Page 32 of Shutout
“Again, she says.” Mina snorts and elbows Dee next to her. “As if her feelings had gone away at all.”
I glare.
Dee shrugs. “No think. Only do you.”
“Dohim.” Mina drags the word until some other girls nearby glance our way.
“Stop! Oh my word.” I cover my face with my free hand.
Something like a yell sounds from the outside and then the front door opens, followed by a squeal.
The St. Cloud Thunder Bolts must be making their appearance, huh.
Sure enough, one guy in a navy suit struts in. What appears to be a random girl from the crowd launches herself at him and next thing, they’re sucking faces right in front of everyone.
Is this going to be what happens every time one of them walks in? And when Brooklyn comes in too?
I watch with the same kind of curiosity as someone about to witness a car crash as the next guy makes it to the threshold. Two girls pull him by the arms, although no PDA yet. Maybe the first guy was an exception. The third guy instead high-fives some of the other people, and the fourth heads straight to the kitchen without bothering to be social.
I sit back against the windowsill, so relived that I don’t even care if Mina can read me like a book.
See? This is the problem. I become this unhinged, jealous, insecure person when Brooklyn is concerned. Deep down, no matter how much it hurts, I know he has the right of it by sticking to just being friends. If we were more it would be too… too all consuming, never ending, tooeverything. It’s scary.
That’s whenhewalks in, wearing a deep emerald suit that probably costs as much as this house. His blond hair is longish at the top, and he’s combed it aside in a way that makes the natural wave look intentional. If some guys are a snack, Brooklyn Tatum is a whole damn four-course Michelin-starred meal, including dessert. I couldn’t look away even if someone paid me a billion bucks.
How did I even manage to keep my cool all those years back?
Brooke’s talking with one of his teammates when, suddenly, he swings around and locks eyes with me. I startle. Sheer willpower alone keeps me from hiding.
Slowly, his lips curve in a lopsided smile. I read them say, “You came.”
No, I didn’t. The ghost of me did for I am dead now.
Mina singsongs. “Chopped liver.”
I fix my attention on her. “If you ever accidentally or on purpose say anything that gives away my feelings for him to anybody outside of this triangle of trust, I will turn you into chopped Mina.”
“Bit morbid but you can count on my discretion.” Then why is she smirking? “So, you admit you have feelings.”
“Ugh. I think I prefer you when you’re chasing after boys. Go find someone to spend all that energy with.”
She picks up her Solo cup from the fireplace mantle. “Fine. Then let’s go play beer pong with some jocks to see if I can play with any of their pongs later.”
I burst into laughter and meanwhile our other roomie cringes. “Yuck, I never wanted to think about Bolts’ pongs.” Dee sticks her tongue out. It’s funny that she acts like Bolts are gross, when I know for a fact that she’s had some intra-team fun in the past.
But anyway, as I follow them to the center of the living room, I take a discrete look around and I don’t spot Brooklyn anymore. Did he already find someone to bring to his room or something?
I shake my head hard. It’s none of my business. He can do whatever and whoever he wants.
Unlike Dee, Mina and I are as uncoordinated as newborn foals. Unlike Mina, though, I don’t enjoy any kind of physical activity outside of reading on my couch or lightly headbanging to a jam. So when we try to be fair and I end up pairing with Dee, while Mina ends up with a random girl on the other team, all I do is drag Dee down. It works out great, because gradually I stop even trying. Dee’s competitive spirit alone carries the team.
Some movement catches my attention from through the crowd around us. Brooke’s heading down the stairs, now wearing one of those graphic T-shirts that would look awful on anyone else, and a pair of ripped jeans that show a hint of powerful hockey thighs. He’s not even on solid ground when a super hot girl in tiny shorts and a crop top intercepts him.
I swallow hard and try to focus on the game. Okay, so he went upstairs not for a hookup but for a change of clothes. Turns out the hookup found him, though.
How do I make myself not care? Did it really take finding a boyfriend—any boyfriend, as it was—to fool myself into thinking I was over him?
And yet, I take a look around and spot a few good looking guys I’d have tried to make out with a week ago. But even that plan has been foiled after knowing what being properly, thoroughly kissed is like. And byhim, no less.
