3. BROOKLYN

CHAPTER 3

brOOKLYN

T he crowd parts with way more deference than necessary. I know I'm probably the biggest dude in the entire house, but it's not like I'm going to bowl them like they're pins. One girl by the kitchen sink stops talking with her friends and runs her eyes down my frame.

Meanwhile, I open the fridge and peer down at the war zone in there. Whatever food we had in here is already gone, and someone spilled salsa down the metal grill shelves. That's going to be a pain in the ass to clean later. However, there are still a few unopened beer bottles at the back so not all is lost. I grab one and shut the door, only to come face to face with the same girl who's been checking me out.

"You must be Brooklyn Tatum, huh?" She gives me one of those smiles that come along with a strategic lip bite.

I twist the cap open with my big paw, which doesn't go unnoticed by her. Leaning my shoulder against the fridge, I take a swig of the beer with my free hand. Her eyes lock on the tattoo lines on my forearm.

I tilt my head to inspect her. If she can eat me up with her eyes, so can I. She's hot. Blonde, wearing a Thunder Bolts jersey that she's modified to show a mile of cleavage, cinched around her waist with a belt. And I guess it's a dress now, because her legs are bare. Those heels look like they hurt, especially because she doesn't need them. She's fairly tall. Would make it easy to make out if she's interested.

Which I guess she is, because she takes a step closer, tucks her hair behind her ears, and—here's the clincher—rests her hand on my arm right where my bicep is curled as I hold the beer. Not even being subtle about the fact that she's groping me.

"The one and only," I answer at last, tucking my tongue against my cheek. "And who's asking?"

"I'm a fan." Her hand shifts to my chest, and she looks up with bright blue eyes that tell me she knows that I know what she's up to, and that at some point in this party she's going to be grabbing even more handfuls of me. "A big, big fan."

Puck bunnies are the best. If it wasn't for them my awkward ass would be discovered and I'd never get any action.

"Glad to see you're having fun now, Brooke." I shift my eyes over the blonde's head to Liam as he enters the kitchen. Very annoying to note how the crowd parts for him as well, and even worse that he decides to park his ass beside me and the blonde. He gives her a scan even as he says, "Especially since you didn't want to join the party in the first place, right?"

The girl shifts away from me to face him with a gasp. "Oh wow, Liam Roberts! Can you give me your autograph?"

"Sure thing, babe. Where do you want it? Your jersey?" He smirks. "Your skin?"

Instead of being creeped out, she giggles.

Puck bunnies are the worst. No loyalty and bad taste.

Should I be pissed that this isn't the first time Liam does something like this to me? Maybe. But hooking up with this girl would've been an added bonus for tonight, and not the real goal .

I pick myself up and part the crowds on my way out of the kitchen, leaving them behind to flirt or whatever. Once again, I scope out the faces all around the living room. There are two girls dancing on the couch to the bass that's making the walls vibrate. Right before them, a game of beer pong unfolds on the dining table. I recognize Dane's voice as he heckles whoever he's playing with, and I stifle a snort by taking another drink of my beer.

By the bay window at the front, Jamie Schwarz is performing an impressive keg stand. Especially because his T-shirt has fallen down his face, but he manages to keep his concentration even as some girl rubs his abs like she wants to make sure they're real. Jamie's cool, but I won't be cool with him if he and this girl end up going at it later tonight and I can hear everything from my room beside his.

One of the seniors behind him is chatting up three puck bunnies, and I'm even more glad that his room is in the west wing of the third floor, clear across the house and one level above my room. I definitely don't want to hear that . But a glance around confirms there's more than one Bolt House resident engaged in some form of flirtation. Which means there's not going to be any placid sleep tonight.

Is Olivia even coming for real? This is the entire opposite of her scene.

In fact, a scene exactly like this a year ago contributed to our friendship going to shit.

For the nth time, I pull out my phone and scroll through Instagram again. Her post is still gone. Why would she bring it back after deleting it? And yet, I wish I had some proof that I didn't hallucinate it. But an hour has passed since and there's no sighting of her, so maybe it was all in my head. Maybe I just miss my best friend so damn much that I'm trying to conjure her from thin air.

The front door opens and it's as if an invisible string pulls at my face. I turn, but it's not the universe finally listening to me. Instead, a group of Thunder Strikes walk in.

Their captain makes a grand entrance that includes saying, "Listen up, losers! The winners have arrived."

I bite my lips not to laugh as some of the puck bunnies start glaring at the newcomers. The Strikes and the Bolts hated each other when the program started, but throughout the years, it's turned more into good natured ribbing. I shouldn't be shocked that they're coming to rub their victory in our sorry faces. Except our faces aren't too sorry when they're busy sucking other faces.

I run a hand through my hair. Maybe I should give up on waiting for Liv or on getting any solid sleep, and follow in the example of my teammates to just hang out. That way I won't think too hard about how we blew the whole damn season.

