6. OLIVIA
CHAPTER 6
OLIVIA
I ’m a bit jittery driving to O’Malley’s in my brother’s old Toyota SUV, it still stinks like his disgusting hockey pads no matter how many times I clean or air it out.
That was the closest I’ve been to Brooklyn in forever and…
He’s hotter than ever. Damn him.
It’s not even just because we’ve turned into strangers. He’s grown an inch or two since high school and filled out more in the past year and change—a lot more. The black Vans T-shirt he was wearing was tight around his shoulders and arms because he’s become a fortress of pure muscle.
I bet his opponents get intimidated by the sheer size of him, even though he has a face that belongs in Hollywood, and is the goofiest boy in the planet.
The good news is that I’m as pissed at him as ever.
I grip the steering wheel tighter. This is why I’ve been avoiding him like the plague. Even a glimpse of his hair brings back a rush of unwelcome emotions.
In my mind I can still see the scene from that night crystal clear. We’d spent all day going back and forth between attending some Bolt House party or going to the movies instead. I didn’t do parties much even then, but with some liquid courage and a killer outfit, I gathered my nerve to go to the Bolt House to finally confess my feelings for Brooklyn, even if that meant officially joining his world of stinky jocks.
That didn’t happen, though. Instead, I found him in the kitchen talking with another hockey jock.
“Dude, that chick who clings to you all the time is the reason why you’re not getting any,” the dude bro said.
Brooklyn rubbed his hair and his back was turned to me. He had no idea said chick—me—had just entered the kitchen.
Dude bro did. He gave me a little smirk that chased a chill down my back. A sort of premonition to the catastrophe that was about to unfold.
“You think?” my asshole best friend asked, instead of telling his buddy to back off.
“Totally. Chicks ask me if you two are together all the time.” At the ensuing silence, dude bro added, “But like you’re in totally different leagues. She’s a boring dweeb and you have everything it takes to rule this college. Plus, you said you want to get laid, right?”
“I—uh, right.”
“So you’re gonna ditch her and finally have some fun with the team?” He handed over a beer to Brooklyn as incentive.
And Brooklyn took it, saying, “Sure.” Complete with a shrug and a swig, like he just didn’t tacitly agree with the other guy who called me a boring dweeb.
Like he just didn’t break my freaking heart.
Our friendship definitely started out of pity when we were five year olds at a classmate’s birthday party, where I sat all by myself eating carrots with lactose-free cream cheese because I was allergic to basically all but one of the cake’s ingredients. Everyone made fun of me, but not Brooklyn. He came and sat with me and we bonded over Dragon Ball .
Did he pity me for fourteen years?
And then if that wasn’t all, Brooklyn also didn’t refute the comment of me being well under his league. Which I’ve always known. Brooklyn’s girlfriends in high school were the hottest of the hot. He always grew bored of them but kept me around. So I thought…
I really thought I stood a chance. Until that night.
My resolve about confessing was replaced by a different one. Before the dude bro steered Brooklyn away, I called attention to myself, looked dead into the deep green eyes of my about-to-be-former best friend, and said famous last words.
“Stay the hell away from me for the rest of our lives.”
After that, I only endured a couple of days of Brooke’s texts and phone calls until I blocked him and unfollowed him from social media.
No, not Brooke. Brooklyn. Or that guy , even. We’re strangers now.
I pull into a public parking lot near O’Malley’s and roll the windows back up. The preternatural stank will accumulate again but I don’t trust the thick clouds on the sky. Before stepping out of the car, I rest my forehead against the steering wheel and close my eyes.
I know Brooklyn had no idea I had feelings for him back then. If it hadn’t been for that little issue, I’d have just been pissed for a couple of weeks or something, until eventually giving him a chance to explain himself.
But it’s now been a year and a half after that mess and I still don’t have enough courage to face him. Even though he hurt me, I’m the one who destroyed our friendship. The longer time passes, the less I know how to fix it.
Finally, I can’t take a second longer of the musty smell in the car and open the door. Thunder rumbles above me, which feels too cheeky for my taste. My keys and wallet are already in my pocket tied to my jeans with the kind of chain that was in fashion like twenty years ago. I grab my phone from the dashboard and stuff it in my other pocket with my emergency EpiPen, and off I go.
Mina and Dee are already at a table when I walk in. They must’ve arrived right before the crush of people, and it takes some elbowing and stepping on literal toes with my Dr. Marten’s until I reach them.
“Hey, guys.” I flop in the booth seat next to Mina. “Sorry I’m late. Big line at the admin office.”
“Did you get it fixed, at least?” Mina asks me, genuinely curious after I spent the whole morning moaning about it.
“Yeah. It just shaved ten years off of my life.” Of which nine and a half were because of Brooklyn freaking Tatum and his freaking shoulder muscles.
“Well, now you’re here and that’s what matters.” Dee slides a chilled, unopened bottle of kombucha my way. “Here. To your singlehood.”
Mina smacks a hand on the table. “No, I said we should toast to Liv’s new sluttyhood.”
“How about we just toast to whatever she wants to do?” Dee shrugs.
“Boom. Someone’s got the right idea.” I grab the bottle and smash its mouth against the edge of the table, at the perfect angle to pop the lid off. Never fails to delight people. “Cheers,” I say, tucking my tongue out in a cheeky way.
