Page 63 of Shutout
Emily pats her friend’s shoulder. “Easy, girl. I think these two are just delusional.”
“What?” I scrunch up my face.
“Yeah, you guys are so in love with each other, it almost hurts to watch.” Alyssa lifts her hands, palms up. “So, either I tease you a little or I start seeing green. You’ll just have to put up with it, I’m afraid.”
“I can’t wait for this presentation to be over,” I murmur, acid dripping from my voice. Their chuckles follow as I weave around the packed tables in the cafe. Brooklyn’s by far the tallest person in line to order, and as he scans the menu overhead, he seems largely unaware of all the looks he’s getting.
Some are nice, like the guys over by the window who are probably debating whether to ask for Brooke’s autograph. He’s, after all, the next highest draft this campus has produced after my brother-in-law.
Other forms of attention aren’t quite as nice—to me, at least. Like the girls two tables over from the line who are undressing him with their eyes. There’s one in particular who sits at an angle Brooke would be able to see, since he’s still pretty far back in the line. She’s biting her lip in that way I know drives guys wild. And if that wasn’t enough, she’s unzipping her hoodie slowly and I don’t think she’s wearing a shirt underneath.
But Brooke nods to himself like he’s just decided what to order, and he turns from the menu to me. His eyes find mine, them a south pole magnet and mine a north one. Dude’s completely oblivious to the disappointed girl behind him.
“He literally has eyes only for you,” one of our Spanish group mates says behind me.
I huff. “Oh, stuff it.”
There’s a lot less bite in my words than before. This is the kind of situation that for years lifted up my hopes until they soared like a balloon in the sky, but something would always deflate it and I’d come crashing back down to earth. After so many violent crashes, I just can’t genuinely tell if this is a me-thing or if Emily and Alyssa are right—if Brooke is starting to look at me like something other than his former bestie.
“No,youstuff it.” Alyssa laughs. “And you know exactly what and where—ow! Did you just pinch me?”
I retrieve my pincer hand. “Yes, and I only regret not doing it earlier.”
“What was that about?” Brooke asks as we join him in line. A random dude tries to complain, thinking we’re cutting line before him, but when he sees who he’d have to take his complaint against—a bigass hockey player—the guy clams up and falls back behind us.
Meanwhile, blimbo here doesn’t notice anything. How he manages to have almost perfect view of the ice when he’s playing is a mystery. I shake my head.
“Nothing,” I respond. “What are you getting?”
“The egg sandwich.” As the three of us blink up at him, he grins. “Sandwiches. I know it’s tiny so I usually order six.”
Alyssa gives me a look. “Suddenly, I have a different type of jealousy.”
“Yeah, I also wish I could eat that much,” Emily says.
This is when Brooke decides to be sharp, because he tilts his head and asks, “A different type?”
“What are you guys getting?” I ask the other two girls, loudly.
Emily knows exactly what I’m doing but she’s the nicer one of the bunch. “I think I’ll go for the breakfast bagel.”
“Avocado toast for me.” Alyssa tosses her brown hair over her shoulder.
Brooke nudges my side with his elbow. “You, Liv?”
“I’ll get the garden salad,” I mumble.
“But it has walnuts.”
I lift my eyes to his. Of course he knows I’m allergic to walnuts and like half of the other edible foods on this planet.But did he scan the whole menu and memorized the items that have any of my allergens, or what?
Please, someone tell his boy that he doesn’t need to do anything further to make me love him. I’m already too far gone.
“I—yes. I always ask them not to put them in.”
Brooke nods and rejoins the conversation with our study partners. The two girls mustn’t have noticed the significance of his question, or otherwise they’d be teasing me again.
I hang back a little as they chat about the presentation we’re assembling, occasionally giving my input when they ask for it. None of us is a native speaker, but Brooke always defaults to me because he knows I grew up in a Spanish speaking household and can understand it, even though he took more Spanish lessons in high school than I did. That’s been our dynamic since we were kids; Brooke’s always been happy to let me lead whatever topic I’m passionate about, even if he has comparable or more knowledge about it.
