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austin

T he one thing I cannot do is concentrate.

On anything.

Work?

Forget about it. What are students? What is a lecture? What’s a syllabus?

Mid-term?

Pfft.

I’m supposed to be finalizing grades, putting together review materials, but my brain is somewhere else entirely. Correction: my brain is somewhere else entirely because of Gio.

The man has taken up permanent residence in my head, living rent-free, making a mess of my carefully organized thoughts.

And the worst part? I don’t care!

I like it.

Love it.

Want some more of it …

I stare absentmindedly out my office window at the quad, where students lounge in the grassy knoll, some of them studying but most of them on their phones.

I tap a pen .

Fiddle with a fidget ball.

My laptop screen mocks me, a half-finished email to a faculty advisor sitting there, waiting for me to remember how to function like a professional! I AM A PROFESSIONAL, DAMMIT!

My phone buzzes on the desk beside me, and I glance at it, my heart doing a ridiculous little flip when I see Gio’s name on the screen. It’s a text. Simple, straightforward, and entirely him.

Gio: Miss me?

Of course I miss him.

He knows it, too.

And the fact that he’s texting me in the middle of the day just to see how my day is? Yeah, that’s not helping my ability to be productive and get shit done.

Me: Not at all. WHO are you again?

His reply comes almost immediately.

Gio: I see how it is. Guess I’ll have to take my lap dances elsewhere.

Me: We all know where those lap dances lead…

His response is a little slower this time, and I wonder if maybe he’s finally run out of ways to torment me.

Gio: Stop it. We’re both at work and I can’t afford a boner rn. How would I explain this to the trainer?

I snort, covering my mouth to stifle the laugh that bursts out, fingers hovering over the keyboard, trying to think of something clever to fire back.

Me: Sounds like a you problem, not a me problem. Maybe don’t text me next time you’re supposed to be working.

His reply comes faster this time, almost as if he’s been waiting for me to call him out.

Or in a rush.

Gio: Bold of you to assume I can go a whole day without talking to you. Spoiler Alert: I CAN’T.

Awww.

That’s literally the sweetest thing he’s ever said to me.

Not really, but still—it’s amazing dating a man who doesn’t leave me guessing. No woman wants to play games—or insecurely navigate their relationship.

Me: Does that mean you’re dying to see me again??

Gio: DING DING DING… and I don’t mean at my game on Thursday, that doesn’t count. I need you there, but I want to take you on an actual date.

Another date.

I’ve seen him twice this week and he’s already planning to see me again.

My entire body fills with warmth, the implication that he wants to spend all his free time with me has me giddy.

Me: WHAT IF… we do something with Little Gio. You two need bonding time.

Gio: Little Gio cannot be tamed. The dog hates me.

Me: I know but we have to TRY.

Gio: So what are you thinking? Dog park? Frisbee showdown?

Me: How ‘bout a walk or a trip to the pet store?? Gio could use a new toy, and you can see what it’s like to shop for “kids.”

Gio: Are you trying to scare me off by bringing up future children?

Me: Scaring you off isn’t the right term for it. Maybe…feeling you out??

Gio: Does this mean you want kids?

Is this the kind of conversation you have over text? Would it be best to have this talk in person, maybe over dinner or when it’s quiet at his place or mine?

Not in a casual text thread about taking the dog on a date.

I chew on my lip, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard. What do I even say to that?

Do I want kids?

Yes.

Growing up as an only child, I used to love the quiet and the space to myself. But now, with Dad gone and Mom living out of state—meaning I barely get to see her—I can’t help but feel the absence of family in a way I never did before.

A sibling would have been amazing—someone to lean on, to share memories and grief with, to call when life feels too heavy to carry alone. I never realized how much I craved that connection until it wasn’t an option.

So when Gio asks, the answer feels clearer than I expected. I do want kids.

Maybe not tomorrow or next year, but someday.

Me: I do. How about you??

Gio: For sure. Can you imagine how cute a little Gio would be?

