“Most girls go after him. He…hell, up until the beginning of this semester, we didn’t have to work for attention from women.”
“Beginning of the semester?” Gia knew she sounded stupid and worried and irrational, but she couldn’t help herself.
“Me, I meant me.” He exhaled, shoulders lowering, though he still held a wide smile on his mouth. “I’ve never tried so hard to get and keep someone like I have with Keira.” When Gia nodded, Kona moved his chin toward his brother. “Luka, though, he’s not gonna notice anything unless it’s right there in front of him and, I gotta be honest with you, Jilani, I don’t think you want his attention if you catch it.”
Gia frowned, not sure what warning Kona was trying to give. This time when she looked up at him, her shyness and embarrassment had shifted to a small amount of irritation. “Why?”
The big guy shrugged, attention down at her, then back to his brother. Two cheerleaders still in their uniforms hovered next to Luka, one on each side of his chair and Gia looked away, a little more clued in on Kona’s meaning now. She should be used to it—seeing Luka and the attention he got from girls, but she wasn’t.
“It’s not a big deal,” she told Kona, scanning the crowd again for her friends. “I’m not…pining if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I don’t think that,” he told her, looking for all the world like he could barely hold back his smile. “What I do think is that my twin is a good dude… to his friends. Maybe you should just try to be his friend and keep the other stuff to yourself.”
Gia didn’t answer, and Kona didn’t do more than tap her shoulder before he walked away, leaving her alone on the courtyard steps, debating the wisdom of pulling Claire away from the running back who had his hand on her ass. It was a distraction, something Gia did to keep her attention off Luka and the cheerleaders she knew were friendlier, braver, maybe even prettier than she was.
She hated how dark her thoughts could go. Gia hated the cloud of negativity that could sometimes weigh her down when it came to Luka. Normally, she was strong because she’d have to be if she wanted to kick in a few doors and run her own team one day. There was no room for her goals and any self-doubt. But when it came to Luka Hale, the non-self-doubting woman she typically was got shoved aside and the awkward, goofy girl she’d been as a kid resurfaced.
My God, she thought, watching Mimi attempt a spin on top of the dirty picnic table. It’s end of junior year formal all over again and I’m just waiting for someone to take pity on me and ask me to dance.
“Pathetic,” she told herself, ignoring a big Sigma Chi frat guy glancing her way as he walked down the steps. “Damn that.”
She was going to approach Luka. Kona’s suggestion was a good one, but it wasn’t the one she’d take. Just then, Gia decided to confront Luka, get and keep his attention like the miraculous way Keira Riley caught Kona’s. She was going to march across the yard, nudge both of those over-eager cheerleaders from their comfy spots at Luka’s sides and make him see her, hear her and listen.
It was all there, right in her head; the scenario played out—her striding across the yard, head upheld, shoulders back, soaking up the attention she got from everyone she crossed. Luka would wave off whatever the girls said to him and sit up, his focus on Gia, his gaze over her body as she stood in front of him. She’d tell him she liked him. She might recite his stats, tell him what a phenomenal athlete she thought he was, tell him sometimes she’d watch him sprint, watch him with his brother goofing off, watching him on the track or on the field just because he was beautiful. Just because he was special. Not, you know, because she was a certifiable stalker unable to keep away from him. That might not go over too well.
Gia took a step, ready to approach.
She inhaled, straightening her shoulders, recalling every store of confidence she could muster and then, she went still, unable to do much more than stand in the middle of that yard with dozens of drunk kids around her—Claire and Mimi among then—as Luka Hale, surprising now sitting all alone, shot a long, unblinking