25. Am I Walking Funny?
OLIVIA
Do you ever have the distinct feeling that everybody around you is talking about you? Like you’re the hot topic of conversation? All eyes on you?
That’s how I feel today. Maybe I’m being paranoid—about what, I don’t know—but the whispers that halt the second I look in their direction, the gazes that follow me through the hall right now as I head back from the staff room after my first break are pretty telling, and there’s a pit of unease growing inside me.
I make a pit stop in the bathroom to check my outfit for the third time this morning in case there’s a hole or a giant stain I keep missing but come up empty-handed.
“Miss Parker.”
I swivel outside the bathroom door, smiling at the biology teacher/football coach.
“Hey, Mr. Bailey.” I swat his hand away when he ruffles my hair.
He thinks it’s hilarious that I’m five foot one and teach high school fitness to a bunch of boys that tower over me.
I think it’s hilarious that he’s balding at twenty-eight.
“How was your weekend?”
“Great. Fantastic. Awesome.” I could probably stop but my mouth keeps running. “It was super fun.” I got nailed so hard I felt it in my soul. “How was yours?”
His smirk is more irritating than Carter’s, only because it’s lacking the sexy. “I bet it was. Have a good day, Miss Parker.” He winks before disappearing up the stairs.
“All righty then,” I mutter, pushing through the gym doors.
I’m kind of lagging behind today because, as I’ve said, I got fucked straight into the ground last night.
Literally, Carter dropped me on my ass after he broke his wall.
Then he fucked me on the floor. So, anyway, my legs are achy with a side of jelly, which means my senior boys are already dressed and waiting for me.
And they pounce on me the second I stroll in.
“Miss Parkerrr, you’re late.”
“You left us waiting.”
“Are you limping? What kind of freaky shit did you get up to this weekend?”
I swat the ballsy little shit in the shoulder and shove my finger in his face.
“Watch it.” Sinking down to the bleachers, I kick my heels off and swap them for my runners.
Wincing at the pain that runs up my right hamstring, I curl over my knees and grip my calves.
“Fucking fuck me,” I grumble under my breath. “That freaking hurts.”
“Feeling sore, eh?” Brad grins down at me. “Musta been a killer weekend.”
“Mind your business,” I hiss, but take his hand when he offers it to me, pulling me off the bleachers.
I clap my hands together. “Okay, let’s get—” I don’t finish.
Instead, I plant my fists on my hips and shoot a glower at all my boys, snickering behind their hands.
“Are you seriously whispering about me while I’m standing right here? ”
It’s Travis Duke that has the balls to step forward, phone out. “Miss Parker, is this you?”
“Is what me?” My own phone starts vibrating in my back pocket, and for some reason, my mouth is suddenly the Sahara; swallowing is impossible. I lean into Travis, so I can get a look at—
“ Holy-fuck-shit . Oh my God.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, and my hands fly to my lips. I don’t know if it’s to keep more words from spilling out or because I might vomit. Maybe both.
I rip Travis’s phone out of his hands.
“They’re great pictures. You look hot.”
“No wonder your legs hurt today. That guy’s fucking massive.”
“And you’re so tiny. Probably wrecked your—”
I slap a palm across the mouth that’s still talking, because please don’t finish the sentence. My phone is going crazy in my pocket, my heart is a jackhammer, and I can’t formulate a single thought other than oh fuck .
I tear my phone out of my pants, ready to hoof it across the gym, but instead I swipe across the screen and accept the call just to get it to stop fucking vibrating.
“I didn’t take you for a puck bun—”
“Don’t you dare ,” I growl, reeling on Brad.
He backs himself up against the wall, shaky hands in the air as I step into him.
An entire foot taller than me and this boy is scared of me right now.
“Finish that sentence and see what happens, Brad, I dare you. I may be small, but I will put you in the ground and bury you six feet deep. Nobody will find you, Brad. Nobody .”
A husky yet anxious chuckle is the only sound echoing off the empty gym walls right now, and it’s coming from my phone, which has somehow found its way on speaker. “Uh, Ollie?”
I hit the speaker button and slam it against my ear.
“Carter?” Spinning away from the boys, I throw my magical finger up over my shoulder, because I sure as shit don’t miss the whispered words.
Miss Parker, Carter Beckett, and fucking are seemingly the favored ones based on the number of times they’re repeated.
“Hey. Hi. It’s, uh…yeah, it’s me. Carter…
Beckett.” He breathes out a quiet fuck me that somehow manages to tip the corner of my mouth despite this entirely fucked up situation right now, because he’s so adorably sweet when he’s nervous.
