Page 31

epilogue

Nova

M y brother has officially left the building.

Literally.

It’s depressing knowing he’s no longer going to be three floors above; I can no longer surprise him with visits, can’t steal food from his fridge, can't interrupt him and his girlfriend in any tender moments. He’s been my built-in safety net, my loud, annoying, overprotective safety net.

And now? He’s gone.

Packed up his things, kissed me on the forehead, and drove off into suburbia with his very pregnant girlfriend.

He’s moving on with his life and creating a family.

I am so happy for him!

I love him so much—you all know that.

But…

It still leaves me empty inside, not having him in the same building.

Call it habit, call it codependency, call it whatever you want—but it feels like I’m losing my partner in crime.

Partner in crime? Ugh. I hate when people say that, especially men on dating apps. Ha ha, looking for my partner in crime! No, Chad, you’re looking for someone to split your Netflix subscription and swipe their ex’s password for Hulu.

Let’s call it what it is.

With a miserable groan, I throw myself onto the couch, the weight of my sudden loneliness hitting me square in the chest.

“You get it, don’t you, Gio?” I ask, scratching Austin's dog behind his weird ears. He glares at me, letting out a dramatic sigh as if to say, Can you keep it down, lady? I’m trying to nap.

Jeez.

“Glad someone’s thriving,” I mutter, pulling out my phone and opening the dating apps. Because when your brother moves out and your couch buddy is a dog that resents you for being a shitty dog sitter, there’s no better time for emotional self-sabotage.

Let the games begin!

The first guy? Shirtless mirror selfie.

Swipe left.

The second guy? Holding a fish.

“Why is it always a fish?” Are they trying to prove they can provide sustenance in a post-apocalyptic world?

Swipe left.

The third? Another traveler, every photo in a different exotic location, including Machu Picchu and the Canary Islands.

“Sir, I can’t afford a latte right now.”

Swipe left.

“Little dude, why are men like this?” I ask the dog, turning the phone toward him. He squints at the screen, unimpressed. Sniffs the air. “Want to move in with me permanently? Wouldn’t that be fun? Huh?”

I go to give him more pets but he lets out a soft sneeze and hops off the couch— clearly over my pity party. Gio trots to the other end of the room, his bald stick legs barely making a sound, before flopping onto his blanket.

“Never mind. I take that back.” I didn’t need a dog’s support anyway .

I glance back at my phone, debating whether to swipe on another profile or just delete the app altogether.

Curiosity wins out and I continue scrolling; mindlessly, thumb hovering over a man’s profile named Blake. Five years older, well-dressed, and posing with a golden retriever in front of a hiking trail.

“Hmm,” I mumble, narrowing my eyes at the screen. “Are you really outdoorsy, Blake, or did you borrow your cousin’s dog for the photo?”

I tap on his bio.

It goes on and on, blah blah blah , “lover of coffee, live music, and spontaneous road trips.”

Okay, Blake.

A little generic, but nothing offensive. No shirtless selfies, no fish photos—already an improvement!

I glance over at Gio, who is now snoring softly on his blanket.

“What do you think?” I say to no one. “Swipe right or no?”

The dog’s ears don’t even twitch.

“Fine. Swipe left,” I say, swiping past Blake and moving on to the next profile.

It’s a guy holding a sword. Not, like, a fencing sword—an actual sword. In his living room.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, swiping left so fast I nearly drop my phone.

The next guy is a little better: a cute smile, some pictures with friends, and no immediate red flags.

The bio? Looking for my queen. Must love adventure and tacos.

I groan. “Must love tacos? What does that even mean? Everyone loves tacos, Kevin. You’re not special!”

Left.

My thumb freezes over the next profile, though, because the guy looks… familiar ? No, not familiar. He looks exactly like my childhood dentist. Same slightly unnerving smile, same weirdly perfect hair, but grayer than the last time I had a cavity, which was over ten years ago.

“Nope,” I say aloud. “You are a creep!”

I flop back on the couch, staring at the ceiling as Gio lets out a tiny snort in his sleep.

“This is it,” I tell him. “This is my life now. Me, you, and a never-ending stream of weirdos on the internet.”

I’m doomed.

Swipe.

Swipe.

Then.

I see another profile that looks familiar.

I freeze, holding the phone closer to my face than necessary, my heart skipping a beat as I stare at the bio of Luca—as in Luca Babineaux, my brother's teammate and the guy Austin and I had been gossiping about months ago…

“No way,” I whisper, my brows furrowing as I study his profile.

Luca’s profile picture is exactly what you’d expect from a good-looking athlete: standing on a beach, shirtless, with a volleyball tucked under one arm and a smug grin that could rival Gio’s on a good day. His bio? Goal-oriented. Literally. Bonus points if you like dogs and can handle trash-talking during game night.

