Page 96 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot

My sisters rears back. “I havenoidea what that is.”

Yeah, same.

“Me either—I had to google it,” I say with a shrug. Sociology is: in a nutshell,the study of people and how they interact with each other.Why people do the things they do in groups, how societies form, what influences them. “She’s smart, but normal. Unlike the guys you keep chasing.”

Instead of letting them chase you.

Nova stares at me for a moment before shaking her head. “Unreal. You’re dating a college professor, and I can’t even get a guy who knows how to use a dishwasher.”

“I have no idea how to use my dishwasher, either.”

My sister scoffs. “That’s because you have a housekeeper.”

As I stand in my sister's apartment my mind begins to wander; now that we’re speaking about Austin, I can’t stop my brain from going back to my bedroom.

This morning and last night—and all the times in between.

And then another thought enters my brain and before I can stop myself, the question pops out:

“Can I ask you a question—promise you’re not going to freak out?”

“Of course I’m not going to freak out,” she says earnestly, expression serious. “Just ask.”

I rub the back of my neck, feeling the weight of the words before I even say them, already wanting to snatch them back: “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

For a moment Nova stares, blinking like she didn’t hear me right.

Then she gasps, putting a hand to her lips. “OH MY GOD, are you in love with Austin?”

“NO!” I blurt, a little too loudly. I mean…maybe? “No, I’m just asking if you believe in it. Hypothetically.”

Nova takes a few moments to respond.

“I don’t know if I believe in love at first sight—I’ve never seen it.” She leans her hip against her counter, shifting her weight as she fiddles with her mug. “I think people can feel aspark. But love? I don’t believe it’s instant, no. I believe love grows. It takes time—don’t you agree?”

She’s watching me expectantly.

“Yeah. I agree.” I nod, pretending like her words don’t land a little heavier than they should, because I also don’t agree.

My voice sounds hollow even to me, and I know Nova hears it too. I glance away, pretending my phone buzzed and I need to check messages, anything to avoid the intensity of her stare.

“Gio,” Nova says, her voice cutting through the silence. “You’re such a terrible liar. Just tell me what’s going on.”

That’s certainly true enough.

The truth is that the truth is somewhere between:I’ve never felt this way before and I have no idea what the hell I’m doing—or how to begin communicating how I feel to a woman I only just started dating.

What if she thinks I’m out of my fucking mind?

What if she feels like I’m needy and decides to peace out?

“What I can’t believe is that we’re having this conversation,” my sister echoes what’s in my mind, doing that creepy twin thing we used to do when we were younger.

Our mom loved it.

It was one of her favorite things about us.

Mom loved having twins—even dressed us alike, though Nova is a girl and I’m a boy—we coordinated in matching sets until we were ten and I’d get humiliated by it, once throwing a temper tantrum so horrible on an Easter Sunday that spelled the end of the outfits.

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