove something to dear old dad?"

"What? No!" I protest, but even to my own ears, it sounds weak. "I just...I call it like I see it, De Luca. You've given me plenty of material over the years."

He nods, a wry smile on his face. "Fair enough. Guess we've both got our demons, huh?"

"Yeah. Guess we do."

We start walking again, and Gio picks up where he left off at dinner, talking about his Nonna, and how important she's always been to him.

"She is something else," he says, a fond smile softening his features. "Tough as nails, but man, can she love. She always made me feel like I could take on the world, you know?"

I nod, understanding all too well. "But it wasn't enough, was it? To fill the hole your parents left?"

Gio's quiet for a long moment. "Nah," he finally admits. "Don't get me wrong, I love Nonna more than anything. But there was always this...I don't know, this need to prove myself. To be good enough that maybe they'd stop running around, traveling the world. Maybe they'd stop neglecting their kids. Maybe they'd stick around next time."

"Did they ever?"

He shakes his head. "Nah. But by then, I'd learned to stop hoping."

By the time we reach our hotel again, the sun has set and the lights of Seattle are twinkling in the distance.

Gio walks me to my room, and my heart thuds hard the entire way.

We reach my hotel room door, and I realize I don't want the night to end. Which is insane, because this is Gio De Luca we're talking about.

He’s been the bane of my professional existence. The guy I've been verbally eviscerating in print for years.

The guy who, somehow, in the span of one dinner, has managed to completely upend everything I thought I knew about him.

"Well," I say, fumbling for my key card. "This has been...enlightening."

Gio grins, and damn if it doesn't make my heart race. "Admit it, Brookes. I'm growing on you."

"Like a fungus, maybe."

He takes a step closer, and suddenly the air feels thick—as if it's suddenly hard to inhale or exhale. "You know," he says, his voice low, "for a pain-in-the-ass reporter, you're not half bad company."

---