Page 31 of Shutout
“He’s definitely into you.”
I give Mina a look. “Wow, so this is what two butt cheeks flapping to produce words sounds like.”
Her lips twitch but she manages to keep herself serious. “Listen to me, you stubborn human being. He basically didn’t even acknowledge our existence throughout that whole interaction.”
“Yep, we were definitely chopped liver.” Dee waggles her eyebrows.
Sighing, I nurse the half empty Solo cup in my hands. We found ourselves a corner of the Bolt House living room, just off the side of the fireplace. We have to basically scream at each other over the myriad of voices and loud rap bass already blaring in the house—and this is before the team even arrives. I imagine it’ll get much rowdier after.
“It’s not like that. Brooke is a one-track mind kind of guy. He had a mission, which was to make me come to this horrible place, and he wasn’t going to entertain distractions until he succeeded.”
“He touched your hair,” Mina says, patting her own head.
I cringe. “To give me a stinky headlock.”
“No, it was to touch your hair. Guys who are into girls do whatever it takes to touch their hair—and other places, obviously,” she says, as if flexing her psych major muscles.
Except she’s dead wrong. “No, he’s always given me headlocks like I’m his younger sister. Even though I’m older.” By two months, but it mattered a lot when we were kids.
“His eyes were on you like ninety five percent of the time,” Dee says. The traitor. “That’s another sign. It’s like body language one-oh-one.”
Mina leans forward and puts her hand on my shoulder. “He ditched the after-game team huddle and made his way through the crowd to find you. That boy is whipped.”
I throw one hand in the air. “You guys don’t get it because you don’t know him. He’salwayslike that. He’s like a freaking puppy with a bone. This is nothing compared to how he is with his girlfriends. He treats them like princesses, not like sisters. There is no one more disgustingly sappy than him.”
“Fine, ignore all these facts that your real best friends are laying on you.” Mina waves her hands in the air, as if wiping the slate clean. “The actual point here is, what are you going to do from now on?”
“What do you mean?”
“You had a massive crush on him, it went badly, you’ve reconnected. Now what?” She blinks up at me. “Friends forever or friends to lovers?”
I throw my head back and beg the heavens—through a ceiling spotted with gross stains—to grant me patience. “I already told you that he’s the one who cooked thatfriends foreverspecial. There’s nothing else on the table.”
Mina gets in my grill. “But is that what you want?”
I blink down at her. Even though she’s almost a head shorter than me, she’s scaring me. Her eyes look feral. Like she wants to maim me right now.
“What I want,” I say slowly and her eyes widen in anticipation. “Is peace. Which is the opposite of drama. Which is exactly what would happen if I develop another hidden agenda.”
She whines. “Having a crush on a friend isn’t the federal crime you’re painting it to be.”
“Actually,” Dee cuts in. “I agree with Olivia.”
“See?”
Mina whirls around to her. “The hell do you mean?”
“He already made his intentions clear when he said friends forever.” Dee tosses her microbraids over her shoulder and shrugs. “And I get it. He’s definitely sending mixed signals. But maybe he just doesn’t know whathewants right now, and the worst thing Liv can do is to get herself hung up on him if he’s going to be all wishy-washy, especially after the whole debacle with Trench Coat.”
We’ve decided avoiding his name is too hard, and I came up with this silly nickname that isn’t the kind of insult I’d have to go to confession for, but still makes it very clear that we don’t appreciate him. In the least.
“Thank you.” I motion at Dee with one hand. “You’re officially bestowed with the title of Olivia’s best friend.”
Mina gasps. “Outrageous!”
I bite my lip, debating whether to share what’s really circling in my head right now. But these are my friends. They’re not people who would dismiss what I think or make fun of me for it. Maybe they’ll even help me make sense of myself.
“What if…” I trail off, looking down at the beer growing flat in my cup. “What if I can’t help myself and I catch feelings again?”
