Page 191 of Can't Always Get What You Want

“That sounds so damn cheesy, but yeah.” My best friend nods, then adds, “Do you think any of Luca’s teammates would be attracted to smart, mouthy women who could reprogram their TVs?”

I cackle.

And make a mental note to check the team group chat.

Let the matchmaking games begin…

43

luca

Iam going to propose.

As in: marriage.

Does it feel too soon? Maybe.

But you only live once and I’ve found the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with—why wait?

“Is it always this bright in here?” I squint, shielding my eyes as we walk through the jewelry store to a corner booth where the sales associate has everything laid out in anticipation for my arrival.

Including two glasses and a bottle of champagne.

The thing is—I already bought the ring. This isn’t a browsing trip. I’m not here to hold tiny velvet boxes with trembling fingers and weigh the emotional gravity of diamond cuts. That ship sailed three weeks ago when I spontaneously walked past this store and decided to push through the door.

Forty-five minutes later, I’d ordered the ring and today, I’m here to pick it up.

Gio claps a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “You’re nervous. That’s why everything feels aggressive.”

“I’m not nervous,” I disagree.

He glances sideways. “You have armpit stains.”

I lift my arm to inspect my armpits; I’ve perspired through my sweatshirt and there’s nothing I can do about it but suffer through it.

The sales associate rises, gesturing for us to have a seat at the table where the ring box is centered under a spotlight like it’s being prepped for auction at Sotheby’s.

The box is open.

The diamond sparkles.

Wow. I am impressed. “It’s glowing.”

“It’s not glowing, bro. That’s the lighting.”

“Mr. Babineaux,” the associate says with a pleased smile. “We think you’ll find everything just as you requested. Platinum band, oval solitaire, hidden halo, custom engraving on the inside.”

Gio leans in. “You got it engraved?”

I nod, swallowing hard. “It says: ‘You’re stuck with me now.’”

Nova’s brother laughs. “She’s going to love it.” There’s a note in his voice I wasn’t expecting. Pride. Affection? “You’ve come a long way from the guy who once tried to cook frozen pizza without taking off the plastic wrap.”

He bursts out laughing. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m a romantic idiot,” I correct, staring at the ring—afraid to touch it.

The associate offers us champagne, which I accept solely to stop my hands from shaking and Gio watches me with one arm lazily slung over the back of the velvet bench.

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