Page 13 of Shutout
All the papers she had on the counter slide with her turn and crash down, but for a second neither of us moves. Other than she widens her eyes dramatically upon my sight, that is.
She cut her hair up to her jaw, shortest I’ve ever seen it. But the eyeliner’s back and so is the obscure band T-shirt. I blink as I process what I’m seeing. She used to wear baggy band T-shirts and this one’s cropped. Her chest casts a little shadow over the sliver of her stomach, right before the waistband of her jeans. I don’t dare to meet her eyes again in case she thinks I was just checking her out.
And, uh, she’d be right. I didn’t mean to. It just happened. But I don’t know what that says about me.
So before she can react, I lean down and pick up her stuff. Right at the top is a printout of her schedule. My lips twitch at the reproductive biology I, which makes me wonder if there’s a II, a III, or more. The puns I could make with this knowledge would be chef’s kiss. And then my eyes snag on an elective.
Spanish I.
Her eyes meet mine as I hand her the papers. I hold them a second longer, buying myself some time to try to read her mind.
My brain plucks a memory from the box I try to keep shut. It’s of Olivia and I during the first few weeks of the freshman fall semester. We were hanging out at the library, her studying for some bio class, while I did business school coursework.
“This sucks,” I said with a whiny voice. “You want to open your own company so why couldn’t you just major in business too?”
“Because,” she said, her eyes still tracing a line on her textbook. “I need to know what I’ll be selling at a molecular level first. I’ll figure out the business side later. Or you can teach me.”
I sighed. “Fine, but that means we’ll never be together in class.”
She hummed as her attention finally pulled toward me. I lay on the table, head resting on an extended arm as I looked up to her. Her hair cascaded around her face while she said, “Let’s just take an elective together, then.”
I smirked. “Now we’re talking. But what?”
“I don’t know… Spanish? You always said you wanted to learn more, and it’s not like I’m great at it.”
I stretched myself upright to sitting, suddenly excited at the prospect, and offered my hand out to her. “Deal?”
“Deal.” She shook my hand, two hard pumps before letting go.
The Liv of the present looks at me like she wishes I’d self combust. She rips the papers from my grip and turns back to the admin guy, not noticing that she’s given me a paper cut.
I lick my index finger while staring at the back of her head, a new plan forming in my mind.
CHAPTER 6
OLIVIA
I’m a bit jittery driving to O’Malley’s in my brother’s old Toyota SUV, it still stinks like his disgusting hockey pads no matter how many times I clean or air it out.
That was the closest I’ve been to Brooklyn in forever and…
He’s hotter than ever. Damn him.
It’s not even just because we’ve turned into strangers. He’s grown an inch or two since high school and filled out more in the past year and change—a lot more. The black Vans T-shirt he was wearing was tight around his shoulders and arms because he’s become a fortress of pure muscle.
I bet his opponents get intimidated by the sheer size of him, even though he has a face that belongs in Hollywood, and is the goofiest boy in the planet.
The good news is that I’m as pissed at him as ever.
I grip the steering wheel tighter. This is why I’ve been avoiding him like the plague. Even a glimpse of his hair brings back a rush of unwelcome emotions.
In my mind I can still see the scene from that night crystal clear. We’d spent all day going back and forth betweenattending some Bolt House party or going to the movies instead. I didn’t do parties much even then, but with some liquid courage and a killer outfit, I gathered my nerve to go to the Bolt House to finally confess my feelings for Brooklyn, even if that meant officially joining his world of stinky jocks.
That didn’t happen, though. Instead, I found him in the kitchen talking with another hockey jock.
“Dude, that chick who clings to you all the time is the reason why you’re not getting any,” the dude bro said.
Brooklyn rubbed his hair and his back was turned to me. He had no idea said chick—me—had just entered the kitchen.
