22. OLIVIA

CHAPTER 22

OLIVIA

" I think if we say it like that, it sounds too colloquial. Right, Liv?" Brooke explains from so close, it almost feels like he's speaking over my shoulder. I swallow hard, keeping my eyes on the screen of my laptop on the table.

Ugh. Why is he turning the attention on me?

I try to scoot to the edge of my seat but it doesn't matter, he still has his left arm on the back of my chair. His thigh's still glued to mine. And none of this is going unnoticed to Alyssa and Emily, who have been giving me funny eyes ever since we sat down at this table at Thundercloud, the school's cafe.

I deeply regret choosing this venue over the library. We'd have had so much more space there. More importantly, I wouldn't be struggling so hard to contain how much he's affecting me. Why does he have to smell so good? I know he wears some fancy cologne and aftershave, but the end result of them on his clean skin is too much for anyone whose orientation is hot hockey players. It almost makes me miss the stink of his pads because at least that keeps me level headed—if not horrified. And like, I'm legit angry every time the smell of coffee or freshly baked muffins compete for my nose's attention.

But my biggest complaint is that he's so damn warm. I wish I could just lean into his side and snuggle like we did on his bed. Especially now that I know how, even though he's hard like granite all over, he can still mold himself around me in a way that feels so soft. Safe. Comfortable. If only for the little issue where he makes my hormones rage like magma in an active volcano.

Alyssa lifts her eyebrows in an indiscreet way. "Olivia?"

I clear my throat so loud that the people in the next table look at me. Face warming up, I redirect my attention back to the assignment. "I think we can continue using tú instead of usted. It's supposed to be a conversation among friends, you know?"

"Right, friends ." Alyssa nods like a bobble head, slowly turning to her friend who is barely containing laughter.

"Anyway, let's make a pause here." I shut down my laptop and push my chair back with more force than necessary. It forces Brooke to drop his arm. "I don't know about you all, but I'm starving."

"Oh, me too," Brooke agrees, and the two perverts across the table are now on a serious struggle to hold back their laughter.

I shake my fist at them while Brooklyn rises from his chair, his back slightly turned to us.

"I'll get in line," he says to us. "Take your time, ladies."

"Sure, thanks." Alyssa smiles sweetly at him, but when he's out of earshot she whispers, "Okay now you have to admit that something's definitely going on between you guys."

"Nothing is going on, and if you keep making faces at me I will do you bodily harm."

Emily pats her friend's shoulder. "Easy, girl. I think these two are just delusional. "

"What?" I scrunch up my face.

"Yeah, you guys are so in love with each other, it almost hurts to watch." Alyssa lifts her hands, palms up. "So, either I tease you a little or I start seeing green. You'll just have to put up with it, I'm afraid."

"I can't wait for this presentation to be over," I murmur, acid dripping from my voice. Their chuckles follow as I weave around the packed tables in the cafe. Brooklyn's by far the tallest person in line to order, and as he scans the menu overhead, he seems largely unaware of all the looks he's getting.

Some are nice, like the guys over by the window who are probably debating whether to ask for Brooke's autograph. He's, after all, the next highest draft this campus has produced after my brother-in-law.

Other forms of attention aren't quite as nice—to me, at least. Like the girls two tables over from the line who are undressing him with their eyes. There's one in particular who sits at an angle Brooke would be able to see, since he's still pretty far back in the line. She's biting her lip in that way I know drives guys wild. And if that wasn't enough, she's unzipping her hoodie slowly and I don't think she's wearing a shirt underneath.

But Brooke nods to himself like he's just decided what to order, and he turns from the menu to me. His eyes find mine, them a south pole magnet and mine a north one. Dude's completely oblivious to the disappointed girl behind him.

"He literally has eyes only for you," one of our Spanish group mates says behind me.

I huff. "Oh, stuff it."

There's a lot less bite in my words than before. This is the kind of situation that for years lifted up my hopes until they soared like a balloon in the sky, but something would always deflate it and I'd come crashing back down to earth. After so many violent crashes, I just can't genuinely tell if this is a me- thing or if Emily and Alyssa are right—if Brooke is starting to look at me like something other than his former bestie.

"No, you stuff it." Alyssa laughs. "And you know exactly what and where—ow! Did you just pinch me?"

I retrieve my pincer hand. "Yes, and I only regret not doing it earlier."

