Page 64 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot
Sex.
The dog.
“Nothing important,” I insist, though the thought is stuck in my head and I know it’s going to haunt me for days.
“Bullshit,” she says, grinning as she props her chin on her hand.
“Come on, spill. Is it about Gio? Because if you’re still obsessing over him, I think you owe him an apology.”
My lips clamp shut.
Lips open. A gust of word vomit spews from my mouth, “If he ever sets foot on a bed I’m in, I’m leaving. No questions asked.”
“Oh. My.God,” she whispers, her voice dripping with amusement. “Are you imagining him watching us do it?”
“No,” I lie, far too quickly. “Absolutely not.”
“You totally are!” she exclaims, bursting into laughter. “You’re picturing us having sex with the dog on the bed!”
I shake my head but it’s pointless.
The damage is done.
It’s official: she can read my mind.
“I amnotpicturing that,” I argue weakly, my face hot enough to fry an egg. “And please stop laughing.”
My bruised ego can’t take it anymore.
“And let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. “We haven’t even been on a date yet, so we can’t be having sex on your bed.”
That finally slows her laughter, though her grin stays firmly in place.
“Are you already planning the logistics of our future?”
I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “Can we please talk about literally anything else?” Please? I’m begging.
“Fine, we can change the subject,” Austin allows, tilting her head like she’s thinking it over. “Butonlybecause I’m generous.”
“Generous,” I repeat, deadpan. “That’s definitely the word I’d use.”
She ignores my sarcasm, adjusting herself on her bed and pushing her hair over one shoulder in a way that feels completely unintentional—yet I have a feeling it’s not. She’s sitting this way because she knows she looks hot.
And I get a clearer shot of her tits in that white tank top she has on.
“Okay, new topic: when are you taking me on this date you mentioned?”
I perk up.
This isexactlywhere I was hoping this conversation would lead when I called.
My mind immediately kicks into overdrive, sorting through possibilities—places, times, ways to impress her without coming off like I’m trying too hard. Casual, but nottoocasual. Fun, but not circus-level chaotic.
Romantic, but not painfully so.
“Depends.” I keep my tone light. Chill vibes only. “What kind of date we talkin’ about? A movie? Something more adventurous, like a tour of Area 51 so Gio can visit his cousins?”
She snorts, covering her mouth with her hand, but it’s no use—she thinks I’m hilarious. “Keep it up and Gio and I will go on the date without you.”
