Page 95 of Shutout
Brooke blinks those emerald green eyes of his slowly. “We’re already badass and intimidating, no matter what we wear.”
“Pfff. They must not know you’re actually a cinnamon roll, golden retriever, marshmallow guy.”
“Excuse me!” He raises his voice in mock outrage that won’t get him any attention, because this place is freaking empty and he can’t fool his only audience. “I’m the best defenseman in Division I hockey right now. Opponents cower upon my sight?—”
“Do they?”
“Hey.” His frown now is for real.
I press my lips tight. “Sorry to break it to you, they’re intimidated by your skills but not by your face.”
He scrunches up said face. “Fine, I’m more the pest kind of D-man than the enforcer kind. But what’s wrong with my face?”
My eyes flash to the faint scar right above the edge of his jaw, and I desperately wish I could kiss it. As if my lips could take away the hurt and finish healing it. But in the course of a few weeks, the blemish has become so familiar I almost don’t notice it’s there. It’s just part of his face now—his beautiful, perfect face that will always haunt me every time I close my eyes.
“Nothing,” I say, meaning it. But before he can say anything, I point at a store with my lips. “There’s the place that will get me looking like a million bucks but actually set me back somewhere south of fifty.”
“Wait, isn’t this the place where you bought your actual senior prom dress?”
I squint up at him. “How do you remember that?”
Brooke presses his fist against his mouth and clears his throat. “Well, the tag was hanging from your dress like half the night.”
That piece of news makes me gasp as we walk into the store. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“I took it off when we finally managed to dance the one time.”
Oh, I rememberthat.
His date, who was his girlfriend at the time, hogged him basically the whole night. I didn’t have a date, which made me feel even crappier about myself the whole time. And when, at last, Brooke’s girlfriend took a bio break and he found me for the dance we’d promised each other since like, middle school, I thought my moment had arrived. At one point he even leaned down and I thought he was going to kiss me, only to pull back quickly.
That moment was traumatizing at the time. I agonized the whole night about whether my expression showed how much I wanted him, and whether that had made him pull away. But I now guess it must’ve been when he tore the tag from my dress.
After inflating my chest with air, I expel it all out in a noisy sigh.
“Welcome,” a sales associate says to us. Correction, to Brooklyn. She only has eyes for him, even though this store only sells apparel for women. “Can I help you with anything specific?”
His hand rests on my shoulder and he says, “We got it, but we’ll call you if we need help.”
Her smile falters a tad as she looks down at me. “You got it.” I can’t fault her for her disappointment.
As she leaves, my eyes fall on the rack she’d been blocking and I gasp. “Wow, that dress is so ugly it’s almost offensive.” It’sthis concoction of mesh and faux leather, all in a bright yellow highlighter hue.
Brooke squeezes between me and a busy rack, which means the front of his body brushes against my arm and fully paralyzes me. He plucks the dress by the hanger and offers it to me. “I dare you to try it on.”
I unfreeze myself to roll my eyes and say, “We’re not in middle school anymore, Toto.”
“Speaking of dogs, I double dog dare you.” There’s a smugness in his face I don’t appreciate, because if I refuse the dare he’s probably going to come up with something worse.
“Didn’t you say we have to kind of hurry up because you have practice soon?” That’s one last ditch attempt.
Of course, he easily deflects it. “Aceituna, are you being chicken shit?”
“Fine.” I snatch the awful thing from his hand until I see the size. “Wait, I need the right size.”
“What are you?” he asks as he returns the original monstrosity to the rack.
I sigh. “M on a good day.”
