Page 90 of Can't Always Get What You Want

Poppy’s expression softens. “Of course you are. You’re a disaster.”

“Gee, thanks.” I groan, dropping my face into my hands again. “This can’t keep happening.”

“Itishappening,” she says gently. “So, what are you gonna do about it?”

I peek at her through my fingers. “You’re really asking for a plan right now? While I’m sweating through my bra and trying not to get outed in a public sports arena?”

“Duh.”

“Your brother’s a walking overprotective warning label. The whole ‘locker room loyalty’ thing is real. But Nova…” She leans in. “You light up when you talk about him. And if that doesn’t count for something, I don’t know what does.”

I blink hard.

“Don’t you dare cry in public,” Poppy warns, nudging me with her elbow. “You’ll mess up your hot girl makeup.”

I sniff. “I’m not crying.”

“You’re misting.” She shoves the pretzel at me. “Take a bite.”

I bite off a chunk with my teeth and chew. “Whatever.”

We sit in silence for a beat, the game carrying on down on the ice, players skating and shouting and slamming into the boards, both my brother and Luca oblivious to my turmoil.

Finally, I say, “I have to figure this shit out.”

Poppy nods. “Good.”

“I want to see him tonight,” I mutter, not sure she can hear me above the roar of the crowd. “After.”

I wonder if his post-game ritual is the same as my brother’s: hot tub, cold plunge, shower, pajamas, junk food.

In that order, depending on his mood, if they win or lose.

She does. “Of course you do.”

My sigh is loud enough, too. “I also don’t want to sneak around forever.”

“Then don’t,” she says it simply—as if it were simple.

I raise an eyebrow. “Okay brainiac, what do I do? Casually drop it into conversation? ‘Hey Gio, pass the ketchup—by the way I’ve been sneaking around with your teammate, please don’t commit homicide’?”

“I mean, that would work.” She points at me with the remaining pretzel nub. “You’re the one dating a hockey player. That life is gonna come with some ups and downs. If you’re lucky, this is the most drama you’ll have.”

I laugh.

Poppy smiles sweetly.

Then I watch as she shoves the pretzel into the last of the cheese dip, stuffs it in her mouth and says, “If youdodecide to tell Gio, I want to be there front and center to see his reaction.”

Brat. “You won’t be, but thanks.”

“I can take the heat off.”

“There won’t be any heat.”

Lies we tell ourselves…

“This whole thing gives me anxiety,” I grumble, sinking further into the hoodie with Luca’s number on it, which now feels less like a comfort item and more like a giant neon arrow.

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