Page 98 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot

“Me too,” she says, just above a whisper, her eyes shining a little too brightly. “Every damn day.”

We sit there for a moment, the silence heavy but not uncomfortable. It’s one of those rare moments where words aren’t necessary—where we both know exactly what the other is feeling.

After a while, Nova nudges me with her foot. “You know she’d kick our asses if she saw us sitting around moping.”

“We're not moping. We’re bonding over the fact that you busted in on me fucking my girlfriend.”

The word slips out before I can stop it.

And I don’t hate the sound of it.

My sister's eyes go wide and her mouth makes the surprised shape of an O.

“Pause,” she says, drawing out each word. “Girlfriend? Did you just say girlfriend?”

Her eyes are wide, and the grin splitting her face is borderline obnoxious. I groan, dragging a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling about ten years younger—like when she used to tease me about crushes in middle school.

“It just slipped out, okay?” I mutter, avoiding her gaze.

Nova’s smirk doesn’t fade. If anything, it grows fifty sizes wider.

“Itisa big deal. My brother, the emotionally constipated hockey player, just admitted he has a girlfriend. I feel like this is a milestone—our baby boy is growing up.”

“Can we not make this a big deal?”

“I’m not making it a big deal,” she says, setting her mug on the counter behind her and holding up her hands in mock surrender. “I’m appreciating the moment. They don’t happen often.”

“Yeah, well—appreciate it silently.”

Nova nods. Pretends to zip her lip.

Sighs.

“So what’s next with you and Austin?” She wants to know. “Another date?”

“I think so. She wants me to watch a movie at her place this weekend, but…”

Nova nods, her brows raised in curiosity. “But?” she repeats, leaning forward like she’s already anticipating the drama I’m about to unload.

“She has a dog.”

“So? You like dogs.”

I shift on my heels. “Not this dog.”

That has my sister's attention. “Why? What’s wrong with the dog?”

“It’s ugly.” I pause, dreading this moment. “And its name is Gio.”

My sister blinks.

Hand goes to the counter to brace herself as she dissolves into uncontrollable laughter. She’s gasping for air, face turning red as she struggles to form words.

“Shut. Up,” she coughs. “I’m dying, shut up she does not have a dog named Gio. How? Why?”

This isn’t exactly something I want to share, but Nova’s relentless stare is like a pry bar, cracking me open. “Her dad died,” I tell her quietly, glancing away. “And he was into hockey.”

Nova’s laughter halts mid-breath. Her head tilts, her expression softening with a bit of regret.

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