Page 67 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot

Smoking hot.

I take one last deep breath, smoothing down my dress and checking my lipstick in my phone’s camera.

“Here goes nothing,” I mutter to myself as I step out onto the curb. For a second, I think my knees might give out. Or my heels might. Either way, I say a silent prayer that I can walk ten feet to him without face-planting and my life flashes before my eyes.

“Wow,” he says, his voice all warm and gooey. “You look.” He lets out a low whistle. “Incredible.”

And then I notice the flowers.

How did I not see them before?

The bouquet is a mix of soft pinks and whites, with little pops of green that make it look like something out of a Pinterestboard. It’s not one of those over-the-top, massive arrangements you see in romantic comedies—just thoughtful, simple, perfect.

He holds them toward me. “These are for you.”

I take them, bringing them to my nose so I can sniff their delicate fragrance and smile into them, too, before raising my gaze at him.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice softer now. “They’re beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” he replies, his tone so sincere Ialmostroll my eyes but don’t have the heart.

Gio surprises me further by leaning down and kissing me—on the cheek, next to my mouth. The contact is fleeting—just a whisper of warmth—but sends a zippy little jolt straight through me.

Straight to my lady parts, to be specific.

Panties = 25%.

Then it occurs to me.

I have a crush on him.

I have a crush on one of the nation’s hottest, most eligible hockey players and he’s gazing down at me as if I were…

As if…

He has a giant crush on me, too, all starry-eyed; the kind of look that belongs in a romance novel. The kind of look that makes youforgetyou’re standing on a city sidewalk clutching a bouquet of flowers while your brain turns to MUSH!

Ugh!

“You smell good.” He makes my legs even wobblier with that deep rasp and my brain scrambles for a witty response.

“So do you,” I manage, my voice soft and breathless.Wow, Austin. Bravo. For a college professor who lectures in front of hundreds of people on a weekly basis, you really have a way with words.

As he opens the door to the building for me, I catch a glimpse of our reflection in the glass—him: tall and effortlessly handsome. Me: sexy and serious and clutching the bouquet in my hand like it’s some kind of lifeline.

For a split second, I wonder if I’m dreaming.

Someone pinch me.

My brain scrambles—desperately, hopelessly—for a witty, clever something to say—as we step into the elevator for our climb to the restaurant. When those doors close, the soft hum of motion fills the space as we begin our ascent.

I glance at the glowing numbers above the door—75th floor. Of course it has to be one of the tallest buildings in the city, giving me way too much time to stew in my own thoughts.

Gio leans casually against the wall, hands in his pockets, watching me with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“Nervous?” he asks, his lips twitching into a teasing smile.

I lift my chin, determined to be nonchalant. “Why would I be nervous?”

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