27. BROOKLYN

CHAPTER 27

brOOKLYN

S omething Liv said two days ago stuck with me and unfortunately, a lonely Friday where all I did was work out and do homework, really made me marinate it.

I don't really talk with people.

Sure, I'm a goof. I've definitely been down for a good time since Liv's hiatus from me. And I can spend a whole week talking about hockey with anyone who cares to listen for that long. But I don't really open up to anyone other than Olivia.

I thought the friends line of my tattoo was dimmer because I'd lost her, but honestly, I don't try very hard with anyone else. And I'm not saying that I should've replaced her because that's impossible, but she's right. Literally the first time I talked about something personal with my teammates was when I admitted I'm head over heels for my childhood best friend.

That's why I'm sitting with my defense partner at O'Malley's bar. Maybe that was strategically a bad call, because we're facing the TV screens showing a game from the team that drafted me. And all I can say are things like, "Their second line is lacking depth right now. It's like they're a Frankenstein that wasn't sewn together properly. "

He nods while popping a French fry in his mouth. "Yeah, that's what happens when you lose so many players to injuries this early."

Another silence falls between us. Dane's a chill dude who only gets amped up when we're on the ice, so it's not like this is uncomfortable for us. It might be a bit easier with Jamie, who is as much of a dork as I am. But at the same time, Jamie might've been freaked if I attempted a serious conversation with him.

Except, Dane would probably freak out too if I suddenly spring how much Thanksgiving at my dad's sucked because he basically hates me. And it's not like Dad's abusive, but neglect feels very shitty too.

"So…" I tap my fingers on the chill surface of my ice tea glass. "How was your Thanksgiving?"

His eyes still follow the on-screen action as he speaks. "It was okay. My Aunt Sheila got so sloshed she almost killed herself walking down the stairs. And my mom complained that the turkey was too dry the whole night even though she's the one who cooked it."

I snort. "That sounds fun. Did you get drunk too?"

"Oh yeah, off my freaking face. Mom almost smashed her broomstick on my head when she noticed."

"She sounds great."

That tears his attention away from the game, if only to give me a very confused look. "What part of my mom almost murdered your defensive partner sounds great? Do you secretly hate me?"

"No." I tuck my tongue against my cheek, eyes focused on my empty plate. "I mean, the fact that she cares so much. And is there for you." Wow, shit. This is actually worse than the Dad-talk I intended. The burger and fries in my stomach are trying to claw up my esophagus.

"Why do you sound like a wounded puppy? "

My lips twist in a sneer. "Because I am, I guess."

"Hey, Barry," Dane calls out to the bartender. "We'll need a couple of whiskey shots down here."

The bartender, a grumpy-ass guy who's been here since time immemorial, gives us the driest look a living human can muster. "Two more iced teas coming. Unsweet."

Dane and I slouch. There's no fooling this guy.

"Anyway." Dane turns back to me. "Lay it all on Uncle Dane. It'll help."

I sigh. "There's not much to it. Mom's been out of the picture since my parents got divorced like twelve years ago or something. But Dad…"

He perks up even more and that reaction reminds me of something. Bryce Tatum was a star forward until just fifteen years ago. He had a long career despite the injury that firmly put a lid on it. So many kids, including myself, grew up idolizing him, trying to emulate his dirtiest dekes in practice, or even the celly that made him a popular fixture of sports magazines—something like the Rhodes thinker but on ice.

Whenever I tried to talk about Dad with someone who knew him, they inevitably fell into starstruck mode. Except for Liv. She also saw more of his father self than his professional athlete self, and doesn't give a rat's ass about Dad's fame.

Clearing my throat, I ask, "Are you gonna get weird if I talk about him in a way that doesn't make him sound like a perfect public figure?"

"Hmm." He presses his lips tight. "I'm sensing the right answer is no."

"It's definitely no."

"Okay, then totally no. Cuss the shit out of him."

That makes me grin. "I wouldn't quite give him a curse word middle name but we're not exactly on the best terms."

"Yikes. Is he like a helicopter Dad? Doesn't even let you breathe without his permission? "

I shake my head. "On the contrary. I could die in a ditch and he wouldn't notice."