Well.

That’s snarkier and more clever than I would’ve given him credit for, considering I’ve always considered Luca Babineaux boring as fuck.

I squint at the screen; something about it doesn’t sit right.

Where are the hockey pictures? The gear? The action shots from their games?

Not a single one.

Instead, I’m greeted with more photos of Luca on a beach or on a catamaran, laughing with his arm slung around Paulie Osborne—a famous comedian, of all people.

“Okay, what ?” I mutter, flipping to the next photo .

There’s one of him in a flannel, holding a coffee cup during what looks like the holidays. A random mountain range looms out the living room window, majestic and snowy and gorgeous.

Then there’s Luca on a motorcycle, looking like he just strolled out of a movie poster.

“ Who the hell is this guy ?” I ask no one, my voice dripping with suspicion.

I keep scrolling.

I’m so fascinated.

Him standing with two young women that resemble him—sisters? Cousins? Another photo of him snorkeling, his face half-hidden behind goggles and a snorkel tube.

And then there’s a selfie of him hiking with that black lab puppy he had six months ago—only now, the dog’s mostly grown, its floppy ears framing an adorably derpy face.

I set my phone down for a moment, rubbing my temples.

It doesn’t make sense. Luca’s life isn’t this…glamorous. Is it? I mean, he plays hockey, hangs out with my brother and his teammates, and from what I know—goes home and sleeps. None of this beach-and-motorcycle nonsense fits the image I have of him.

Unless…

I glance back at the screen, narrowing my eyes.

Could someone be pretending to be him? It wouldn’t be hard—there are hundreds of photos of him on the internet and he has a face only a mother could love.

“What do you think, Gio?” I say to the dog, asking for his advice. “Is this him, or is someone out there pretending to be Luca freaking Babineaux?”

Gio yawns, showing off his tiny, uneven teeth, and turns his head away, clearly over my dramatics.

“Thanks for your input,” I mutter, picking my phone back up.

I hesitate, thumb hovering over the screen .

Do I swipe right and investigate? Or do I swipe left and pretend I never saw it?

Because if it’s him…it’s going to be super awkward.

But if it’s not him…it could be hilarious .

I hold my breath.

Close my eyes.

Before I can stop myself, I swipe right, heart pounding for reasons I’d rather not analyze.

I toss my phone onto the coffee table like it’s made of lava and cross my arms.

“Oh my God!” NO I DID NOT!

“No way he swipes back,” I reason aloud, sending those vibes into the universe. Oh my God this is so embarrassing ! “There is no freaking way.”

A few seconds pass. Then my phone pings.

One new match !

My stomach twists as I grab the phone, my pulse quickening. Sure enough, there it is: Luca has matched with you.

“Oh, shit,” I whisper, staring at the screen. My chest tightens as I glance over at Gio again, hoping he’ll wake up and offer some kind of moral support. He doesn’t. Of course.

“What do I do, what do I do?!” I groan, flopping back against the couch cushions. My mind races as I imagine every possible outcome of this—most of them ending in complete and utter humiliation.

Panic at the disco. Full-blown freak-out mode.

Holy shit.

I sit up abruptly, clutching my phone like it’s my lifeline. “Okay, Nova. Calm down. It’s probably not even him. It’s probably just some random dude using his pictures.”

The phone pings again.

Luca has sent you a note!

“I can’t look.”

Yes you can. Stop being a wuss .

I take a deep breath and peek at the screen, through my fingers.

Luca: Does Gio know you’re swiping on me?

Well. That solves that mystery. This is one-hundred percent my brother's teammate.

Grinning despite myself, I tap out a cheeky response.

Me: Gio is not the boss of me.

Luca: Good to know.

I stare at that sentence, my heart doing a stupid little flip; something about the brevity of it feels deliberately careful, like he’s testing the waters.

Another message immediately pops up.

Luca: But I’m sure he’d have opinions.

I snort, rolling my eyes

Me: Gio always has opinions.

The dots appear again, and I find myself leaning forward, waiting for whatever he’s going to say next.

Luca: Fair. But just so we’re clear, this conversation doesn’t leave the app. I like my face the way it is—unbroken.

Me: You want this to stay a secret?

Interesting.

I like it.

Luca: No need for drama over nothing.

Nothing?

I laugh, a full, belly-deep laugh, not sure if I should be insulted by his insinuation that matching with me amounts to, well–nothing. The dog glances over at me, ears twitching, before deciding he’s not interested in whatever has me so amused.

Me: NOTHING? Wow. I’m SO flattered.

The dots pop up again, and I can practically feel his hesitation through the screen.

Luca: That’s not what I meant. You know that.

Me: Do I? Because it kinda feels like you’re saying matching with me is no big deal.

