Page 37 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot

Since our meeting this weekend—if you can even call it a meeting—he’s been the only thing I can think about, and it’s beginning to show.

Case in point: the half-written grant proposal sitting on my laptop screen. Deadline tomorrow.

Words? Completely gone.

Focus? Nonexistent.

Not good.

This is ridiculous!

I’ve had crushes before; fleeting distractions that barely register in the grand scheme of things. But Gio? He’s a category all his own. It’s not just because he is a famous athlete. Or because he’s good-looking—though, let’s be honest, the man could model for a cologne ad and no one would bat an eye.

Nope. It’s his presence.

The way he’s so damn sure of himself, yet somehow manages to make me laugh even when I’m trying to be mad at him because we’re in a media frenzy I never asked to be part of.

I glance at my phone sitting on the desk, face down like it’s a temptation I can’t afford to indulge. He hasn’t texted me since we met Friday at Five Alarm, which should be a relief.

It means he’s probably moved on, forgotten about me entirely. Right?

Right.

So why does that thought make me feel like shit?

Because. You have the hots for him. You think he’s funny, charming, and he’s a great conversationalist. He’s not boring. Plus, he’s tall.

So.

Tall.

My office door creaks open, and I nearly jump out of my chair.

“Professor Adams?” A student who works in this department peeks her head through the crack. “You have a meeting scheduled with the department chair in five minutes. I thought you might need a reminder since you’re normally early to those?”

Crap.

I plaster on a smile, hoping I don’t look as flustered as I feel.

“Thanks, Logan. I’ll be there in a minute.”

She nods and disappears, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to stand and grab my planner. Work.Focus on work. Gio Montagalo does not belong in this office, he does not belong in my head, he does not belong anywhere near my carefully constructed life.

Period.

You are in academia.

His face almost blew off when you said the word professor.

The memory makes me laugh, despite the serious tone of my thoughts. The way his jaw dropped, the way he blinked like I’djust told him I was an astronaut—it’s almost enough to distract me from how off-balance he makes me feel.

Almost.

I step into the hallway, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder as I head toward the department chair’s office. The sound of low chatter drifts through the corridor, and at first, I don’t pay much attention. But then I hear it—thatvoice.

I stop in my tracks, my heart skipping a beat.

---