Page 112 of Can't Always Get What You Want

Austin blinks back. “So is duct tape. That doesn’t mean I want it holding up our oven.”

“Heseemedcapable,” Gio mutters, the way all men do when they’ve made a mistake and don’t want to admit they fucked up.

“Last week he brought his nephew who was vaping in the driveway,” Austin deadpans. “So professional.”

“Superprofessional,” I say, sipping from my water bottle and trying not to laugh too hard.

“You don’t evenlivehere,” Gio says, gesturing wildly at me through the screen. “Why are you ganging up on me?”

“Because it’s fun,” Austin replies without hesitation. “And I’m postpartum and exhausted and it’s my way of passively aggressively making digs.”

At least she’s honest about it.

“And it’s easy,” I add sweetly.

“I was only calling to check-in on you,” Gio says at last, shoulders slouching. “I didn’t want this to turn into an argument.”

Guilt slams at me.

All of this is my fault.

If only…

If only I could be honest about where I was last night without him going full protective-big-brother-meets-hockey-enforcer-meets-the-goalie on me.

But I can’t.

Gio does this thing where he getsquiet—where his jaw goes tight and his eyes go cold and the room starts to feel five degrees colder. It’s the same look he gets when one of his teammates get a cheap shot at him during practice. Controlled rage. Slow burn. Zero forgiveness.

And the thing is... Igetit.

Luca isn’t just anyone.

He’s Gio’s teammate.

His friend. Hisline.

And I’mme.

The little sister. The one who’s supposed to stay off-limits, untouched and unbothered, safely tucked in the “do not date” category that teammates instinctively respect.

Except Luca didn’t.

Austin must sense something in my silence because she shifts Vivi to her other hip and clears her throat. “Hey, it’s fine. We’re all tired and crabby and underfed. Let’s just call it a draw and try again later.”

Gio nods, reluctant. “Yeah. I didn’t mean to come at you, Nova. I just worry. That’s all.”

More guilt. “I know.”

“I love you so much. You know that, right?”

Stop being so nice! My brain screams it, but my mouth won’t move. I just stare at his face on the screen—his tired, earnest expression. He looks guilty, too.

Oh my God, I am a horrible person!

I’m lying to him—right now, to his face!

“I love you, too,” I whisper, clearing my throat to fake a smile. “I’ll stop by soon, okay?”

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