Page 83 of Shutout
I swallow hard and have to squeeze my eyes hard to focus them on the screen of his laptop. He has it half rested on his thigh, half on mine. Obviously, this tilts it heavily against me because his thigh is so much bigger. I desperately wish I could chuck the device away and just map the muscles of his powerful hockey thighs with my hands.
“It’s a good start, but I think we should make the dialogue more personal.” My voice comes out weird but I refuse to clear my throat out of principle.
“Hmm.” Brooke scrolls down, his two middle fingers brushing the trackpad softly. “Okay, I see your point. It almost sounds like a TV ad.”
“I really think the lecturer is going to evaluate us on this. I mean, he did say he wanted the pairs to go deeper.”
“Deeper, huh?” he muses aloud, casually making me want to scream.
His phone goes off right then, the screeching almost acting as my proxy. Finally, Brooklyn unwraps himself fromaround me and stretches away to pull his phone out of his backpack.
“Aww, man.”
“What?” I ask, my eyes fixed on the short true-blond hairs at the back of his head.
“I have to get going. Can’t be late for the game prep.”
I press my lips into a tight line, right in time to keep a groan inside. When I can trust myself again, I say, “That’s okay, we can finish the rest by text.”
Brooke pauses from packing his things up to turn to me. His lips are twisted in a thoughtful expression. “Hey, Liv. What are you doing after the game?”
“Not working on the Spanish assignment, if that’s what you mean.” I roll out of the way so I don’t step on his coat and get to my feet, before bending down to pick it up. I shake the garment and pat the contact areas to clean it up a bit.
“Cool, I don’t wanna do that either but there’s something I want to ask you.” I freeze, watching as he gets up, strap of his backpack on one hand, and a blue bundle on the other. When he faces me, he says even more bizarre things. “So, I’ll find you after the game and then we can go get some dinner. But in the meantime, take this.”
“What?” I stare at the thing. It’s fabric, and at first I don’t make sense of the mix of colors. Some blue, grey, white, a dash of yellow. Then Brooke splays it open and I get it. It’s a Thunder Bolts jersey, complete with the C at front. I lift my eyes to his. “Why are you giving me a hockey jersey?”
“Not just any good ol’ jersey. It’s mine.” He turns it around, showing the TATUM 3 at the back. “It’s game worn, but I promise I washed it.”
It’s interesting how a person can choke with their mouth firmly closed, yet here I am. I have to cough a couple of times and swallow hard before I can speak again. “Why are you giving me your jersey?”
“Because I know you don’t have one, and it’d be cool if you could support the team?” His lips widen into a cheeky grin. “And by team I mean me. There is totally an I in Captain.”
“Um, are you sure? It’s like…” I wave my hand, not knowing how to explain what could potentially backfire. This is a hockey girlfriend thing, which I’m not. Yet, I want to be. Except he didn’t jump my bones last week. I’m not strong enough to open this can of worms right now.
“Look,” he says, dropping his backpack on the floor and working the jersey in his hand. I don’t move a muscle as he puts the neck opening over my head. Brooke takes his coat from my hands and with one of his, lowers the jersey down my body until I’m trapped. And even more confused. It must be showing in my expression, because if anything he’s even more amused now. “Liv, you’re my favorite member in the audience and literally the only person who’s there because she genuinely cares about me. That’s why I want you to wear it.”
“Okay,” I say automatically. It’s not a declaration of love. He’s obviously not asking me to be his girlfriend. But I’ll take it. I’ll take whatever crumb he gives me right now until I can eat the whole pie. And I will, no matter how long it takes me to make him look at me the way I want. I slide my arms into the sleeves of the jersey, and then spread them wide. “How do I look?”
He rubs his chin while he inspects me, head to toe. “Shorter, somehow.”
“Go.” I point toward the exit.
Chuckling, he grabs his stuff. “See you after the game.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
I watch him go, my heart racing faster even as he disappears down the stairs.
Then I look down at myself. It’s not a mighty big deal. Plenty of girls on campus wear his jersey, and it’s not like people would know at a glance that this one is an actual player’s jersey. There’s no stake being claimed here. But is it bad if I feel like it is anyway?
I wish I could ask Siri what this means. Boy doesn’t go awooga at the sight of me wearing something racy, but he gives me his jersey. And now he wants to ask me something after the game.
“Fool,” I whisper to myself. If I hadn’t gotten so distracted by the jersey, I could’ve asked him what his question was, instead of now having to agonize over it during an entire game.
I try to do a bit more work for a different class, but I can’t focus. The library feels drastically colder now that I don’t have the human torch right beside me. What if he was all over me just because he knew I was cold, not because he can’t get enough of me?
Ugh. I need to do something definitive. I can’t keep living like this.
