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I didn't mean to roast Gio Montagalo, goalie and crown jewel of The Houston Baddies hockey team. Honestly, I was screaming at the television in a sports bar like any self-respecting sports junkie! So when his sister sidles up on the stool beside me, laughing at my commentary, I figured I'd made a fan, too. What I didn't expect? For her brother—the guy I called "a flashy ice peacock with the reflexes of a sloth" —to hear about it.
Next thing I know, Gio is in my DMs with a challenge: " Hold up a sassy sign at my game and hit me with your best shot. Roast me in front of everyone ." For him, it's fun. For me, it's humiliating. But I did it. Glitter included. And because the universe thrives on chaos, the Baddies won. Now Gio thinks I'm his good luck charm, begging me to show up with more signs. He also wants to see me—off the ice. What does a hot, hockey hunk want with a bookish girlie like me ?
I try to keep my distance. Mostly. Soon, Gio is showing up at my job for swoony kisses and trying to charm my dog— also named Gio—and failing because my dog hates him. I wonder if this whole "lucky charm" thing has less to do with hockey and more to do with the overwhelming, undeniable pull I feel toward him. Or maybe it's fate's way of showing me that sometimes, the guy you roast on national television can be the one you accidentally fall for.
I didn't mean to roast Gio Montagalo, goalie and crown jewel of The Houston Baddies hockey team. Honestly, I was screaming at the television in a sports bar like any self-respecting sports junkie! So when his sister sidles up on the stool beside me, laughing at my commentary, I figured I'd made a fan, too. What I didn't expect? For her brother—the guy I called "a flashy ice peacock with the reflexes of a sloth" —to hear about it.
Next thing I know, Gio is in my DMs with a challenge: " Hold up a sassy sign at my game and hit me with your best shot. Roast me in front of everyone ." For him, it's fun. For me, it's humiliating. But I did it. Glitter included. And because the universe thrives on chaos, the Baddies won. Now Gio thinks I'm his good luck charm, begging me to show up with more signs. He also wants to see me—off the ice. What does a hot, hockey hunk want with a bookish girlie like me ?
I try to keep my distance. Mostly. Soon, Gio is showing up at my job for swoony kisses and trying to charm my dog— also named Gio—and failing because my dog hates him. I wonder if this whole "lucky charm" thing has less to do with hockey and more to do with the overwhelming, undeniable pull I feel toward him. Or maybe it's fate's way of showing me that sometimes, the guy you roast on national television can be the one you accidentally fall for.
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