Page 46 of Shutout
“Motionless in White, though? We loved that in high school.” I stuff the rolled up tie into the pocket of my blazer and then remove it, settling it down on the couch.
“I know. I’m thinking Mudvayne’s next,” she says, watching me take a seat on the floor right beside her. She scoots a bit farther, except that almost puts her at the end of the table. “Um, is this comfortable for you? We could use the kitchen island instead.”
I watch her as I unbutton the left sleeve of my shirt and start to roll it up. Her attention’s drawn to my tattoo right away, and she keeps staring at it even when I say, “No, this is fine.” It’s perfect. She’s perfect.
“You never told me you wanted a tattoo.” She motions at it with her lips in a way I used to find funny, but now gets a chill traveling through my spine.
Clearing my throat, I say, “That’s because I didn’t know I wanted one until I did.”
“Okay, fair.”
I look away from her to work on the opposite sleeve now. “Do you want to know what it means?”
“Can I?” Liv reaches forward to pop open the first pizza box. When it turns out to be her special, she swings it open all the way and grabs a big slice of gluten free, no cheese, marinara, black olives—ironic—capers, and artichokes. No meat, because deli meats have an additive her stomach can’t tolerate.
I bite down a smile as I watch her tuck in with gusto. She trusts very few people in her life to keep her food safe, and I happen to be one of them. Always made me feel special.
Now I want more. I want to keep her safe, not just her food. I want to be her special person. I wanther.
But I don’t want to freak her out. I have to take it easy.
I place my hand on top of my pizza box, palm facing up so the start of my tattoo is visible. “It’s kind of silly,” I continue, my voice a bit deeper than I intend. “But these three lines represent the most important aspects of my life.”
“Doesn’t sound silly,” she says with a mouth full of food.
There’s a smudge of marinara on her cheek and before I can process, I reach forward and wipe it with my thumb. I lick the sauce off my finger but keep my eyes fixed on my tattoo because I’m afraid she’ll read my mind if I let her look into my eyes. Yet I can’t stop myself from touching her. From craving her skin.
So much for taking it easy.
“This one,” I say, touching the fully black line on the outer edge. “It represents hockey, which is going pretty well for me, even though we lost tonight.”
“I saw the score.” Her voice is soft, airy. “Must’ve been tough. Wanna talk about it?”
I look up. “You want to talk about hockey with me?”
“Notice how I asked if you wanted to, instead of saying I wanted to?”
Grinning, I touch the line in the middle, which is fadedcompared to the hockey one. “And this one is for friends, like you, who put up with my shit even though I annoy them.”
“Ah, yes. That makes sense,” Liv says in a dark tone. “Why is it lighter than the first one, though?”
“Because…” I busy myself with getting a pepperoni pizza slice and force myself to respond. “Because I once drove away my best friend in the whole wide world.” I take a big bite and start chewing.
As the silence stretches, I glance at her and freeze.
Liv looks like she’s about to cry.
“Uh…” I set my slice down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to?—”
She takes a deep breath. “And the last line? The one that’s even more faded.”
I swallow down the pizza, which is suddenly not tasting so great. My stomach churns with a cocktail of emotions that don’t work well together. Severe attraction for my best friend, who still has sauce on her face. Annoyance after the game. Hurt, so much damn hurt, that a restaurant owner cares more about me than my own parents.
“That one’s for my family,” I say with a thread of voice. I don’t need to explain why it’s the faintest line. Liv knows. She’s seen the worst of the Tatums from the front row.
She slides her fingers between mine and holds my hand tight. “I’m sorry, Brooke.”
For some reason, what I manage to say is, “You’re getting gluten on your hand now.”
