Page 19 of Shutout
“What in the actual hell just happened?” I ask they alleyway in a quiet whisper.
CHAPTER 8
OLIVIA
It’s Monday morning of the new semester. I’m sitting in the classroom for my first lecture, the Spanish I elective. The front seat is for whoever loves to spend the entire lecture being asked questions, and ironically so is the very back. So I sit around the middle close to one of the doors, where it takes too much effort for lecturers to turn their heads to.
Here I won’t get called out for not paying attention. Resting my elbows against the table, I rub my temples to try to subdue the headache courtesy of little sleep. Another consequence of not being able to stop thinking about that kiss.
The thing is that in all the years of having an unrequited crush on my best friend—formerbest friend, dang it—I never imagined that kissing him would be so… explosive. Spectacular. Fireworks are a puny comparison.
The whole thing lasted, I don’t know, maybe ten minutes, and yet my body never flared to life anywhere near as much with my ex. Not even when we were getting frisky. Something was always missing.
I always knew Brooke would have it, whateveritis, if only on account of my gargantuan crush on him. And even nowthat I’m no longer pining for him, I wasn’t prepared for the wave of sensations he’d crash over me. With his mouth alone. There was very little hand action going and it was almost enough to make me see stars.
Can’t imagine what it’d be like if he kissed me with actual feelings. I’d self combust.
Yet, I know that whole episode was a glitch in the matrix. Something about that night was the perfect storm, and I don’t mean just because of the rain. I was riding a high on kombucha and anger at boys that made me say,screw it.
And he—honestly, I don’t know what his deal was. I think he’s just become the player he wanted to be at college, and I’ve become just another girl in a crowd of mostly puck bunnies vying for his attention.
I can never face him again. Even if I wanted to.
On the plus side, I won the bet. Which means every ingredient of my gluten-free lunch sandwich was sponsored by my roommates. Small consolation.
Shaking my head, I unzip my backpack, take out my laptop and a few other essentials for notes. I may have chosen this elective in the hopes that it’s an easy way to fulfill my semester credits, but I’m still going to work hard. And hopefully it’ll distract me from only the most amazing kiss I’ve ever had in my life, out of all four of the guys I’ve ever made out with so far.
“Stop.” I hiss to myself as I boot up my laptop.
A murmur rises among the students already in the classroom. I glance around, noting that most people have their attention fixed on the back of the room rather than up front, where we expect the lecturer to appear. I turn.
“No,” I whisper, my eyes widening.
One Brooklyn Tatum walks down the steps in the middle of the classroom, those deep-set, bright eyes of his on me. There are flutters in my chest and chills rush through myskin. They’re both warm and cold, which I know makes no sense.
But neither does he. Neither doesthis. He’s never come to any of my classes. Why now?
My confusion skyrockets as he takes the seat right beside me. I’m reminded yet again of the sheer size of him, because the space should be enough for two people to sit comfortably without touching, but he needs to spread his legs open pretty wide to even fit on the seat. Which makes his thigh push against mine.
With the discretion of a bull in a china shop, I slide my things one spot away and move over.
“What the heck are you doing here?” I ask in a low voice, checking our surroundings for eavesdroppers. And yep, there are lots of them.
Brooke turns to me with a calm expression that I know very well. The twinkle in his eyes and the slight arch of his lips tell me he’s holding back laughter. “I have class.”
“What do you mean you?—”
Someone clears their throat. Couldn’t tell who, but they save me from making a fool of myself because when I face forward, the lecturer’s here. And he’s giving me a look like he’s been here for a while.
Sliding lower on my seat, I give the true disruptor a flaming side eye. He’s the picture of a diligent student, though, taking out his laptop and intently focusing forward like he’s getting paid to do it.
I harrumph softly. Not even ten seconds into starting to pay attention, I get an email notification on the screen of my laptop. I know it’s from the annoying blimbo without even looking. And then he pokes my side with his finger. I swat it away and give him another patented Olivia glare. He mimics a gesture he’s seen in my family plenty of times and points at my laptop with his lips. The same lips that ate mine two days ago.
I click on my mousepad much harder than I should as I pull open his damn email.
From: [email protected]