"What was that about?" Brooke asks as we join him in line. A random dude tries to complain, thinking we're cutting line before him, but when he sees who he'd have to take his complaint against—a bigass hockey player—the guy clams up and falls back behind us.

Meanwhile, blimbo here doesn't notice anything. How he manages to have almost perfect view of the ice when he's playing is a mystery. I shake my head.

"Nothing," I respond. "What are you getting?"

"The egg sandwich." As the three of us blink up at him, he grins. "Sandwiches. I know it's tiny so I usually order six."

Alyssa gives me a look. "Suddenly, I have a different type of jealousy."

"Yeah, I also wish I could eat that much," Emily says.

This is when Brooke decides to be sharp, because he tilts his head and asks, "A different type?"

"What are you guys getting?" I ask the other two girls, loudly.

Emily knows exactly what I'm doing but she's the nicer one of the bunch. "I think I'll go for the breakfast bagel."

"Avocado toast for me." Alyssa tosses her brown hair over her shoulder.

Brooke nudges my side with his elbow. "You, Liv?"

"I'll get the garden salad," I mumble.

"But it has walnuts."

I lift my eyes to his. Of course he knows I'm allergic to walnuts and like half of the other edible foods on this planet. But did he scan the whole menu and memorized the items that have any of my allergens, or what?

Please, someone tell his boy that he doesn't need to do anything further to make me love him. I'm already too far gone.

"I—yes. I always ask them not to put them in."

Brooke nods and rejoins the conversation with our study partners. The two girls mustn't have noticed the significance of his question, or otherwise they'd be teasing me again.

I hang back a little as they chat about the presentation we're assembling, occasionally giving my input when they ask for it. None of us is a native speaker, but Brooke always defaults to me because he knows I grew up in a Spanish speaking household and can understand it, even though he took more Spanish lessons in high school than I did. That's been our dynamic since we were kids; Brooke's always been happy to let me lead whatever topic I'm passionate about, even if he has comparable or more knowledge about it.

He's such damn good person. How could I have ever painted him as the villain a year and a half ago? Was I really that in my feels that I felt justified in treating him like crap?

My shoulders droop with a deep, sad sigh. I don't deserve this second chance at his friendship, and I have zero right to crave more.

Suddenly, Brooke angles a bit and gently pushes me forward with a hand at the small of my back. A shiver raises goosebumps all across my skin, and I pretend like I'm just cold by burrowing deeper into my enormous Linkin Park hoodie.

The gentle push brings me up to the counter, and an annoyed girl stares at me from behind it. "What are you ordering?"

Yikes. If they had a chill pill in their menu, I'd order it to give it back to her .

"The garden salad, please. No nuts."

She punches the order in the iPad, and then turns a much nicer expression to the guy behind me. "And you, captain?"

Oh. She knows who he is. And if she hates me on sight, she must think Brooke and I have something going on because of how close he's standing. I take a long step aside that brings me up against Alyssa and Emily. Brooke gives me a weird look before placing his order.

When I turn, I find the two girls wiggling their eyebrows. "Not a word."

One of them zips up her lips. The good thing is that the Thundercloud is pretty fast, and we don't have to wait long for our food. It stems off the worry that these two will spill something incriminatory in front of Brooke. Soon, we're back at our table and I'm pleased, because not only I'll finally get some food, but everyone's mouths will be too busy to speak.

Grunting, I give a second try of popping open my salad. The lid's stuck with industrial grade strength because even though I strain my muscles, I can't get it to budge.

"Gimme," Brooke says, his cheeks swollen with food. He takes the container from my hands and anyone would think his gigantic paws would be clumsy. But no, he tucks his fingers under the lid easy enough and pulls. It opens with a loud pop of air releasing. Nothing spills and he looks too proud of himself. "Here," he says, giving me a wide smile. The kind that stops traffic and makes people secretly take pics of him—yep, like zipper girl is doing from her table right now.

"Um, thanks." I slide lower in my seat.

I need to find a way for him to stop beaming at me that way, or he's going to fulminate me. And everyone around us, if I can go by the way Alyssa looks at him like he's a dream.

At least I manage to rip the balsamic vinaigrette packet open on my own. But just as I'm about to sink my fork into the salad, Brooklyn grabs my wrist and stops me .

"Wha—"

The question dies on my lips. His face has transformed into an expression he only shows during games against Bulldogs. Pure anger.

I watch, frozen in my seat, as he snatches my salad and jumps back to his feet. Our group mates look just as confused. Pushing my chair back, I follow as Brooke cuts the line and squares up against the cashier who has the hots for him.

