Page 35 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot

I shift slightly in my seat, forcing myself to focus on something else—anything else. But it’s hard when she’s sitting across from me, her eyes daring me to keep up with her.

Her lips are moving but I’m no longer listening to a word she’s saying.

Blah blah “…my students love me, I’ll have you know.”

Oh Ibetthey fucking do.

My gaze dips to her mouth as she talks, the curve of her lips pulling me in. Glossy. Full. Pale pink tongue darting out to lick them. Every word out of her mouth is designed to knock me off balance and it’s working…

“Are you even listening to me?” she asks suddenly, chin tilting as her voice cuts through the fog in my brain.

“What? Yeah, of course. Your students love you.”

She narrows her eyes. Doesn’t believe me. “Uh-huh. What else did I say?”

“Uh…” I scramble, frantically replaying the last ten seconds until I come up with, “Something about office hours.”

Her lips press together as she tries to hold back a laugh. “All I have to say is,wow.”

“In my defense, as soon as you said professor, I started objectifying you.”

Austin’s eyes widen.

“You’ve gotta admit,” I continue. “It’s not every day a guy meets someone as gorgeous as youandfinds out she’s brilliant.”

Her cheeks flush, a deep pink that she tries to hide by dipping her chin and brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“I’m not brilliant,” she mutters, though her lips are curving into a reluctant smile.

“You definitely are,” I counter, gaze fixed on her. She can’t convince me otherwise. “Brilliant, beautiful, and apparently modest.”

Which is more than I can say for myself.

She lets out a soft laugh, finally looking up at me, her eyes narrowing. “You’re ridiculous.”

Maybe.

“Can we change the subject?” she asks, the blush still lingering on her cheeks.

Before I can respond, a voice interrupts from behind me. “Oh my God, are you Gio Montagalo?”

I glance over my shoulder, already bracing myself. A guy in his early twenties, wearing a Baddies hoodie and a baseball cap, is standing a few feet away, staring at me like he’s just won the lottery.

“Yup,” I say, offering a polite smile. “That’s me.”

“No fucking way!” he says, his voice rising in excitement. He pulls out his phone, fumbling with it as he steps closer. “Holy shit, man—I’m such a huge fan. Can I, uh, get an autograph or something?”

“Sure,” I say, reaching for the napkin on the table. “You got a pen?”

The guy practically throws one at me, and I scribble my name across the napkin before handing it back.

“Thanks, man,” he says, grinning from ear to ear. Then his gaze shifts to Austin, and his eyebrows shoot up. “Wait—is this her?”

“Her who?” Austin joins the conversation, glancing around to discover who theheris though we all know what he’s referring to. He’s clearly seen the news.

“You know,” the guy says, snapping his fingers and loudly whispering, “The girl from last night’s game. Holy balls, dude—the story is true. I thought it was a load of crap.”

“Because they usuallyareloads of crap,” I tell him, keeping my tone casual. Flippant. “Don’t believe everything you see on the internet.”

---