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gio

I whistle while I skate to the center of the goal, the tune for my ears only.

It’s one that’s been stuck in my head all morning; a melody with no name and something to keep my nerves steady.

As I settle into position, the familiar rhythm of practice takes over. The ice is my sanctuary, the only place where everything else fades away—except maybe for her.

I smile at the thought of Austin.

Coach blows the whistle, signaling the next round of shots, and I drop into my stance, stick ready, eyes sharp. Charlie barrels toward me first, puck on his blade, trying to deke left.

Rookie beyotch.

I slide smoothly to cut him off, my pads swallowing the puck with a satisfying thud .

“Nice try.”

Not.

I flick the puck out of my crease and back toward the blue line.

I hear him groan.

“Come on, bro. Can’t you let one through? For morale? ”

“Not my job,” I reply, grinning behind my mask.

The next shooter is Liam, one of the wingers who never stops chirping, even during drills. He skates in fast, snapping the puck toward the top corner. I react on instinct, my glove shooting up to snatch it out of the air.

“Denied!” I shout, tossing the puck lazily to the ice.

I am in the fucking zone.

Liam flips me the bird—I can’t see it because of his mitt, but I translate the gesture as: Fuck you, dude .

It’s all banter. Lighthearted, easy. Beneath the facade, I feel my focus sharpening with every save. Every blocked shot is another reminder of why I’m here, why I love this game, why I’m good at it.

But then, like an annoying little whisper, her face creeps into my mind. Austin. Sitting at her desk, rolling her eyes at me.

She’s so damn sexy.

A professor—who would have imagined that!

The mental image of her standing in front of a classroom, commanding the room with her wit and intelligence, does something to my dick that I can’t explain.

She’s fucking thrilling.

Never met a woman like her.

I’m standing in the box though my mind is back in her little office, imagining her in the glasses that were resting on her desk. Imagining her naked on her desk…wearing heels. I imagine what her tits might look like. If they’d spill out of my hands, or if they’re small—like her.

Her sassy mouth gets me so hot and bothered .

The thoughts are so vivid my cock twitches inside my gear.

Coach’s whistle pierces the air, dragging me back to the present. Another drill. Another shot to block. I drop into position, but my mind is half a step behind, lingering on Austin’s sharp tongue and her softer side—both of which I’ve gotten glimpses of .

Another sharp whistle.

Get it together, Gio. This is practice, not fantasy hour .

“Why are you in such a damn good mood?” One of my teammates skates past and heckles me.

I roll my eyes, flipping my mask up and resting it on my head.

“Maybe I’m just happy to be here, fucker—ever thought of that?”

“Since when?” Collins skates around the neck, continuing to taunt me. “Is it that chick on the news?”

DING DING DING.

Bingo.

My mask flips back down and I refocus on the ice, trying to ignore the heat crawling up the back of my neck.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit,” he shouts back, skating closer. “That chick is all over social media, and so are you. Your ‘brilliant and beautiful’ good luck charm? Makes me want to vomit—what’s the deal with you two?”

Of course it would make him want to vomit.

From what I know, Collins is relationship adverse and would rather sleep around than settle down. Not that I have room to talk; that’s been my track record, too, until the past year of reevaluating my priorities.

“Our deal is none ya business,” I snap, crouching back into position as Coach lines up the next drill. “Maybe if you spent more time shooting pucks and less time gossiping like a middle schooler, you’d actually score on me for once.”

“Why are you being a bitch about it? I’m just asking.”

He feigns left. He feigns right. But I’m already reading him, tracking the puck as he swings left again and goes for a wrist shot.

Not today.

I snap my glove hand out, catching the puck mid-air with a satisfying smack. He groans as I toss the puck back into play, giving myself a mental pat on the back.

“That's all you’ve got?” I taunt, feeling the rush of adrenaline. “My grandmother could shoot better than that.”

She can’t—but you get what I’m saying.

The drills continue and my mind keeps wandering. I wonder what Austin is doing right now. Lecturing a class? Telling another poor undergrad they’ve got no chance of an extension on their paper? Teaching the future of the world while I’m here in a cold rink, chasing pucks and nagging my teammates.

What does a guy like me even have to offer someone like her? She’s got degrees on her wall, a sharp wit, and a life filled with intellectual conversations. And me? I’ve got a stick and a pair of skates. Pads and a face mask.

Big.

Dumb.

Jock.

Who drives a big, dumb, truck.

Eventually, Coach’s whistle blows to signal the end of practice; we skate to the bench and I grab my water bottle. The guys are still ribbing me as we head off the ice—I let it roll off my back. Let them talk.

Let them speculate.

Because the truth is, they’re not wrong.

And I know the first thing I’m going to do when I’m dressed is send Austin a message because I just cannot fucking resist.

Why should I?

I presented her with a challenge; so by the time I’m dressed and pulling my phone out of my bag, I’ve already got a message drafted in my head:

Miss me yet?

Not very clever, but no one has ever accused me of being a poet .

Hitting send before I can overthink it, I shove my phone back in my pocket like it’s burning a hole there. The guys are still lingering near the locker room doors, talking about grabbing food, but I wave off their invitations, citing an excuse about needing to head home to help Nova.

Truth is, I’ve got no plans other than replaying the last two days in my head and wondering how the hell I ended up here: nearly obsessed with a woman completely out of my league.

Me? I’ve got one foot out the door, my mind already miles away, wondering what kind of witty, sassy, flirty thing Austin is going to say back.

Sliding into my truck, I dig my phone out of my duffle and check for a notification, wondering what kind of witty, sassy, flirty thing Austin is going to respond with.

Nothing.

I don’t know why I thought she’d respond immediately—as she so eloquently pointed out, she’s got a career. A life . Unlike me, who spends his days practicing a sport. Working out. Conditioning. In rehab or recovery.

