Page 23 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot

He points to it with his gloved hand and I want to die.

I…

I…

My mouth drops open and I watch as he leans forward, pursing his lips and presses them against the glass in a wet kiss.

Did he—did hejust kiss it?

Yes he did.

There are lip prints to prove it.

The roar of the crowd around us barely registers because all Ican focus on is him. The smirk as he winks, his gloved hand resting on the edge of the boards like this is the most normal, natural thing to do.

As if we were the only people here.

Dolly grabs my arm, shaking me. “Oh my God! Did that just happen? Did he seriously just do that?”

“I—”Words fail me. My mouth opens and closes like I’m a fish, brain scrambling to process what the hell happened.

I can’t move.

Can’t breathe.

All I can do is sit there, holding thisridiculousglitter-covered sign, while Gio Montagalo—the man I roasted within an inch of his life—stares me down like I’m the most entertaining thing he’s seen all night.

And maybe it is.

I’m shook.

Inshock.

I’m…

As Gio skates away, blending back into the flow of warm-ups, I finally let out the breath. My heart is pounding, my grip on the glitter-covered sign so tight it’s a wonder I haven’t crushed it yet.

I let it fall to the ground.

Dolly nudges me hard enough to jolt me back to reality. “Okay, seriously.Whatthe hell was that? What on earth is going on?”

I shake my head, still staring at the ice like it’s going to give me answers.

“I have no idea.” Actually, that is not true. “That’s the guy who gave me the tickets.”

“Him?” Dolly’s brow is furrowed, confused. I’d told her about our exchange at the bar but clearly there are details neither of us could have predicted.

“Dolly.” I put my hand on her arm. “The horrible things I said to that man. What’s the protocol for apologizing to theprofessional athlete you were talking shit about?” My groan is loud enough for her to hear. “Look at him! He’s down there skating laps like it’s no big deal, and I’m over here contemplating faking my own death.”

“Don’t youdare.” Dolly laughs. “This is amazing. You insulted the star goalie of the Baddies and not only does he not hate you, but he’s out here putting on a show for you. It’s like—foreplay.”

Foreplay.

Sounds fucked up.

“Donotcall it that.”

She grins, unbothered. “What else would you call it? That man isflirting, and you’re sitting here having acrisis.”

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