“Are you okay? I’m guessing…I mean, did you see the, um… pictures?”
Did I see the pictures?
“There’s an article too,” I think out loud, scanning Travis’s phone screen. I’m rendered speechless by the sight before me when I swipe up. Me and Carter, from about twenty-five different angles, knee-deep in a rigorous game of tonsil hockey out front of the restaurant yesterday.
Carter sighs. “Yeah. The article. I mean…it’s…you look beautiful,” he tries. And fails. Because that doesn’t help, not right now, not really. Another sigh. “Are you…are you okay?”
I’m too busy reading this ridiculous gossip article to answer him.
Olivia? Is That You?
Remember back in December when Carter Beckett, captain of the Vancouver Vipers, dedicated a goal to the mysterious brunette and couldn’t keep his eyes off her the entire game?
(Yes, Mr. Beckett, we all noticed!) They were seen later that night dancing the night away—a new recreational activity for Beckett—before she disappeared off our radar for several weeks.
Well, she’s back, and we sure missed Little Miss Thing.
Beckett, seen here with Olivia, last name unknown, stopping for some ultrasteamy PDA—in broad daylight, folks!—after wrapping up with an intimate lunch at West Oak on Sunday. I guess they missed the memo that Sunday is the Lord’s day.
Is Beckett finally ready to change his ways, or will old habits die hard? Only time will tell if little Miss Olivia is enough to keep the man who can’t be tamed interested. Stay tuned!
“Oh my shitfuck.” I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore as I shove Travis’s phone back into his chest. With one hand buried in my hair, I spin around, because I’m not sure what the hell else to do.
Is Olivia enough? What the fuck? Stupid tears sting my stupid eyeballs as Carter’s patient voice reminds me that he’s still in my ear.
“Olivia? I’m sorry I’m not there with you for this. But it’s…it’s different, right? It’s not the same as…as before. Even the article said so.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and press a shaky hand to my mouth. The article said I might not be enough, that’s what it said.
“Hey,” he whispers. “Talk to me.”
“I have a class right now, Carter. I have to go.” I rub my eyes as my throat closes.
“I’ll call you later, okay?” I end the call as soon as he gives me the okay, then turn back to my boys.
“Uh…do a…sit. Just sit. Five minutes. I need five minutes.” I need more than five minutes to get a handle on myself, but it’s a start.
Shutting myself in my office, I pace back and forth.
I’ve got over twenty text messages and half of them are from Cara.
The one that rolls in right now is a picture of me and Carter and our dueling tongues, except Cara’s drawn a heart around us and written hubba hubba across the top.
I wish I could find the humor in this situation, but right now I’m struggling.
It’s ridiculous, I know. I was there yesterday; I knew pictures were taken.
Four texts from Carter come in rapid succession, and not even the ridiculous name he gave himself in my phone last night does much to ease the anxiety unfurling in my chest and stomach right now.
World’s Sexiest Man: r u ok ollie???
World’s Sexiest Man: i’m sorry. i wish i could be with u right now.
World’s Sexiest Man: call me later??
World’s Sexiest Man: plz don’t be upset. now everyone knows. it’ll be ok. i’ll make it up 2 u. promise. *tongue emoji* *eggplant emoji* *peach emoji*
One more comes, because Carter’s relentless and it’s like he won’t settle until he makes me smile. This one succeeds.
World’s Sexiest Man: ur still my princess, even if ur mad at me 4 showing u off *kiss emoji* *heart emoji*
But the next text message has that sense of dread sliding right back, sinking low in my stomach.
Jeremy: Ur coming over for dinner tonight. Apparently we have some catching up to do.
* * *
The tension at this dinner table is more palpable than the steak I’m currently hacking apart.
I glance up from my plate to find my brother’s glare locked on me. I scowl right back and keep on sawing, maybe a little more aggressively than necessary, because I want him to think he did a shitty job cooking these bad boys up. He didn’t. My steak is perfect.
“Overdone,” I murmur, just to piss him off.
“Like hell,” he scoffs, those brown eyes never leaving mine, only flickering when his wife snickers.
“So,” my sister-in-law, Kristin, starts, eager to ease the hostility.
“Daddy’s mad at you, Auntie Ollie,” Alannah says matter-of-factly.
“I donno what for. Carter Beckett is everything .” She sets her fork down and starts ticking his excellent qualities off on her fingers.
“He’s rich, he’s the best skater, he scores, like, a thousand goals, and he’s, like, the cutest boy in the whole world. ”
I point my knife at her. “He’s funny, too, and his favorite cookies are Oreos.”