"Whoa, that sounds worse than if you called him foul names."

"You asked." I shrug, as if my heart wasn't trying to race my dinner out of my throat. "Dad only cares for his second family."

"That certainly makes for an awkward Thanksgiving." He puts a paw on my shoulder and gives it one squeeze. "Sorry, bro."

I raise my eyebrows. "Thanks, bro."

"I'm here if you want to talk actual shit about them, but I admit I'm not the best with tears."

I punch him on the shoulder. "Do I look like I'm about to start weeping?"

"There's some shiny stuff on that corner of your eye." He vaguely points at my face.

"Whatever, asshole."

"Hey, should we get more fries?"

"Definitely." I signal Barry and put another order.

From the corner of my eye, I observe my closest buddy in the team. His focus is back on the screen, even though we're in intermission now. But there are no traces of pity on his face, or of disbelief that my hall-of-fame candidate father is anything but perfect. There's still a ton of adrenaline coursing through my veins, but I didn't die from opening up just a notch.

Liv will be so proud when I tell her.

I fish in my pocket for my cellphone. Her contact sits at the top of my list and I have to bite my lips so I don't grin like a freaking clown from seeing it there. Just a few months ago, I didn't think she'd speak to me ever again. And now we basically text every moment of the day and night when we're not hanging out. I wanted to see her so badly yesterday, but I'm trying to not crowd her. This is fine for now, though, I can just update her by text.

But just as I'm about to hit send on the simple question of guess what I just did , I hear her voice right behind me.

"Hey, Brooklyn."

I almost fall off my barstool with how fast I spin around. But there she is, along with one of her friends. Just in case, I rub my eyes to make sure it's really her and not my mind playing tricks.

"Liv?"

She snorts. "Who else?"

I sweep a glance around O'Malley's. It's almost empty, with most people in campus still at home for the holidays.

"Let me just make sure you're not a mirage," I say, reaching out to pinch her cheek. It's warm. Really warm. And red. But then she does the same, her fingers closing around my cheek hard.

"You guys have a really weird handshake," Dane jokes beside me.

"Hi there," Liv's friend says to him. Still prisoner of Liv's hold, I turn a bit to watch the action. Dane discreetly checks Mina out, and smiles widely.

"Hi Mina."

Oh, they already know each other?

Wait, based on the way they're looking at each other, I think they're going to get to know each other deeply very soon.

Back to Liv, I say, "Unhand me, woman."

"You first."

"On the count of one… two…"

"One order of fries and two more ice teas," the bartender says behind me. "You two, what's it gonna be?"

Mina ventures to say, "Two gin and tonics."

I don't even have to look at Barry to know he's scanning the two girls and making mental math. Finally, he says, "Two more ice teas."

I chuckle, and the stretch makes Liv's fingers release my face. My skin tingles, not because she squeezed it too hard, but because it misses her warmth. It's a shame that Dane and Mina are around, because their scrutiny will make it so much harder to slip Liv's hand in mine like I did two days ago.

Unless I send them away.

"Should we play a round of pools? Darts?" I ask and very discreetly elbow Dane's side.

He yelps. The sucker. "Ouch. What? Oh. Yeah! Let's go, Mina."

I want to die. Or kill him. He couldn't be less tactful if he tried.

"I like pool," she says, sliding her arm around his once he's got both feet firmly on the floor.

"But are you any good? Because I'm not going to let you win just because you're really pretty."

"Oh, you're on, boy."

Liv's caressing her cheek as she watches their retreating figures intently. Almost like she didn't want them to go, either because she didn't want to be alone with me or…

Nah. She can't possibly be into Dane, can she? I mean, her friend wouldn't steal the guy Liv likes from under her nose. Unless Liv's never told a soul, which I can also see happening. If I'm private about some aspects of my life, Liv can be a downright vault. For example, it's only recently I found out some of my past girlfriends used to bully her in high school behind my back.

I gnaw the inside of my cheek as she hops on the barstool that Dane vacated and looks sadly at the fries. They're cooked in peanut oil and while delicious, they would send her straight to the hospital. Hooking my finger around the basket, I slide it over until it's basically behind me .

