12. OLIVIA

CHAPTER 12

OLIVIA

" H e's definitely into you."

I give Mina a look. "Wow, so this is what two butt cheeks flapping to produce words sounds like."

Her lips twitch but she manages to keep herself serious. "Listen to me, you stubborn human being. He basically didn't even acknowledge our existence throughout that whole interaction."

"Yep, we were definitely chopped liver." Dee waggles her eyebrows.

Sighing, I nurse the half empty Solo cup in my hands. We found ourselves a corner of the Bolt House living room, just off the side of the fireplace. We have to basically scream at each other over the myriad of voices and loud rap bass already blaring in the house—and this is before the team even arrives. I imagine it'll get much rowdier after.

"It's not like that. Brooke is a one-track mind kind of guy. He had a mission, which was to make me come to this horrible place, and he wasn't going to entertain distractions until he succeeded."

"He touched your hair," Mina says, patting her own head .

I cringe. "To give me a stinky headlock."

"No, it was to touch your hair. Guys who are into girls do whatever it takes to touch their hair—and other places, obviously," she says, as if flexing her psych major muscles.

Except she's dead wrong. "No, he's always given me headlocks like I'm his younger sister. Even though I'm older." By two months, but it mattered a lot when we were kids.

"His eyes were on you like ninety five percent of the time," Dee says. The traitor. "That's another sign. It's like body language one-oh-one."

Mina leans forward and puts her hand on my shoulder. "He ditched the after-game team huddle and made his way through the crowd to find you. That boy is whipped."

I throw one hand in the air. "You guys don't get it because you don't know him. He's always like that. He's like a freaking puppy with a bone. This is nothing compared to how he is with his girlfriends. He treats them like princesses, not like sisters. There is no one more disgustingly sappy than him."

"Fine, ignore all these facts that your real best friends are laying on you." Mina waves her hands in the air, as if wiping the slate clean. "The actual point here is, what are you going to do from now on?"

"What do you mean?"

"You had a massive crush on him, it went badly, you've reconnected. Now what?" She blinks up at me. "Friends forever or friends to lovers?"

I throw my head back and beg the heavens—through a ceiling spotted with gross stains—to grant me patience. "I already told you that he's the one who cooked that friends forever special. There's nothing else on the table."

Mina gets in my grill. "But is that what you want?"

I blink down at her. Even though she's almost a head shorter than me, she's scaring me. Her eyes look feral. Like she wants to maim me right now .

"What I want," I say slowly and her eyes widen in anticipation. "Is peace. Which is the opposite of drama. Which is exactly what would happen if I develop another hidden agenda."

She whines. "Having a crush on a friend isn't the federal crime you're painting it to be."

"Actually," Dee cuts in. "I agree with Olivia."

"See?"

Mina whirls around to her. "The hell do you mean?"

"He already made his intentions clear when he said friends forever." Dee tosses her microbraids over her shoulder and shrugs. "And I get it. He's definitely sending mixed signals. But maybe he just doesn't know what he wants right now, and the worst thing Liv can do is to get herself hung up on him if he's going to be all wishy-washy, especially after the whole debacle with Trench Coat."

We've decided avoiding his name is too hard, and I came up with this silly nickname that isn't the kind of insult I'd have to go to confession for, but still makes it very clear that we don't appreciate him. In the least.

"Thank you." I motion at Dee with one hand. "You're officially bestowed with the title of Olivia's best friend."

Mina gasps. "Outrageous!"

I bite my lip, debating whether to share what's really circling in my head right now. But these are my friends. They're not people who would dismiss what I think or make fun of me for it. Maybe they'll even help me make sense of myself.

"What if…" I trail off, looking down at the beer growing flat in my cup. "What if I can't help myself and I catch feelings again?"

"Again, she says." Mina snorts and elbows Dee next to her. "As if her feelings had gone away at all."

I glare .

Dee shrugs. "No think. Only do you."

"Do him ." Mina drags the word until some other girls nearby glance our way.

"Stop! Oh my word." I cover my face with my free hand.

