15. BROOKLYN

CHAPTER 15

brOOKLYN

I know I'm in trouble when I screw up during a warmup blue line shuffle drill. Last year, I posted the best record in the team's history, but today it's almost like I'm trying to hit the puck with the butt of my stick. The fact that Coach Green is dragging me by my practice jersey over to center ice, far enough from everyone else, is confirmation enough.

He folds his arms as he faces me. "Tatum, we're just days away from the season opener and you're performing worse than ever. Why are you making me regret assigning you as captain?"

I wince. "I'm sorry, Coach. I, uh… my head's a bit of a mess right now."

A bit is an understatement.

"With what?" he hisses the words. "Girls?"

Yes.

Actually, no. Just one. One I foolishly told that we'd be friends for freaking ever, even though I've been having nightly dreams about her—of the spicy variety. Of course, every time I wake up after the dreams with the desperate need for a cold shower, I can't fall back asleep again. The lack of proper sleep is actually what has me moving slower than a sloth today.

Of course, I say nothing.

Coach Green continues talking by himself. "Family?"

My face pinches. That's also a yes.

I went home the Saturday of Lee's birthday, two weeks ago. I bought some fancy pads for him because I know he's as obsessed with hockey as any other Tatum man. Dad has probably given him every piece of equipment imaginable, but I literally wouldn't know what else I could gift to the favorite son of a millionaire.

Except, I stood outside ringing the doorbell for long enough that I figured they weren't home. I finally let myself in and texted Dad. After an hour, he replied that he was sorry, but they'd decided to take an impromptu trip to the big city to take Lee to an NHL game.

I'd have liked to go too. The Division I season hadn't even started yet, so I was free. Which Dad should've known.

So anyway, I'm constantly horny and mildly depressed. At the same time, I have mountains of coursework that I can't chip away as fast as I wish, because I spend most of my time either at practice, or at the gym, or studying our playbook, or watching game film, or texting Liv without giving away that she's driving me feral with need.

And yet, these are all first world problems I have no right to complain about. I'm on a full ride, I'm already drafted, my father is loaded, I don't have any injuries…

So many guys in the team have it so much tougher. Like Dane. He's probably the hardest working guy on the team. All the way from here, I can see him crushing the drills. And it's all because he feels solely responsible for breaking his family out of the poverty cycle. Frankly, I was even happier when he got drafted this summer than when I did .

It makes me pissed at myself. I have everything and yet I feel like it's not enough. I don't even have a right to want more.

Shit, Coach's speaking again.

"—And apparently, I shouldn't meddle in players' personal lives." His expression is deadpanned, sarcastic. "But if you don't fix whatever the hell this is, I'm going to meddle, all right. I can give that C to Warren instead because at least he really wants it."

Sure, Kyle Warren has been moaning in the lockers about how he should've been the C because he's a senior. But he cares more about himself than the team, which makes Coach's threat terrifying.

"I'm sorry, Coach. Won't happen again."

"Yeah. Go make sure of that."

"Yes, sir."

After that, no matter how exhausted I feel, I give it my all during practice. It only amounts to two thirds of my normal performance, but if Coach isn't staring daggers at me or pulling me aside again, it must be progress.

Freshly showered after class and in a comfy St. Cloud hoodie and joggers, I make my way through campus toward the library. I'm early for the study session with the Spanish I group, so I'm just going to catch some Zs at a nice little corner while I wait for them.

We said we'd meet on the second floor, since it's the one the librarians don't care to keep people quiet. I climb up the stairs slowly, although three steps at a time. Upstairs, I sweep my eyes around, trying to locate the best spot for a nap, preferably shady. But then my eyes are immediately drawn to someone.

Of course Liv would be here early.

She's sitting at the end of a long table by a window, her full attention on the open textbook before her. Her pen is wedged between her nose and upper lip like a mustache.

"What a dork," I say in a mumble, although I don't stop the smile forming on my face. It doesn't matter that she's right under a sunbeam, I just found my spot.

I take a step forward toward her and movement from the corner of my eye gets my attention. Some guy is headed straight for her and I hesitate. Maybe they know each other. It's early enough that Liv could've scheduled another appointment. But she'd be looking out for him, right? Maybe she wouldn't be quite as absorbed by her textbook.

I don't know if I'm doing the right thing, but I eat up the floor with long steps and reach her table well before the other guy. Liv looks up in surprise as I drop on the seat at her right side.

"You're here early," I mumble to her like it's not obvious.

From the corner of my eye, I catch the guy frowning at me but he does a U-turn. If he'd had any actual business with Liv, he wouldn't have minded my presence, which confirms he was just coming to bother her.

"So are you." She quirks an eyebrow at me unbeknownst to what just transpired.

I take the bottle with my after-practice protein shake out of my backpack, and set the backpack down on the table. I try fluffing it as if it was a pillow, but it doesn't help that inside it's full of hard notebooks, texts and a laptop. Whatever.

"Yeah." I lean all the way down and grunt as something in the front pocket stabs at my face. After rearranging it, I say, "Just need a little cat nap."

