Page 165 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot

Gio shakes his head slowly, muttering under his breath. “This changes everything.”

“Does it, though?” I tease, crossing my arms.

“Yes. Because now, not only do I have to teach our kid to skate, I’ve got to teachyoutoo.” He glances over, his face lit with a kind of childlike excitement that makes it impossible to stay annoyed. “It’s okay. Don’t worry.I’ve got this. I’ll teach you the basics first—balance, gliding, stopping. We’ll take it slow. I’ll even hold your hand the whole time.”

I burst out laughing. “Thanks.”

“You can’t be a hockey mom and not know how to skate.” He lets me know. “It’s, like, the first rule.”

“Gio, I never agreed to be a hockey mom,” I tease, though themental image of him teaching me to skate is admittedly kind of sweet. And the thought of our kid being on a hockey team….

Adorable.

“You will,” he says with a confident smirk. “Wait until you see me coaching from the bench. You won’t be able to resist.”

If my ovaries weren’t currently otherwise occupied, they’d be exploding from the cuteness. The idea of Gio shouting at tiny humans to “skate faster” while our kid looks up at him with awe?

It’s a recipe for emotional overload.

“You’ve really thought this through, eh?” I say, my voice softening despite my best efforts to stay teasing.

“I’ll make sure to keep it fun. No crazy coach dad energy—just hot dad energy.”

He already is a hot dad.

Looking at him has me practically drooling.

Swoon!

“So, what happens if the baby doesn’tlikehockey?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him because it is entirely possible our kid won’t have a single, athletic bone in their body—like their mama.

He gasps dramatically.

“Impossible. It’s in their DNA.”

“Gio,” I deadpan. “The baby could just as easilyhateice and decide they want to do ballet or play chess. What then?”

He scoffs. “Obviously I’ll learn how to be the best damn chess dad ever,” he says without missing a beat. “I’ll build a life-size chess set in the backyard

Good God.

No.

I laugh again, the kind of laugh that bubbles up uncontrollably.

“I love you,” I say, my head leaning back against the headrest, one hand resting protectively on my baby bump.

He reaches over, his hand warm and steady as he places it over mine, giving my bump a soft pat.

“I love you, too,” he says in a way that makes my chest ache in the best way. “Both of you.”

I let my eyes close for just a moment, a soft smile playing on my lips.

He’s a goofball.

A big, hot, sexy goofball.

Mygoofball.

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