Page 95 of Can't Always Get What You Want

“Since my rookie year. Bought it with my first check.”

She whistles low, eyes roaming over the open-concept kitchen, the tall ceilings, and the wall of windows facing out to the back deck. It wraps around the entire backyard, stretching beyond that.

It’s mostly dark, but if you look hard enough, you’ll be able to make out the glimmer of the pool hiding behind the privacy fence. Her eyes drift upward, taking in the high vaulted ceilings and exposed beams, then to the sunken living room a few steps down—oversized couch, leather chairs, soft lighting. Three random snuggle blankets that weren’t picked out by a designer and see regular use.

It’s comfortable.

A total bachelor pad.

“It’s beautiful, Luca.”

“Thanks.” I rub the back of my neck, hyper-aware of every pair of dirty underwear that might be on my bathroom floor because I wasn’t expecting company—or the water glasses I leave on my nightstand. “Don’t tell my mom, but I burn non-soy candles a lot.”

Nova laughs, sliding onto a counter stool as I open the fridge and start pulling things out. “This feels so domestic.”

The dog whines.

“I could get used to this.” Her sigh is content. “You making me snacks, the dog worshiping me…”

“Yeah?” I throw her a look as I start tearing open a pack of prosciutto. “How used to it are we talking?”

She leans against the counter and tilts her head, mock thinking. “Depends.”

“On?”

“How good the snacks are.”

I snort. “So shallow.”

“You knew this about me when you let me in.”

“Fair.”

I stack cheese, fruit, roasted nuts—and whatever I can find that doesn’t require cooking, onto the board. She watches with open amusement.

“This feels so fancy,” Nova muses. “Wish I’d packed an overnight bag.”

“No bag needed. I have plenty of T-shirts.” And spare toothbrushes, cause every time I go to Costco, I stock up on that sort of shit.

“Where are your roommates?” she asks, petting the dog.

“Out,” I say, grabbing a second bottle of water and handing it to her. “For now. But I don’t totally trust that one of them won’t bust in on us. They have boundaries most of the time, but if they realize I have company, they might be too excited to mind their business.”

Nova hesitates. “What about Skaggs?”

“What about him?”

“Can we trust him to keep our secret?”

This fucking secret.

This sneaking around…

I hate it more than I let on. I hate not being able to touch her in public, not being able to look at her the way I want to—like she’s mine—even when my teammates are two feet away and none the wiser. I hate acting like she’sjustGio’s sister when she’s the thing keeping me up at night and making me stupid on the ice.

I exhale, slow. “Skaggs is a lot of things. Loud, nosy, always taking the last protein bar.”

She waits, eyes steady.

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