Page 82 of Shutout
“I saw you looking at him funny.”
“No—I’m just happy for Mina. She’s the one with a thing for him.” Liv raises her index finger in warning. “Don’t you dare tell him. She’d kill me.”
“My lips are sealed.” Would that I could seal my eyes too, before they bulge out. The problem is that with her jacket open so wide, I can see a peek of her side under her arm, and there’s a little curve of her skin there that is absolutely killing me. I want to taste it so bad.
I sip more tea, too.
“So, it’s not a particular guy, then?” I ask.
Liv swirls the drink in her glass with the straw. Almost too softly to hear, she responds with, “My next boyfriend, hopefully.”
My heart trips against itself.
She came here looking for a guy. A guy to get together with. My fingers tap against the surface of the bar. I didn’t tell her I was here with Dane, so it’s not like she purposely came for either of us. But thishasto mean she’s over whatshisface. So maybe I finally have a chance.
“You don’t need to dress like this to get a guy’s attention, though.” Especially not mine. I love her even in ratty old T-shirts ten times her size.
Liv’s face scrunches up. “Do you know what my ex said when we officially broke up?”
“No.” My entire body clenches with the desire to checkhim against the boards with all my strength. Alas, Trent McFadden isn’t a hockey player.
Propping her elbow against the bar, and the side of her face on her hand, she looks as me as she says, “That I was too boring and frigid.”
“What?”
Even Barry turns toward me.
Liv nods like we’re talking about the weather. “The boring part is his fault. He wanted to dictate how I dressed and what we did, so that’s what he got. But frigid? That was a he-problem, right?”
Abso-freaking-lutely. She boils me up even when she just smiles my way. Forget about the vision she is right now.
Liv pauses to motion at herself. “Like Mina says, I’m freaking hot. And I’ll make sure the next guy really, really wants me.”
“Liv, listen.” Before she kills me from excessive blood flow, I grab the flaps of her jacket and pull them close. She sits quietly while I work on the first button, the one at the bottom, and steadily make my way up to close her jacket. When I’m done with the top one, I look into her eyes and say, “The right guy will come and he’ll want you with every fiber of his being, regardless of what you’re wearing, okay?”
Her expression softens a bit and she expels a breath. “I hope so.”
She can be sure of it because that next guy is me, and my brain churns ideas on how to tell her soon.
CHAPTER 28
OLIVIA
Iam confusion. Confusion’s definition in the dictionary is me.
I recall an occasion or two when Brooke openly checked out a hot girl. So I know how the damn-I’d-tap-that expression looks like on his face. The subtle narrowing of his eyes. The little lip bite. The head tilt to get a better look. That’s not at all how he looked like at O’Malley’s when he saw my outfit. Instead, he acted all brotherly and shit trying to protect my modesty.
Yet here we are six days later at the library, and he won’t stop touching me.
We commandeered a quiet corner behind the history shelves, against the window. The heating’s actually nicer here than it is over at the long, open area with the tables, which is why we’d rather sit on the prehistoric carpet than on chairs. Brooke took off his winter coat and set it on the floor for me to sit on, and ever since, he’s been parked flush against me. Our shoulders and arms brush every time we move, and he even dumped his ginormous, rock solid leg over mine when I tried to move away. A bit later, when I stretched out my arms andshoulders, he sneaked his arm around me and hasn’t let me get away since.
Brooklyn has always been like a puppy, constantly seeking touch and affection. And even then, this is weird. It’s like… boyfriend-y stuff. Which doesn’t track with how he didn’t openly salivate over me.
Worse, even though I’ve been trying to act mature about it, it hurt me that he didn’t.
This is messing me up even more. Especially because I’m drowning in the masculine scent that clings to him, and the curve of the back of my neck fits against his shoulder like a lock and key.
“How’s that?” His side rumbles against mine with the deep timbre of his voice. I’m super glad to be wearing thermal leggings and a tent-like St. Cloud hoodie, so he can’t see the goosebumps it raises all over my skin.