Something like a yell sounds from the outside and then the front door opens, followed by a squeal.

The St. Cloud Thunder Bolts must be making their appearance, huh.

Sure enough, one guy in a navy suit struts in. What appears to be a random girl from the crowd launches herself at him and next thing, they're sucking faces right in front of everyone.

Is this going to be what happens every time one of them walks in? And when Brooklyn comes in too?

I watch with the same kind of curiosity as someone about to witness a car crash as the next guy makes it to the threshold. Two girls pull him by the arms, although no PDA yet. Maybe the first guy was an exception. The third guy instead high-fives some of the other people, and the fourth heads straight to the kitchen without bothering to be social.

I sit back against the windowsill, so relived that I don't even care if Mina can read me like a book.

See? This is the problem. I become this unhinged, jealous, insecure person when Brooklyn is concerned. Deep down, no matter how much it hurts, I know he has the right of it by sticking to just being friends. If we were more it would be too… too all consuming, never ending, too everything . It's scary.

That's when he walks in, wearing a deep emerald suit that probably costs as much as this house. His blond hair is longish at the top, and he's combed it aside in a way that makes the natural wave look intentional. If some guys are a snack, Brooklyn Tatum is a whole damn four-course Michelin-starred meal, including dessert. I couldn't look away even if someone paid me a billion bucks .

How did I even manage to keep my cool all those years back?

Brooke's talking with one of his teammates when, suddenly, he swings around and locks eyes with me. I startle. Sheer willpower alone keeps me from hiding.

Slowly, his lips curve in a lopsided smile. I read them say, " You came ."

No, I didn't. The ghost of me did for I am dead now.

Mina singsongs. "Chopped liver."

I fix my attention on her. "If you ever accidentally or on purpose say anything that gives away my feelings for him to anybody outside of this triangle of trust, I will turn you into chopped Mina."

"Bit morbid but you can count on my discretion." Then why is she smirking? "So, you admit you have feelings."

"Ugh. I think I prefer you when you're chasing after boys. Go find someone to spend all that energy with."

She picks up her Solo cup from the fireplace mantle. "Fine. Then let's go play beer pong with some jocks to see if I can play with any of their pongs later."

I burst into laughter and meanwhile our other roomie cringes. "Yuck, I never wanted to think about Bolts' pongs." Dee sticks her tongue out. It's funny that she acts like Bolts are gross, when I know for a fact that she's had some intra-team fun in the past.

But anyway, as I follow them to the center of the living room, I take a discrete look around and I don't spot Brooklyn anymore. Did he already find someone to bring to his room or something?

I shake my head hard. It's none of my business. He can do whatever and whoever he wants.

Unlike Dee, Mina and I are as uncoordinated as newborn foals. Unlike Mina, though, I don't enjoy any kind of physical activity outside of reading on my couch or lightly head banging to a jam. So when we try to be fair and I end up pairing with Dee, while Mina ends up with a random girl on the other team, all I do is drag Dee down. It works out great, because gradually I stop even trying. Dee's competitive spirit alone carries the team.

Some movement catches my attention from through the crowd around us. Brooke's heading down the stairs, now wearing one of those graphic T-shirts that would look awful on anyone else, and a pair of ripped jeans that show a hint of powerful hockey thighs. He's not even on solid ground when a super hot girl in tiny shorts and a crop top intercepts him.

I swallow hard and try to focus on the game. Okay, so he went upstairs not for a hookup but for a change of clothes. Turns out the hookup found him, though.

How do I make myself not care? Did it really take finding a boyfriend—any boyfriend, as it was—to fool myself into thinking I was over him?

And yet, I take a look around and spot a few good looking guys I'd have tried to make out with a week ago. But even that plan has been foiled after knowing what being properly, thoroughly kissed is like. And by him , no less.

The girls are so into the game, I don't have the heart to pull them away from their fun. Slipping into the crowd, I slowly make my way through the living room in search of a bathroom I can have a lil cry in. Hopefully that's all I need to remind me that going down the path of crushing on Brooke leads nowhere good.