Me: I already HAVE a little Gio ;)

Gio: WOWwwwww

I laugh to myself, this entire text thread filling me with joy.

I love the way he always leans in, always engages—even when the topic is as heavy as future kids or family or the stress he’s feeling at work. He doesn’t shy away.

He meets me there, every time.

Gio Montagalo is a walking green flag.

Gio: Shit, babe. Gotta go. Talk to you later, sweet tits.

Sweet tits?

“Sweet tits,” I repeat, muttering under my breath at his audacity. Should I let him get away with that one? Probably not. Will I?

Absolutely.

And just like that, he’s gone…

The three text bubbles disappear, leaving me left staring at my phone, grinning like an idiot. I set it down, taking a deep breath as I try to refocus on my work.

Minutes pass, maybe longer, and just as I’m starting to make progress on the stack of tasks in front of me, my phone buzzes again. I glance at it, expecting another message from Gio. Instead, I’m met with a text from an unexpected sender.

227-555-0495: Hey Austin, it’s Gio’s sister.

Me: Hey Nova! What’s up?

Nova: This is going to sound so awkward—and I should have apologized sooner but getting your number from my brother was an impossible feat.

I wait.

Nova: Anyway. I’ve been wanting to apologize for the other morning. I am SO SORRY and it will never happen again. I violated your privacy and feel like an asshole.

I swivel in my desk chair, worrying my bottom lip as I message her back.

Me: I promise it’s not a big deal. Awkward, sure, but we all survived.

Nova: You’re honestly cool about this. I get why Gio is head over heels for you. He won’t stop talking about you, by the way. I love seeing him so happy.

Head over heels for me?

I bite my lip, warmth spreading through me at the thought of Gio talking about me like that. It’s one thing to hear his flirty one-liners or feel the weight of his attention when we’re together, but knowing he talks about me like this to his sister?

It feels like a big deal.

She’s the closest person to him.

I haven’t met any of his friends or teammates yet, but I’ve met her, and know how much she means to him. Meeting her feels like having been handed a tiny, fragile piece of his world—something I’m discovering he doesn’t share with everyone.

His sister is beautiful, vibrant, and sharp—with this infectious energy that makes me want to get to know her on a more personal level.

Another message comes through.

Nova: You guys are disgustingly cute, and I’m here for it.

I cannot wait to share this with Dolly—wondering if any of my friends have time for a girls’ night on such short notice, disappointed when they respond and can’t make it for another few weeks.

Dammit.

Everyone is so busy.

Nova: Do you have any interest in having drinks or something? Tonight or whenever?

My heart stops.

Drinks with his sister?

I mean—we took in a Baddies game but had that to distract us. One on one drinks seems so intimate! What if she asks me personal questions about myself?

What if this is all some elaborate ruse to interrogate me?

Seriously.

She caught me in bed with her brother—screwing him.

I stare at her message for far too long, overthinking every possible scenario. Nova grilling me about Gio. Nova realizing I’m just a person trying to figure things out like everyone else and deciding I’m not good enough for her brother.

My phone buzzes again, her follow-up making my stomach twist.

This is so much pressure!

Like a first date.

Nova: No pressure if you’re busy or if it’s weird! I just thought it’d be cool to hang out.

I let out a breath, trying to focus on the “no pressure” part. She’s being genuine. Normal. Doesn’t seem to have an ulterior motive.

I kind of want to say yes. It’s not like I don’t have time .

I start typing before I can talk myself out of it.

Me: Drinks sound good! Tonight works!

I have no life.

Just kidding. Now I do, thanks to her brother.

Her response is immediate, as if she was waiting for my reply.

Nova: YAY! Let’s do it. 7 okay?

Me: Perfect. See you then.

Tonight is going to be a test of my ability to not say something awkward. And knowing me?

I’m going to say something super awkward.

Still, as nervous as I am , there’s a tiny part of me that’s excited. Nova didn’t have to reach out, didn’t have to try to connect with me—but she did. Perhaps this is a chance to show her who I am outside of the mortifying situation she walked in on, and the psycho hockey fan she’s witnessed on two occasions.