She turns her attention back on her textbook and I stare at her for a moment longer. It's just me, so she gets back to balancing that pen on her lip without a care as to what I might think about it. But I think about it, all right. It sucks my attention to her puckered up lips—lips that I'm now familiar with. If I could, I'd be running my tongue across them right this second. But I stay still, just taking her in.

A section of her hair is tucked behind her ear, and I hadn't noticed until now but she has a lot of ear piercings. One, two… five total. Those are new, at least from sometime after the fallout. Like my tattoos. Is her other ear the same?

"I hadn't noticed these." I reach up, gently pinching her earlobe between my fingers. Air rushes out of her mouth, which makes her pen drop on the textbook, and I let go. "Sorry, are they new? Did I hurt you?"

"No. Just startled." Liv clears her throat. "And they're not new. I've had them for a while but I'm using them again now that I don't have a boyfriend who wants to control my appearance anymore."

I slide my free hand under the table so she doesn't see how tight I'm squeezing my fist.

Not wanting to get into the topic of her asshole ex, I ask, "Do you also have five on the other ear?"

"Yes." Liv nods seriously. "I'm all about symmetry."

My lips twitch. I try to hold myself back but the words still spill out. "Where else do you have piercings?"

Slowly, Liv turns a mighty glare at me. "Nowhere else, you freaking perv."

"You should've just said it was none of my business and left it to my imagination."

Her eyes open as wide as saucers. "I don't want you to imagine anything."

Too late.

I started imagining things right after we made out.

"Well, would you get more piercings somewhere else?" I wiggle my eyebrows in a way that's always annoyed her, so she clearly knows I'm not serious.

"More in my ears, maybe. Anywhere else is too impractical." Liv's raspy voice turns excessively sweet. "Would you get pierced somewhere not your ears?"

I scrunch up my nose. "Hell no. I'm too sensitive. "

"And yet you got tattoos." I still as she reaches over to my extended arm, the one I'm using as a pillow over my backpack, and lightly pulls at the sleeve of my sweatshirt until the black lines are visible. "How far do these go?"

"Should I show you?"

She pulls back. "Didn't you say you were going to take a nap?"

"Maybe you shouldn't have distracted me."

"Me?" Liv places a hand on her chest delicately. "I'm not the one who started touching my ears." I tear my eyes off the anime T-shirt that fits maybe a bit too snug across her chest, to the frown on her face.

"Fine, the bling bling distracted me. I'm going to sleep now." I bring my other arm back up and tuck my hand under my cheek before closing my eyes.

A few quiet minutes go by. The only noises are the low buzz of activity around the library and the occasional scrape of her pen on paper. Her chair creaks and I open my eyes in time to see her rearrange herself. Now, one of her legs is over the seat, her knee bumping into my thigh.

Her eyes find mine. "Sorry."

"It's okay," I drawl.

But it's not okay. I wish we were so much closer. I need to touch her again. After just one kiss, I'm already addicted to her and it's resetting all the ways I used to act around her.

Her hair's fallen from its hold behind her ear and I reach over again. This time, I drag the pads of my fingers deliberately slow across her temple, gathering her hair until I can tuck it back against the shell of her ear. Then, I run my fingers against it, caressing her ear over and around the piercings, some glinting and some solid metal, until I drop my hand.

"Brooklyn." My name comes out through gritted teeth. "Do that one more time and I'm going to pull at your ear. "

"Oh yeah? Should I do this instead?"

Wariness takes over her expression as I sit back up with dramatic flare. Before she can react, I grab her on a headlock and pull her against my chest. A little shriek gets muffled against my sweatshirt as I brush the palm of my hand over her hair.

"You—you—" Liv can't finish her threat under the attack, and I almost think she's given up on retaliation until I feel her trying to grab at my stomach.

I slow down the motions and ask out of curiosity, "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to pinch you," she responds gravely. I stretch my neck to see, and even though she's using her fingers as pincers, all she can grab onto is my sweatshirt. "Why isn't it working?"

The second I release her, she sits back at a distance. But whatever epithet she's about to throw my way, it dies in her throat as I grab the hem of my sweatshirt and lift it.

Her eyes pop wide open at the display. I keep my body fat at maximum ten percent, and every muscle of my body is cut. I don't have to glance down to know that even though I'm sitting, my abs are more defined than if someone had Photoshopped them on my picture

"This is why you couldn't pinch me, Aceituna. There's just no fat."

After tearing her attention from the numbers tattooed down my left side, she says, "Watch me." Faster than a lightning strike, she digs her fingers around a ridge of my abs and pinches. Hard.

"Ouch!"

Harrumphing, she lets me go and starts trying to comb her hair. I rub my skin, biting down a grin because her face is red as a beet. It could be because of the headlock situation, or because she liked what she saw .

I'm playing with fire but this is the most alive I've felt in weeks—months, even. And yeah, maybe I'm the damn author of the infamous friends forever words, but what if we should be more than friends? What if I could gradually show her that we could be so much more?