Page 139 of Can't Always Get What You Want

Agents.

A football Hall of Famer.

I look over again at the same moment her eyes flick across the room—quickly. Indifferently. They land on me.

We lock eyes a second too long.

She looks away.

Then looks back.

My stomach tightens. She saw me. Definitely saw me.

I lean back in my seat, trying to act cool, running a hand through my hair.

Karl nudges me. "Did you hear a single word I said? Gio guards her like Fort Knox."

Yeah, yeah, yeah—I got the memo.

But I’m not thinking about Gio right now.

I’m thinking about her. Nova. With her long legs crossed, her red dress painted on like sin, her fingers tapping the stem of her glass. Every few minutes, she glances again—quick, secretive peeks like she doesn’t want to get caught.

The evening drags in that weird award show way—scripted banter, polite claps, overly dramatic music stings. Karl is deep in conversation with everyone but me, which is good because I’m not contributing anything.

At one point, someone at her table says something that makes her laugh, and I swear to God, I feel it in my chest. It’s not even the sound of it—it’s the way she leans back, exposing her throat. The way her hand moves instinctively to her necklace. The way her eyes catch mine in the aftermath, like she wants to know if I saw it too.

I did.Every second of it.

I want to go over there.

I want to say something…

Anything.

Then.

Another beautiful woman runs up to her, dragging her up, and enveloping her in a hug. Tugs her out onto the dance floor, wine glasses in hand. Her friend spins her in a sloppy circle with too much force and Nova stumbles in her high heels, nearly sloshing red wine all over her dress.

She doesn’t even care.

She throws her arms around the girl’s shoulders, mouthing some exaggerated apology through a fit of giggles.

God, this girl is magic...

Nova Montagalo.

Even her name sounds like trouble.

Nursing my drink, it occurs to me that I don’t have the courage to ask her to dance.

I am a coward.

A patient, needy fucking coward.

The gasp leaves my mouth and causes me to sit up in bed. When I glance around my room, Nugget raises his head, dog tail jingling in the dark.

I shift in bed, one arm thrown over my face, eyes burning from too little sleep and too much spiraling. Haven’t called. Haven’t bothered to look at my phone for missed calls.

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