The rest of my afternoon drags by.

I sleep-walk through a lecture and have office hours. One short meeting with the TA.

By the time I’m racing home to walk Gio, I’m more than ready to clear my head.

The second I clip his leash onto his collar, Gio is bounding out the door, his stubby tail wagging furiously as if this is the highlight of his day. It probably is, honestly. The cool evening air hits my face as we make our way down the sidewalk, and I finally feel like I can breathe again.

“Well, buddy,” I start, glancing down at him as he trots along beside me. “You’re the only Gio in my life who isn’t making me want to vomit right now.”

He has no idea what I’m talking about, but that’s what makes him the perfect listener .

“You know your namesake is kind of a big deal, right?” I continue, my voice softer now as we turn down a quieter street.

“Professional hockey player. Famous. Everyone loves him.”

He’s so hot.

I don’t say this part out loud, even though the dog has no idea what the hell I’m saying.

“What if I don’t fit into his world?” The thought has been sitting in the back of my mind for a while now, quietly gnawing away at my confidence. Gio’s world is big, flashy, full of people who expect him to be perfect all the time.

The world I’ve created for myself is small, predictable, and comfortable.

Boring, until now.

Safe.

Just me, my dog, and I.

Gio pauses to sniff at a patch of grass, completely oblivious to the mini-spiral happening above him. I tug gently on his leash, and we keep moving.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. He’s amazing,” I admit, the words tumbling out as if saying them out loud will help me make sense of them. “He’s funny and ridiculously good in bed.”

The sex is so good.

“That thing he does with his tongue? My God.”

Gio barks, snapping me out of my thoughts, and I glance down to see him wagging his tail again, his excitement undeterred by my brooding.

“You’re right. Sorry,” I say, laughing softly. “Probably not the kind of thing I should be sharing with you, huh?” I go on. “It’s not that I don’t trust him,” I continue, thoughts taking a sharp left turn.

“I do. But dating someone like him? I’m basically just a nerd.”

A sexy nerd.

“The weird thing is he loves it. Like—he loves that I’m a professor. I think it turns him on. Is that weird? Is that a fetish?” It has to be.

Gio pees on a garbage can.

“You’re right, intelligence is sexy.”

I shouldn’t discount that.

“I worked my ass off to get to where I am the same way he did.”

Well. Not exactly the same.

He uses his body, I use my brain.

That’s the polite way of putting it, anyway. The man spends his life skating around in full gear, dodging pucks and body checks, while I sit at a desk grading papers about the cultural hegemony and structural functionalism to students who barely make it to class on time.

Totally not the same.

“But seriously,” I say, glancing down at Gio as he trots along beside me, blissfully unaware of the existential crisis happening just a few feet above him. “What do you think he sees in me? Objectively? Because I can’t figure it out.”

Gio barks, his tail wagging furiously as we turn a corner, and I roll my eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I know— you think I’m amazing . You also eat cat shit and chase your own tail, so excuse me if I give little weight in your opinion of me.”

“Gio. His ex-girlfriends all look like runway models and here I am with my cardigan collection and a bad habit of accidentally quoting Jane Austen when I’m flustered.” I tug at my baby blue cardigan sweater; it’s layered over a white tee shirt.

My dog sneezes.

I shake my head, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. “No, I get it. You’re right. Cardigans are sexy.”

Never judge a girl wearing a cardigan.

Damn straight.

“Look, I know I’m not exactly a hockey WAG or a puck bunny, whatever they call them,” I say, my voice softer now. “ And I know I’ll probably embarrass myself at least a dozen more times before this relationship is over, but…” I trail off, biting my lip as the thought forms. “He chose me, didn’t he?”

Gio barks.

By the time we circle back to my apartment, I feel a little lighter, a little less trapped in my own head. Gio prances happily inside, pleased with our stroll, and I can’t help but smile as I unclip his leash.

Within seconds he’s gone, off like a shot to grab a toy.