Page 9 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot

So she’s always reminding me.

“A robot who likes his privacy.” I groan, running a hand through my hair. “Why are you like this?”

“Because I’m your sister,” she says with a shrug. “And you’d be totally lost without me.”

As much as I want to argue, I know she’s right; I would be lost without her.

Nova’s smirk softens as she reaches across the counter and slides a bag of gummy bears toward me.

“Eat one,” she demands, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.

I shake my head. “No thanks.”

“Eat a gummy bear.” She wiggles the bag. “Trust me, it helps.”

I stare at her, then at the bag, before reluctantly grabbing one. I pop it into my mouth to shut her up, the chewy sweetnesshitting my taste buds as she watches me with an annoyingly smug expression.

“See?” she says, leaning back in her chair with a satisfied grin.

“I feelsomuch better,” I deadpan.

“You’re welcome.” She ignores the sarcasm entirely, plucking another gummy bear out of the bag and biting its head off. “Now, tell me what’s going on with you.”

“It’s nothing,” I say finally, my voice quieter than I meant it to be. “One bad game.”

Nova snorts. “You’ve had bad games before, and you didn’t look this miserable. What gives?”

“It’s not just tonight,” I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “It’s been three games, Nova. Three. Everyone’s counting on me, and I can’t—I?—”

I trail off, not sure how to finish the sentence.

She doesn’t say anything at first, watches me with those sharp, calculating eyes. Somehow they always see right through me.

My sister sighs and gets up, walking around the counter to stand next to me, sliding her arm around my waist and giving me a squeeze.

“Know what your problem is?” she says, crossing her arms.

I glance at her.

“No, but I bet you’re going to tell me.”

She laughs. “You take everything too seriously. You’re allowed to screw up sometimes, Gio. You’re human. Mostly.”

“Not for the amount of money they’re paying me,” I mutter, leaning back against the counter.

Nova rolls her eyes, hopping up to sit on the edge of the counter like she owns the place.

“Boo-hoo, Mr. Million-Dollar Contract. Poor you, with your fancy penthouse and fancy sparkling water. The world must be so hard.”

“It’s not about the money,” I snap. “It’s about the team. They’re counting on me to deliver, and I’m?—”

“—Human,” she interrupts. “You said it’s not about the money, but you’re acting like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. Gio—it’s a game. You’re not curing cancer.”

“Not the point,” I say through gritted teeth, but she cuts me offagain.

“No, you’re missing the point,” she says, leaning forward. “You can’t carry the team on your own. That’s not how hockey works. You’re one guy, and last time I checked, there are five other dudes on the ice with you at all times. Maybe let them share some of the load, huh?”

I hate that she’s right.

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