"No nuts, she said." Brooke's voice is deep and growly. My entire body tenses.

When I reach them, the girl is blinking fast and has grown pale. "Um, what?"

The vicinity quiets down. Whole tables and a line of people cease their activity to listen in on what's got the Thunder Bolts' captain's panties in a twist, including me.

Brooke points at me and then the salad. "She said no nuts, but there are nuts here. Ever stopped to think why someone might request no nuts?" He leans closer to her. "Because they could be deathly allergic. You could've killed her."

My entire face prickles at the attention, especially my eyes. I hook my arm around Brooke's and pull with all my might. "Brookie, it's okay. Nothing happened."

"But it could have!" He turns over his shoulder, agony in the way his forehead wrinkles. "You could've ended up at the hospital—again! And I… I…" He shakes his head and swallows hard.

"I could make a new salad?" the girl offers with a small voice.

"No! You should apolo?—"

"Brooke, come with me." My voice is hard enough that it snaps him out of the haze. I drag him outside of the Thundercloud amid stares and whispers. We're only a few steps away when I realize I'm pulling him by the hand, our fingers interlocked as if they had any right to be. But changing my hold would waste precious time where I need to just lead him away.

Finally, I stop under the shade of a tree with leaves the color of fire. They almost twinkle against the cold breeze, a happy little sound at odds with the expression on his face. Brooklyn looks like someone died. His eyes are glazed over, and I just know he's imagining a horrible worst case scenario that hasn't happened, since I'm still obviously breathing.

I let go of his hand. When that's not enough to awaken him, I step closer until I crash against his chest and squeeze my arms tight around his waist.

Finally, he sighs against my hair and curls himself forward. His arms wrap around me with urgency, like I'm a slippery balloon trying to escape between them. "Sorry I lost my shit back there."

"Thank you for looking out for me," I mumble against his chest.

"Always." If anything, he holds me tighter.

We stay like that, just listening to the leaves dance in the wind, wrapped in a cocoon of each other's heat, feeling each other's heartbeat. I was embarrassed before, but now I'm thankful that the scare brought us this moment.

And it's only a moment, because it ends too soon when another voice rings beside us.

"What do we have here?"

I stiffen. Unfortunately, that makes Brooke pull away fast.

My ex stands a few paces away, still on the pedestrian path that curves around Thundercloud's building. He's smirking, arms folded like he has permission to show his face in front of me.

"Are you two together now?" he asks, looking at Brooke and I. "I mean, I always knew there was something weird going on between you. You only started paying attention to me when he disappeared from your life, you know? "

I suck in air. That's not a truth I wanted revealed, ever .

Through gritted teeth, Brooke mutters, "Get lost before I rearrange your face, you little shit."

Trent puts an offended hand on his chest. "Aren't you a student athlete? You'll lose your scholarship if you act violently."

"Wanna test that if ?" Brooke cracks his knuckles.

"Whatever, good riddance." Trent makes a sardonic expression. "Just remember, Liv. Rebounds don't work. I'm on my third already, so I speak from experience."

I know he's saying all this to see if it affects me. Yet I couldn't care less about how many people he dates or sleeps with.

What I can't let him know is that the thought of Brooke being a rebound is disconcerting. Or rather, that trying something more with him and having it fail is a possibility… That's what freaks me out about Trench Coat's implications.

I take a step forward. And another. I raise my hand sharply and my ex flinches. Now that I know his body remembers, I give him a feral grin. "Go before I punch you. Again."

"Again?" Brooke asks behind me, amusement in his voice.

Trent spits on the ground—a habit I always hated—and he turns away. "Oh, and I hope you liked the package," I say to his retreating back. It makes him accelerate the pace.

Brooke's eyes gleam when I face him again. "What package?"

"I may have returned a defaced hoodie to him via post."

His grin stretches so wide, I know he's forgotten the bad feelings lingering from the earlier incident. "That's my girl."

If only.

I clear my throat. "Can we go back to the cafe and you won't behave like a Neanderthal anymore?"

Brooke sticks out his hand. When I do nothing but stare at it, he opens and closes his fingers around air. Slowly, I slide my hand to his and he tugs it into the pocket of his hoodie. With a bright voice, he says, "Nope. I'm never going to stop being a caveman about you."

I have to keep my head down on the way back so he doesn't see how hard I'm grinning.