Page 88 of Shutout
“Right. This was one of Luz and Max’s projects together after they announced they were a couple and got their teams to stop acting like turds.”
“Correcto,” I say, emphasizing the final o in a way that makes her scrunch up her pretty face. “And because they’re geniuses, they scheduled it right before Christmas because it’s the season of giving.”
“Uh huh.” A crease appears between her eyebrows. “If you’re about to ask me to donate to the cause, you’re shit out of luck, pal. There’s only dust and dead moths in my wallet.”
I shake my head, amused that she’s so clueless. “Of coursenot, you brat. I’m going to ask you to be my date for the event.”
“I—” She cuts whatever she was going to say off, eyes bulging. “What?”
“Olivia, will you be my date to the St. Cloud Thunder benefit gala?”
“D-Date?”
She doesn’t seem to be processing and I’m ever so helpful. “Yes, date. As in, we dress up nice, I pick you up, we go to the thing together and stick to each other’s sides the whole night, and then I convey you home in one piece. Nothing major.”
Totally major. Even though I deliver the speech with a smooth voice and a hefty dollop of sarcasm, my heart pounds harder with every second she doesn’t respond.
Abruptly, she pushes to her feet. The space is so narrow that her hips bump against the table. I have to grab it before it topples over. “Liv?—”
“Restroom,” is all she says.
I twist to watch her disappear down the hallway. Then a shadow appears before me, and it’s one of Max’s way older brothers putting a basket of gluten free garlic knots on the table.
Well, this is going kind of weird.
I pluck one of the knots from the basket and stuff it in my mouth, folding my arms as I chew. I don’t know how to work with this situation. If she’d laughed or straight up said no, I was ready to play the be-my-date-as-friends card like the clown I am. But I have no flipping clue what’s going on with her right now. Guess it’s time to return to asking her what’s wrong.
But then she comes back. I try to stand, but Liv’s already swinging a leggings-clad leg over her chair to slide down vertically. She’s panting when she finally faces me, and her face is dripping water.
“Yes.”
“What?” I ask.
“Yes, I’ll be your date.”
I blink hard. “Why do you look like you just agreed to get dental surgery?”
The determined mask in her face cracks a little. “Do I?”
“You do, but no takebacksies.” I push the basket toward her. “Now, are you going to tell me what’s got you all high strung?”
“There’s nothing.” Liv grabs one of the knots and tears it open. Steam rises from the dough. “Back to the gala. I’ve heard it’s pretty fancy, is that true?”
“Oh, yeah. Black tie kinda shit.”
She wrinkles her nose as she chews. “Dang, I have nothing to wear.”
Curse my traitorous mind for picturing her wearing nothing, and my even more traitorous body for reacting to it.
I tap my fingers on the table just as a great idea occurs to me. “Let’s go shopping, then. Tomorrow before the game.”
Her eyes are still focused on the bread basket as she says, “Okay.”
Nice, scoring myself another incognito date. I pump my fist under the table.
Back to the other topic. “So you’re seriously all right? Got any bad news or something?”
Liv rests her chin on her fist and looks me dead in the eye. Instead of spilling whatever’s bothering her, she says, “So is the gala cocktail formal, or like prom dress formal?”
