Page 70 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot

Before he can respond—his mouth is literally hanging open to speak—the server appears at the edge of the table, her bright, cheerful voice breaking the tension like a glass shattering on the floor.

“Here we go!” she says brightly, setting a plate in front of me and one in front of Gio. “One medium and one medium well!”

I blink, momentarily disoriented, and murmur a polite “Thank you” as the smell of seared steak and roasted summer vegetables wafts up to greet me.

The silence that follows when she walks away is heavy—still charged with that building sexual tension—hitting play on whatever game we’d been playing.

“Convenient timing.” I pick up my fork, stabbing a roasted carrot more aggressively than necessary.

“Was it?” he teases, picking up his knife and fork. “Now it’s your turn to give me your list of things you’re good at. It’s only fair.”

“Alright, fine,” I say, setting my fork down and leaning back in my chair. “I’m good at teaching, obviously. Debating. Making spreadsheets.”

“Spreadsheets?” he repeats, his lips twitching as if he’s trying not to laugh.

“Yes, spreadsheets,” I tell him firmly, lifting my chin—daring him to judge me. “They’re very useful and require a lot of skill.”

“I’m sure they do,” he says, his eyes gleaming with barely contained laughter.

I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re mocking me.”

“I mean—it was a pretty fucking nerdy thing to say.”

I lift my chin to look affronted, despite the fact I’m trying so desperately not to laugh. “It depends on who you’re asking. Some people appreciate organization and efficiency.”

God I sound like a prude.

Organization and efficiency?

My vagina dries up a fraction at my own, dull words.

Gio chuckles at me quietly, shaking his head. “Sure, but those people probably aren’t sitting across from you right now.”

“And what exactly would you prefer I say?”He wants me to match his energy, to throw it right back at him.But for some reason, the words feel clunky coming out of my mouth, stiff and awkward like I’m trying too hard.

I have no idea what my problem is—why I sound so stuffy and rigid.

I need to loosen up.

Relax, Austin.

He’s flirting with you, and he wantsyouto flirt back.

“Alright, Professor,” he says, leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make my stomach flip. “What else?”

The heat in his gaze sends a spark of confidence through me, and I decide to stop overthinking.

“I’m good at reading people,” I tease, throwing his earlier words back at him with a playful smile.

His grin widens, slow and dangerous, and I can tell he’s enjoying this.

“Oh,areyou?”

“Mm-hmm,” I reply, leaning back in my chair with a cocky air, my wine glass dangling loosely between my fingers. “It’s a gift. Comes in handy.”

“What do you read when you look at me?”

I take a moment, letting the question settle, my eyes drifting over him as if I’m truly analyzing him.

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