As we clink various drink recipients, Dee asks, “Can you teach me that trick?”
“It’s not that hard,” I tell her. “All you have to do is?—”
Mina leans closer to me and wags her eyebrows. “Are you ready then?”
“For what?” Dee asks, already forgetting the previous topic.
I turn the kombucha bottle in my hands. “I might have told Mina earlier that I’m ready.” Dee leans forward from across the table like I’m about to give them the winning lottery numbers. “To fool around a bit.”
“What? But I thought you hated men now?”
I chuckle. “I mean, kinda. But I can’t make out with myself.”
“It is a struggle.” Mina shakes her head in the most defeated way. “But shall we hit the bar and see who we can flirt with?”
“Let’s hit it.” We slide off the booth, ready to go on the prowl.
Over the summer, I decided that the antidote to my boy issues is to treat them the same way they’ve treated me. Like I’m expendable. And since I have annoying hormones too, maybe this is the arrangement that will tide me over until I find my soulmate. Or don’t.
I’m starting to think that romance books have been lying to me my whole life—which I can’t ever tell Maddie, my brother’s wife, since she writes my favorite ones. It’s just that so far real life is far from what’s on the pages, and I definitely prefer the latter.
It takes us some maneuvering until we make room for ourselves at the bar, our backs against it as we peruse the crowd. I hitch one of my boots against the bottom, elbow on the bar as I take a swig of kombucha like it’s beer. A tryhard pose? Maybe. But I’m comfortable this way, which helps me curb my reflex of breaking eye contact with cute guys.
It takes a while. Dee’s the first to get snatched up, proof of the Strikes’ popularity in campus. I keep fanning my gaze across the place, until I make eye contact with a guy—and he doesn’t look away. He’s cute in that boy next door kinda vibe, and the second I offer a lopsided little smile, he starts heading over.
“Remember,” Mina says beside me. “Whoever doesn’t manage to make out with anyone tonight is buying the groceries next time.”
“I’ll manage. You should worry about yourself.”
“Oh, wow. I’ve created a monster.” She laughs.
I smile at her. “No, you gave me confidence.”
“You had it in you all along.” She pats my arm right as cute guy reaches us.
“Hi there.”
Not the most creative greeting, but hey. I’m not looking for a husband tonight.
“Hi yourself.” I tuck my hair behind my ear. According to Mina, guys like that.
“Wow.” He props his hand against the bar and leans closer. “You’re like, really hot.”
I can practically feel Mina vibrating with the need to laugh, and I know that’s exactly what could happen if I even glance her way. So I don’t. I focus on this decent-looking-but-not-show-stopping guy who thinks he has way more swag than he does.
Beggars can’t be choosers and all that, especially when I have a bet to win.
“Wanna dance?” I ask him.
“Uh, sure?” He sounds uncertain now, like either he thought the riveting conversation was going to continue, or like maybe his dancing skills aren’t great. Joke’s on him—mine are probably worse. It’s always fun though, and maybe if he drops the tryhard act we can work our way up to a kiss.
He offers his hand and I take it. His skin’s a bit clammy, maybe he’s more nervous than he lets on. Me too, bud .
“For the groceries!” Mina calls out behind me and I have to bite my lips not to laugh.
“What was that?” cute guy asks over his shoulder while navigating us to the only area that remains somewhat open. A few people are dancing to an ancient Flo Rida song .
“Nothing.” My eyes fall on his shoulders. They’re nice. Like they have no trouble carrying a backpack. I shouldn’t compare them to a different pair I saw earlier. “So, what’s your name?”
“Jayden. You?”
“Olivia.”
Huh. Our initials would make a funny pair. OJ. Orange juice. Ex’s and me made OT, overtime, which was an annoying hockey reference. Brooke and I made body odor, and I used to tease him about it.
I shake my head, forcing myself to stop thinking about him.
We start dancing and it’s worse than I imagined. Not only are we extremely uncoordinated and he steps on my boots. But also Jayden grabs onto my sides, hands sliding under my crop top without asking for permission instead of easing me into this with some finesse.
Damn it, I knew this was going too well.
I grab his wrists and lower his hands to my hips over my jeans. Cute guy starts looking less cute when, instead of apologizing, he gives me a look like this is just a game and slides his hands back up.
“Okay, let’s stop right here.” I step all the way back.
“Wait, I’ll play nice. I promise.”
That all makes me think he’ll do the exact opposite. I can’t see myself possibly kissing him now.
“Pass. It was nice to meet you, Jayden.” I turn to leave and the little shit grabs my side—again.
“It’s just—you’re so hot, I can’t help myse?—”
“She said no, asshole.”
I don’t have to turn to the third voice. Every cell in my body knows it belongs to Brooke.
No, Brooklyn .
Why the heck is he even here right now?
Jayden has enough cojones to glare at the star defenseman of the Thunder Bolts and all 6 feet and 5 inches, two hundred twenty pounds of pure lean muscle. “She was mine first, dick. Find your own.”
I blow a raspberry. “Dude, you wish.”
“Let’s go, Liv.” Goosebumps break all over my skin as Brooke whispers in my ear. But I’m truly toast when he grabs my wrist and twirls me around.