Page 25 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot

“Gio freaking Montagalo,” Dolly repeats, shaking her head like she’s witnessing a miracle. “Goddamn, I’m jealous. If a man like that looked at me the way he’s looking at you, I’d be planning the wedding.”

Before I can reply, the Baddies light up the scoreboard again and the arena explodes with noise.

Dolly jumps up, screaming and clapping, while I try to focus on anything other than the six-foot-four goalie who’s been living rent-free in my head since the second I saw him sitting at the bar on my corner.

Tonight Gio is sharp and unrelenting, blocking every shot being blasted his way, and the crowd is

Eating.

It.

Up.

“See? Just doin’ his job,” I say, gesturing toward him. “Nothing to be jealous of.”

Dolly whirls around to face me, her grin so wide it could rival the arena lights.

“Nothing to be jealous of? Are youblind?The man is outthere single-handedly shutting down the other team, and I swear he keeps checking to make sure you’re still watching.”

I had noticed that, but I’m not about to admit it.

“He is not,” I argue, crossing my arms. “He’s literally focused on the puck. You know, like aprofessional.”

Dolly snickers, leaning closer. “Oh, sweetie, the only thing he’s more focused on than that puck is you. I mean, look at him! He’s putting on a clinic while you sit here pretending your stomach isn’t doing flips.”

“It’s not doing flips,” I say, immediately betraying myself with a deep breath to calm the chaos in my chest. “It’s nerves. And the beer—you know what it does to me.”

Lies.

All lies.

Despite my best efforts to play it cool, I can’t help but let my eyes trail after him, drawn to the precision in every movement.

The buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the period, and the players begin their slow glide toward the benches. The crowd cheers and claps, a sea of energy that doesn’t let up for a second.

“Last chance to admit you’re into him before he comes over here and proves me right.”

“He’s not coming over,” I say, my voice firm but my resolve shaky.

“Why would he? He has a game to play.”

Dolly grins, a knowing glint in her eye. “Oh, honey. He’s playing a different game now.”

She shrugs, unconvinced. “Suit yourself. But I’m telling you right now—if he skates over again, I’m taking a video. The internet deserves to see this.”

I glare at her, but the intermission show starting on the ice pulls her attention away before I can argue.

For a moment, I let myself relax, the noise and lights of the arena dulling the chaos in my head. But it doesn’t last long. Because no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about him.

I am a nobody.

With a smart mouth.

There is no way I’m ever going to see him again.

That thought should be comforting—it really should—but instead, it twists in my chest, leaving me feeling hollow as young kids in Baddies jerseys race oversized, inflatable pucks toward the goal while the crowd roots for them.

It’s adorable, really, but it does nothing to settle the storm in my head.

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