I'm about to join the beer pong game when something catches my attention from the corner of my eye. But it's just some couple making out like no one's watching.

About to turn away, I do a double take and recognize one of the parties. I rub my eyes with the fingers of one hand and fix them on the couple again.

Indeed, it's Trent McFadden. However, he has his tongue down a redhead's throat and last I checked, Liv is still very much a brunette.

My whole body freezes. A flash of cold travels through my spine, followed by a lick of fire. No matter how hard I glare, the piece of shit doesn't stop. Only when the girl jumps to wrap her legs around him and their mouths disconnect for a quick moment, does he finally catch sight of me.

And his face blanches. Because he knows exactly who the hell I am.

I smack some random guy's chest with my beer until he gets the hint and takes the bottle. Trent says something to the girl that makes her un-Velcro herself from him. He's screwed, though. The living room is packed with people that block his exit.

"Brooklyn." His eyes travel down to my hands while I crack my knuckles. Meanwhile, what he cracks is his voice as he says, "Hi, fancy seeing you here."

I grab him by the collar of his shirt and yank him close. His eyes are wide, nostrils flaring as he breathes fast.

"Excuse me." I shift my glare to the girl. "You may want to step back for this."

"What?" She's still flushed as she glances between Trent and I. "What's happening?"

He releases a choked laugh. "Um, it's just a misunderstanding?—"

I get in his grill, using the full force of my height. "Misunderstanding my ass. You're cheating on my best friend."

"What?" The girl hisses the question.

I frown at her. "You didn't know this slimeball has a girlfriend?"

"No!" Her expression morphs into total disgust.

He tries to push my arm away and I don't budge a single inch. "W-What the hell is it to you? You and Liv aren't even friends anymore."

Wrong thing to say, because now I'm even more pissed off. If I hadn't screwed things up with her, I could've kept this asshole far away from her.

He slobbered around her ever since they met at some chemistry class on the first semester of freshman year. The second I was no longer part of the picture, he pounced. I can't even believe Liv caved. Like maybe his decent looks prevented her from seeing what I saw all along—that he doesn't deserve a second of her time, let along a whole year together.

Through gritted teeth, I say, "This isn't about me, you steaming pile of horse dung. Does Liv know you're cheating on her? "

"Of course not." He frowns, a bead of sweat rolling down his face. "And it's going to stay that way, right? After all, you two don't even talk anymore."

"The hell it will, because you're going to tell her yourself or else I'm going to make you shit your own teeth."

He sucks in air through his damn teeth and opens his mouth to spew some garbage, except his words are drowned by a different voice.

"Trent?" A pause, and then… "Brooklyn?"

Slowly, I turn to face her.

And I mean, her .

The redhead for some reason hasn't scrammed and right beside her is Liv, along with two other girls that I vaguely recognize. All I care about is Liv, though, my former best friend. The feeling is obviously not mutual and her dark eyes shift away from mine, back to her boyfriend.

A boulder of guilt slams over me. I regret wishing she'd come to this party. It's like this house is cursed to give her nothing but pain.

"What's happening here?" Liv asks with that naturally raspy voice of hers. It doesn't matter that the music blares all around us, blending with a cacophony of other voices. I'd recognize hers in my sleep.

"Liv, babe. This Neanderthal is assaulting me. Tell him to back off."

"Shut the hell up. I haven't even hit you yet," I grumble under my breath.

"Yet! See?—"

But Liv cuts him off. "And just why would he want to hit you?" After a blink, her eyes are on mine again even as she keeps her face turned to whatshisface.

The most curious thing happens. My body thrums back to life like it does when I deliver a particularly nice check against the boards, and I want to grin. The situation doesn't merit it, and I strain every muscle in my face to stay serious.

Her boyfriend takes advantage of my lapse to free himself from my hold, but he can't run any farther than before. "Well, um…" He clears his throat.

The redhead snaps. "Sis, is this your boyfriend?"

"Yeah?" Liv frowns.

"You may want to dump him, then. Because he let me believe he was single a second before he shoved his tongue down my throat."

"You were into it!" the dipshit says, pointing at the redhead. And that's when it clicks on him that maybe that wasn't the most important part of her speech. "I mean, I?—"

Liv's lip starts trembling and she bites it. Her fists tighten at her sides.

"Ah, shit," I mutter. That's the same look I put on her face a year ago. I reach for her. "Liv, I?—"

She steps away and all I do is grab air. "Let's go home," she says to her friends. "This party blows."

The two girls wrap their arms around her and steer her away, glaring at Trent over their shoulders. The redhead throws a double bird at him and pushes someone out of the way before blending with the crowd.

"Wait, let me explain." Trent starts toward the redhead or Liv, I don't know.

I can't give Olivia any comfort, unlike her girl friends. But there's another way I can help. I put my arm up and block his way. "You're going nowhere, dipshit. Not until we have a good conversation."