Page 17 of Shutout
“And whose fault is that?” I mutter bitterly.
Slowly, she glances over her shoulder. “Yours, actually.”
“Fine.” I throw my hands out in that dramatic way she has. “I’m glad we’re finally hashing this out. It’s my fault, I was a total jerk. But that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped looking out for you.”
“Is that what you think you were doing?” Now she faces me again, incredulity pouring out of her very being. “Ever stopped to think I can take care of my damn self?”
“Sure. You could probably have kicked him in the balls. But what if he hurt you first?” I shake my head. “And what kind of person would I be if I saw what was going on and didn’t intervene?”
“Uh.” Liv taps her chin, pretending to think. “Someone who stays out of other people’s business?”
“No, an asshole. That’s what.”
She blinks hard against the rain starting to prickle her eyes.With an efficient swivel on her heels, she starts heading around the building back to the front. I follow because I’ll make sure she gets back in safe.
As she fumes in silence, I ask, “Why are you even giving the time of the day to some random creep like that?”
“None of your business, Brooklyn.”
I hate that she’s calling me just like everyone else.
She used to have more nicknames for me than I can count. Brooke. Brookie—which is short for a brownie and cookie baked together, my favorite dessert. Body odor, because she said I always stank every time I gave her a headlock and made a mess of her hair. Blondie. Puppy, because I’m like a tireless golden retriever when I’m giving her crap.
And that’s what I channel now, even though I’m annoyed as hell. This freaking rain isn’t helping, either. “Are you looking for a rebound? Because if so I can hook you up with someone who isn’t a slimeball.”
She flinches, but I don’t have enough time to inspect that when she suddenly gets in my grill. “Trust me, I don’t needyourhelp to find some stranger to make out with. No matter how below your league I may be.”
Ouch. And not just from the words Liam Roberts said that time. Her index finger jabs at my chest once, twice. Hard enough to bruise.
Before the third jab, I curl my hand around her finger and seize it. Leaning closer to her, desperate to wipe Roberts’ words from her mind any way that I can, I say, “Well, lucky for you I’m a stranger now, huh?”
Liv yanks her finger free and takes a step away. She rakes her fingers through her wet hair and pushes it back. It makes her crop top ride up and I get a glimpse of a black sports bra.
It makes heat burst in my gut and that’s when my own words click.
I blink hard against the pouring rain and my own hair poking my eyes, but actually it’s just so I process the moment.
Sometimes… often—okay, all the time—I talk without thinking and put my size sixteen foot in my mouth. It’s why another one of her nicknames for me was blimbo. Blond himbo.
“Puh-lease.” Liv snorts hard enough to drown a roll of thunder. “You wouldn’t kiss me if your life depended on it.”
“Is that a challenge? Because it sounds like one.”
Shit, I guess I’m still in blimbo mode.
A condescending look falls on her face. “No, it’s a fact—based on the whole me being under your league and all.”
“Would you just freaking drop that? I’m not the one who said that crap.”
“No, but you agreed.”
“Aceituna,” I say, using the nickname she hates the most in the world. “This is what I’ve been hoping to tell you for a damn year and a half. Yeah, I took the coward’s way so I wouldn’t have to stand up to someone I thought I had to impress. But I never really agreed, not for a single stinking second. You’re not a nerd or a dud.”
She huffs. “A boring dweeb and below your league were his precise words.”
It’s dark enough now that the street lights flicker on. Liv is bathed by an unnatural white halo that darkens her expression, and I don’t know if that’s why I can’t read it. It’s like she’s angry, or pensive, or maybe both. She’s capable of multitasking that way.
Then she lifts her chin. “Prove it, then.”