Sigh.

Finally the phone buzzes. Lights up my cupholder. My pulse kicks up as I grab it, already grinning like a damn fool.

Her reply is short, simple:

Austin: Don’t flatter yourself.

Austin: Are you flirting with me?

Gio: Yes.

Gio: When am I NOT flirting with you?

I glance out the windshield at the now empty parking lot.

It’s quiet, save for the occasional car passing on the main road, but my mind is buzzing. I should probably head home, grab something to eat, but the thought of putting the conversation on pause for the next half hour while I drive into the city bums me out.

Austin: Valid point.

Gio: Have you given any thought to my proposal?

I type another message and delete it.

Twice.

Austin: I mean—you want me to come to games… but I’m almost always at the games to begin with, so…

Gio: No. In your special seats.

Austin: Those special seats are your SISTER’S.

Gio: Nova has those seats because of me. Let’s not kid ourselves, she’s happy to share.

Austin: So what I hear you saying is—not only do I have to show up, I have to sit in the SAME seat???

Gio: Yes. And bring the sign heckling me, and wear the same outfit.

Austin: Okay, now you’re acting superstitious.

Gio: Not superstitious. Routine.

Austin: Same thing!!!!

Gio: It’s not the same thing! It’s science.

Austin: Science?

Gio: Yes. Cause and effect. You show up in the same spot, wearing the same outfit, holding the same sign, and I win. That’s hard data, professor.

Austin:

Gio: Don’t roll your eyes at me through the phone. I can feel it.

Austin: Good. Then you can feel me telling you how ridiculous you are.

Gio: You say ridiculous, I say irresistible.

Austin: No comment.

I don’t want to come off like some guy who’s desperate for attention—but here I am, sitting in my truck like a complete idiot, hanging on every damn word.

Admit it, Gio. You’re whipped.

The thought hits hard, and I let out a low laugh. I am, aren’t I? Sitting here waiting for her to text back, smiling at my phone like some lovesick teenager.

It’s embarrassing.

"Christ," I mutter, running a hand through my damp hair. "What the hell are you doing, man?"

But I know what I’m doing. I’m falling for her—I must be. Austin isn’t like anyone else I’ve met. She’s sharp, confident, and unimpressed by all the usual shit that usually impresses the ladies, like my money and clout.

Gio: Alright, let’s cut to the chase—are you coming to my game or what? I’m dying here.

Austin: I haven’t given it any thought…

The biggest lie I’ve heard her tell, to date. And I’ve only known her for a matter of days.

Gio: You owe me ten dollars for that little white lie.

Austin: Ten dollars?! Whoa.

Gio: I said what I said. Any time you tell a fib, you pay up.

Austin: What about YOU!?

Gio: I haven’t lied to you, but sure—if that will make you feel better, agreed.

Austin: That is the LEAST interesting way to make someone “put their money where their mouth is.”

Gio: Did you have something better in mind? Like, every time I catch you in a lie, you owe me _______. Fill in the blank.

Austin: Lap dance?

Austin: KIDDING.

Gio: No take backs!

Austin: I take it back! LOL I was kidding

Gio: It’s in writing, sorry.

Austin: I was just providing an example of more interesting ways to win a bet!!!

Gio: We’re not betting! Not what that was, but I get what you’re saying and I love where your mind went. Keep up the good work. Question: do you plan on lying to me on a regular basis?

Austin: No, no, no not at all, I swear—I am not a liar. I just… don’t know how to talk to you yet. I’m figuring it out.

Gio: I’m easy to talk to, what are you talking about?

Austin: You’re intimidating as hell!!! Don’t pretend you weren’t aware.

My fingers are moving a mile a minute, texting faster than I’ve texted before.

Gio: That is not my goal. The last thing I want is for you to feel uncomfortable with me. If you do, I apologize

Austin: Oh, I TOTALLY feel comfortable with you. All I meant was… I’m still wrapping my brain around the fact that we’re friends.

Gio: Friends?

Gio: You’re my lucky charm

Austin:

Gio: And.

Gio: You like me. Admit it.

Austin: ADMIT IT?! You’re going to be waiting a long time, buddy.

Gio: Shhh… I’m a patient man.

Austin: Tell you what—if I show up, it’ll be entirely on my own terms.

Gio: Deal. As long as those terms include you being there. And you sit your sweet little ass in that special seat.

I tap my fingers against the steering wheel, waiting for her reply. The message is delivered, the “read” receipt taunting me like I’m in the net and missed an easy save .

I could sit here all night if it meant winning this little back-and-forth with Austin. She’s stubborn as hell, but I know she’s got a weak spot for me somewhere in there.

The phone buzzes in my hand.

Austin: You don’t give up, do you?

I grin. Victory is mine.

Gio: Nope.

My thumbs hover over the keyboard. Should I add something flirty? Dirty. Something to make her blush?

No.

Not yet.

Don’t want to freak her the fuck out and scare her away.

Austin: I feel like this deal heavily favors you. Where’s my incentive?

Gio: I told you. You can have WHATEVER you want…

The three dots appear. Then vanish. Appear again. She’s typing, erasing, and typing again.

I grin at the thought of her overthinking this.

Austin: Whatever I want, huh?

Gio: Yup. Name it.

She likes this game as much as I do.

Austin: I’ll have to think this through to make it worth my while, since I’ll be doing all of the work.

Gio: YOU'RE doing all the work?! What about me, I’m busting my balls down on the ice! That seat is cushy!

Austin: Technically, yes. But being your lucky charm is A LOT OF PRESSURE. What if I’m there and you still lose next week??

Gio: We won’t.

Austin: You don’t know that.

Gio: I’m also not willing to risk finding out.

Gio: So tell me what you want.