Sighing, she unbuttons her jean jacket and?—

I start choking.

"Uh…" She stretches over to pat my back, which makes everything so much worse.

"What the hell are you wearing?" I manage to spew out between coughs.

Liv looks down at herself, her bottom lip still jutting out too damn cutely. But that's a massive contrast compared to whatever this outfit is. It's like lingerie, because there's no way that's a blouse or something. It's too tight. It frames her chest in a way that has me in a crisis, and I don't just mean the coughing fit. And if that wasn't all, it's too damn transparent—at least around her torso. Like, I can't see any of the saucier bits, but never has my brain had more input than this to imagine them.

"Clothes?" she asks, sarcasm dripping from the word.

After taking two punishing gulps of ice tea, I mumble, "Those are not clothes. That's underwear." My voice comes out thick and raspy. Hopefully, she thinks it's because of the coughing and not because I'm more turned on than a torch.

Maybe I should just look at the game, or she's going to start noticing that her bestie is a total horndog for her. Talk about easing her into the idea of dating me, huh?

"Is it too much?" She grabs the flaps of her jacket and opens it further while inspecting herself.

I have to drink more tea or I'll choke again.

"I just wanted to wear something different. See if…" She trails off to bite her lip. "See if it got me some attention."

I'm so aggressively happy we're facing the bar, and that the only one on duty right now is the grouchy owner who couldn't care less about the college kids that contaminate his establishment. If we were sitting at a table, or playing pool right now, the like, three other guys around the place would be salivating about her. Like I am .

I run a hand through my hair. My voice comes out a bit breathless as I ask, "What kind of attention?"

"A guy's." She closes her lips around her tea's straw and sucks.

I look away. I can't believe I'm jealous of a damn straw.

"Dane?"

"What?" She snaps.

"I saw you looking at him funny."

"No—I'm just happy for Mina. She's the one with a thing for him." Liv raises her index finger in warning. "Don't you dare tell him. She'd kill me."

"My lips are sealed." Would that I could seal my eyes too, before they bulge out. The problem is that with her jacket open so wide, I can see a peek of her side under her arm, and there's a little curve of her skin there that is absolutely killing me. I want to taste it so bad.

I sip more tea, too.

"So, it's not a particular guy, then?" I ask.

Liv swirls the drink in her glass with the straw. Almost too softly to hear, she responds with, "My next boyfriend, hopefully."

My heart trips against itself.

She came here looking for a guy. A guy to get together with. My fingers tap against the surface of the bar. I didn't tell her I was here with Dane, so it's not like she purposely came for either of us. But this has to mean she's over whatshisface. So maybe I finally have a chance.

"You don't need to dress like this to get a guy's attention, though." Especially not mine. I love her even in ratty old T-shirts ten times her size.

Liv's face scrunches up. "Do you know what my ex said when we officially broke up?"

"No." My entire body clenches with the desire to check him against the boards with all my strength. Alas, Trent McFadden isn't a hockey player.

Propping her elbow against the bar, and the side of her face on her hand, she looks as me as she says, "That I was too boring and frigid."

" What? "

Even Barry turns toward me.

Liv nods like we're talking about the weather. "The boring part is his fault. He wanted to dictate how I dressed and what we did, so that's what he got. But frigid? That was a he-problem, right?"

Abso-freaking-lutely. She boils me up even when she just smiles my way. Forget about the vision she is right now.

Liv pauses to motion at herself. "Like Mina says, I'm freaking hot. And I'll make sure the next guy really, really wants me."

"Liv, listen." Before she kills me from excessive blood flow, I grab the flaps of her jacket and pull them close. She sits quietly while I work on the first button, the one at the bottom, and steadily make my way up to close her jacket. When I'm done with the top one, I look into her eyes and say, "The right guy will come and he'll want you with every fiber of his being, regardless of what you're wearing, okay?"

Her expression softens a bit and she expels a breath. "I hope so."

She can be sure of it because that next guy is me, and my brain churns ideas on how to tell her soon.