Page 9 of Can't Always Get What You Want

I don’t know if he leaves his dishes in the sink—or if he’s the type to use “your” instead of “you’re.” I don’t know if he listens when women talk or if he’s secretly the kind of guy who thinks therapy is for people who “need to toughen up.”

I also don’t know if he’s emotionally available or if he’s saying the right things in his dating bio because he knows exactly what women want to hear.

I refuse to be a cliché.

I will not be that girl: the one who gets tangled up with her brother’s hot, charming teammate, ignores every single red flag, and then has to deal with the slow-motion train wreck when it inevitably crashes and burns.

That won’t be me.

Nope.Absolutely not.

If Luca and I were ever to become a thing… it would ruin everything.

Not just for me.

It would be awkward for Gio—painfully, irreparably awkward.

He’s not just my brother, he’s also Luca’s captain. The locker room is practically Gio’s second home, and dating me would make Luca a walking conflict of interest. Right?

Wouldn’t it?

I bite down on my lip as I pull my hair into a ponytail, wrapping the band around it three times and letting it bounce.

Can you imagine the tension in the locker room if this date goes bad? What if we’re dating and have a fight? What if we break up? What if I’m crying and Gio wants to defend myhonor? What if Luca gets benched and people whisper that it’s because ofme?

Like I’ve cursed him.

That shit happens, you know.

I’ve seen it a million times.

It wouldn’t just be uncomfortable. It would be humiliating.

All the more reason why I should ignore Luca Babineaux. But instead because your girl here clearly enjoys self-sabotage, I type back.

Me: Fine. One drink. But just so we’re clear—this is not a date.

His response is instant.

Luca: Never said it was.

“Oh he’s smooth. Real smooth…” Look at him trying to reverse psychology me into thinking he doesn’t think this is a date! Ha!“Nice try, Luca Babineaux. But I see what you’re doing.”

Or.

Maybe he doesn’t actually see me that way? Maybe I’m the one reading into this. Maybe I should try harder to impress him—that would serve him right.

I refuse to be mind-fucked into caring about this.

To prove just how unfuckable I am, I refuse to put in any effort beyond what is absolutely necessary to show up, drink my one drink, and leave with my sanity intact.

I will wear the dullest, least date-like outfit I can think of, because if this isn’t a date, I need to look like it’s not a date.

No makeup.

No cute top that shows off my amazing boobs.

And definitely no heels.

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