Page 5 of Shutout
“Anyway, shoo.” I wave my hands toward the door. “Go to your party, whichever it’ll be.”
“No, I am duty-bound to not leave you alone and miserable, unlike that sorry excuse for a boyfriend of yours.”
I fold my arms tight and glare at her. “Just because we’re not glued to each other all the time, doesn’t mean he’s a bad boyfriend.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Mina says with a contrite expression that I don’t believe for a second because she never backs down. Sure enough, she adds, “You’re totally happy with your boyfriend. So don’t you want your bestie to find a boyfriend of her own to be totally happy with?”
Damn it, she’s good. Even though I’m still miffed about her swipes at Trent, she has such a masterful use of sarcasm that I can’t stop my lips from twitching. This is why we became friends in the first place.
Dee nudges Mina with her elbow. “I think she’s starting to crack. Keep going.”
But before Mina can utter another smartass word from her mouth, I groan. “Guys, please. You know how much I hate anything related to hockey, especially the Bolts. The literal last thing I want to do is be surrounded by them.”
“You won’t be doing it for them, but for me.”
“And for me,” Dee says with a grin. “Because I’m so texting the Strikes to rally the troops and go make a mess.”
“Prettyplease?” Mina elongates the word through a smile the shows off her perfect pearly whites.
“But…” I point at my textbooks strewn on my desk, but they’re not even open already.
Maybe if I tell them the real reason why I don’t want to go to this party, they’ll let me off the hook. They know I had a best friend before them that was a guy, and that we had a big fallout after he acted like a grade-A jerk during our freshman year at St. Cloud.
What they don’t know is that he’s the star defenseman of the Thunder Bolts, one Brooklyn Tatum.
If I told them, I’m sure they’d let me off the hook. I could spend the rest of the night here in my room, chugging away at the materials that will take me closer to my dream masters in nutrition. Or I could even whip up another nice little recipe to post on my Instagram tonight. Something quick and easy for everyone else who is also studying for midterms.
But I know Dee and Mina would also make a huge deal out of it. They’d forgo celebrating the Strikes’ win altogether to waging World War III on Brooklyn Tatum. And no matter how much he deserves it, I just don’t want to deal with drama. It’s why I’ve been avoiding him for a year.
So what do I do? Do I set my friends off on him so I can stay home tonight? Or do I put up with the possibility of seeing him tonight?
The latter will only ruin my night. The former will ruin my friends’ night and I can’t do that to them.
Defeated, I mutter. “Ugh, shit.”
“Yes!” Mina jumps to her feet. “We should?—”
“No.” I cut her off. “I know exactly what you’re going to say and no. I’m not changing into a barely-there dress. This is how you’re dragging my ass to this awful party.” I motion at my black leggings and the blue St. Cloud sweatshirt I swiped from Trent’s closet.
“Fine, you’re not the one who’s looking for a man, anyway.” Mina twirls around and finally heads to her room.
Dee’s still in mine, her fingers furiously texting while her grin seems to grow bigger with every second. “And done. We have officially relocated the venue of tonight’s victory party to one Bolt House. I’m gonna go get ready.”
I scrunch up my face. “But I thought you’re also not looking for anything at the Bolt House.” Dee is allegedly in a committed relationship with hockey—allegedly because even though she doesn’t waste much of her time trawling through bars or parties, she does occasionally find a hookup here or there.
Dee tosses her microbraids over her shoulder. “Yes, but I also enjoy looking like a damn snack. So if you’ll excuse me.”
I plop on my desk chair after she also leaves and put my face in my hands. Tonight isn’t going according to any plan, huh? But it’s fine—I’m fine. Even if I seehim, I’ll pretend like he’s just a fly in the wall like I’ve been doing for a year.
And maybe I’ll snap a couple of pictures for Trent. He’s always complaining that I’m not social enough so this should prove him wrong. I make a quick Instagram post saying I’m going to this party so he can see it, but at the last second I decide to delete it and just surprise him later.
In the end, I get a bit of studying in while my friends doll up for the party. As we file into the back of an Uber together, I’m slightly less annoyed by this plan. In fact, I join in singing along to a song by Olivia Rodrigo, even though I hate it when people make fun of me because we have a similar name.
By the time we get to the Bolt House, I’m not even nervous. A year ago, a party at this place basically ruined my life. I won’t let that memory get in the way of my chaotic friends’ night out.
CHAPTER 3
BROOKLYN