Another pause, longer this time.

Then,

Luca: It’s a big enough deal that I’m risking Gio’s wrath to talk to you behind his back. How’s that for flattery?

I bite my lip, trying not to smile too hard. Damn him for being smooth.

Me: Not bad. But you’re still on thin ice.

Luca: Good thing I’m used to skating on it.

I groan, equal parts annoyed and charmed. “Terrible,” I mutter under my breath, shaking my head.

So why is flirting with him making me tingle all over?

Guh!

Luca: Honestly, I’m surprised to see you on here. You’re way too pretty to be single.

Me: What makes you think I’m single?

Luca: You’re on a fucking dating app?

Oh. Good point.

And that mouth of his…

Who would’ve known? Luca looks like a choir boy—clean-cut, polite, the kind of guy who probably thanks the refs after every game—but apparently, there’s a little edge to him.

He follows up his previous text with:

Are you on this app to flirt or to find a serious relationship?

I blink at the question, taken aback by how straightforward it is. I nibble on the inside of my cheek.

Me: For a relationship. I’m tired of being single. You?

Luca: I want kids and a family and I’m not getting any younger.

I exit out of our chat to give his profile another glance—gawking at his shirtless photograph, seeing him as if seeing him for the first time.

Who even is this version of Luca?

The Luca I know is quiet, always polite, with a vaguely broody vibe that makes you forget he’s ridiculously attractive. But this? This is something else. The smirk, the shiny washboard abs, the everything .

Me: You look like the kind of guy that wants kids.

I smirk as I hit send, picturing his reaction.

The dots pop up again, and my pulse quickens.

Luca: What does that mean? That I look boring?

Me: I did NOT say that…

Luca: You implied it.

Me: Okay, fine. You’re not boring. Happy now?

The pause is longer this time, and I start to wonder if I’ve actually annoyed him. But then his message pops up:

Luca: I’ll let it slide. For now. But only because you’re cute.

Me: CUTE?

Luca: Sorry. I meant smoking hot. You’re a real smoke show, Nova Montagalo.

My stomach does a stupid little flip, and I glance over at Gio the dog, who’s now awake and staring at me like he can sense my internal chaos.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I mutter, setting the phone down on the couch for a second. “Stop judging me, Gio is not going to find out about this.”

This…

Is dangerous.

Luca is way too easy to talk to. And way too good for my peace of mind.

I pick the phone back up, staring at the chat. Should I keep going? Let this conversation turn into something, even though it’ll probably end in disaster? Or should I delete the chat right now and save myself the headache?

Gio yawns as if to say, You’re overthinking this, idiot.

I glance at Luca’s profile again, lingering on the easy smile in one of his photos. This doesn’t have to mean anything, right? It’s harmless flirting.

But now I know he thinks I’m smoking hot.

I bite back a grin, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Flirting with Luca Babineaux feels like walking into a trap I can totally see coming—and yet, here I am, taking another step forward.

Me: You think I’m a smoke show? Sounds like you’re starting to have a thing for me, Babineaux.

I tease.

Okay FINE.

I’ll admit it, I’m fishing for compliments. Are you happy now?!

Luca: Starting to? You’re funny. I’ve had a thing for you for years…

My jaw drops.

“WHAT?” I blurt out, scaring the shit out of the dog, settling back onto his blanket with a huff. He hates me.

The dog, not Luca.

Apparently.

I stare at the screen, reading and rereading the message at least three times to make sure I didn’t hallucinate it.

Years?

Since when!?

My thumbs hover over the keyboard, but for the first time all night, I have no idea what to say. My brain is too busy replaying every interaction I’ve ever had with Luca, searching for clues I clearly didn’t pick up on.

Did he flirt with me at that team dinner last year? Was he staring at me too long during Gio’s birthday party?

No. Surely not.

Right?

My stomach does a somersault, and I press a hand to my chest, trying to calm the sudden thudding of my heart, this new revelation sending me.

My phone pings again, pulling me out of my spiral.

Luca: Still there? Or did I scare you off?

Me: Scared? Please. It takes more than that to scare me.

The dots pop up immediately, and I swear my heart skips a beat.

Luca: Good. Coz I’ve got plenty more to say…

Oh, God.

I glance at Gio the dog, who’s now staring at me with those big, judgmental eyes. “What do I do?” I whisper, holding the phone up for guidance. “Little dude, help!”

Me: More to say? Do go on.

Sorry. I had to ask.

I’m a thirsty bitch, what can I say…

This is bad. Dangerous. Completely reckless.

But damn if it isn’t fun.

Luca: I have 8 words for you, Nova.

He makes me wait, not giving them to me.

Me: What 8 words?

I am holding my breath.

Luca: I want you, if only for one night.