32. OLIVIA

CHAPTER 32

OLIVIA

" S o, what kind of dress are we looking for?"

Brooklyn looks at me while he sips from what is potentially a kiddy-pool full of ice coffee. In the middle of a Wednesday afternoon. And in the winter.

Granted, he doesn't feel the cold and it's not just because he plays hockey, he just never has. It's probably because he's a human furnace. I can feel his heat radiating through his and my layers of clothes as we walk in the mall together, close enough to touch but not doing so. It would warm me better than the hot cup of tea I have my hands wrapped around.

"I guess something elegant." While he talks, the straw still sits between his lips and all my attention goes there. "But like, it doesn't have to be this huge, puffy, prom dress."

"A specific color?" I tear my eyes away from his mouth and glance at the store exhibits. Clothes, accessories, and home goods of all kinds wait patiently for people's wallets. I wasn't kidding when I said there's only dust and moths in mine, which is why we came here instead of a fancier store downtown.

"We both know it's going to be black."

I grin with my head still turned away from him. "Atta boy. "

"Yep, you've taught me well." He clears his throat. "It'll also be easy for me to match."

"Oh." I whirl toward him. "Can you please wear a black shirt so we can both look badass and intimidating?"

Brooke blinks those emerald green eyes of his slowly. "We're already badass and intimidating, no matter what we wear."

"Pfff. They must not know you're actually a cinnamon roll, golden retriever, marshmallow guy."

"Excuse me!" He raises his voice in mock outrage that won't get him any attention, because this place is freaking empty and he can't fool his only audience. "I'm the best defenseman in Division I hockey right now. Opponents cower upon my sight?—"

"Do they?"

"Hey." His frown now is for real.

I press my lips tight. "Sorry to break it to you, they're intimidated by your skills but not by your face."

He scrunches up said face. "Fine, I'm more the pest kind of D-man than the enforcer kind. But what's wrong with my face?"

My eyes flash to the faint scar right above the edge of his jaw, and I desperately wish I could kiss it. As if my lips could take away the hurt and finish healing it. But in the course of a few weeks, the blemish has become so familiar I almost don't notice it's there. It's just part of his face now—his beautiful, perfect face that will always haunt me every time I close my eyes.

"Nothing," I say, meaning it. But before he can say anything, I point at a store with my lips. "There's the place that will get me looking like a million bucks but actually set me back somewhere south of fifty."

"Wait, isn't this the place where you bought your actual senior prom dress? "

I squint up at him. "How do you remember that?"

Brooke presses his fist against his mouth and clears his throat. "Well, the tag was hanging from your dress like half the night."

That piece of news makes me gasp as we walk into the store. "And you didn't tell me?"

"I took it off when we finally managed to dance the one time."

Oh, I remember that .

His date, who was his girlfriend at the time, hogged him basically the whole night. I didn't have a date, which made me feel even crappier about myself the whole time. And when, at last, Brooke's girlfriend took a bio break and he found me for the dance we'd promised each other since like, middle school, I thought my moment had arrived. At one point he even leaned down and I thought he was going to kiss me, only to pull back quickly.

That moment was traumatizing at the time. I agonized the whole night about whether my expression showed how much I wanted him, and whether that had made him pull away. But I now guess it must've been when he tore the tag from my dress.

After inflating my chest with air, I expel it all out in a noisy sigh.

"Welcome," a sales associate says to us. Correction, to Brooklyn. She only has eyes for him, even though this store only sells apparel for women. "Can I help you with anything specific?"

His hand rests on my shoulder and he says, "We got it, but we'll call you if we need help."

Her smile falters a tad as she looks down at me. "You got it." I can't fault her for her disappointment.

As she leaves, my eyes fall on the rack she'd been blocking and I gasp. "Wow, that dress is so ugly it's almost offensive." It's this concoction of mesh and faux leather, all in a bright yellow highlighter hue.

Brooke squeezes between me and a busy rack, which means the front of his body brushes against my arm and fully paralyzes me. He plucks the dress by the hanger and offers it to me. "I dare you to try it on."

I unfreeze myself to roll my eyes and say, "We're not in middle school anymore, Toto."

"Speaking of dogs, I double dog dare you." There's a smugness in his face I don't appreciate, because if I refuse the dare he's probably going to come up with something worse.

"Didn't you say we have to kind of hurry up because you have practice soon?" That's one last ditch attempt.

Of course, he easily deflects it. "Aceituna, are you being chicken shit?"

"Fine." I snatch the awful thing from his hand until I see the size. "Wait, I need the right size."

"What are you?" he asks as he returns the original monstrosity to the rack.

I sigh. "M on a good day."

Deft fingers run through the hanger hooks, passing through the color tabs with the sizes until he finds an M. "Here you go. I'll wait for you outside the dressing rooms."

"Ugh."

I stomp through the store, equal parts annoyance and amusement swirling in my belly in the way only Brooklyn Tatum can create. At least the dressing rooms are spacious. There's a bench where I can set my tea down while I get undressed, and hangers to put my clothes so they don't drag all over the floor. I refuse to take off my boots, though, because the floor looks like it was cleaned last season if at all.

It's a bit too drafty for my liking and I shiver once I'm down to my underwear, removing the hanger from the dress. This looks like something that would work well at a nightclub in some tropical city, not the thirty degrees we're boasting this afternoon. But whatever, who am I to refuse a double dog dare.

But also, I'm curious.

See, this dress has a lot of see-through panels. After the way Brooke reacted the last time I wore something lacy, I wouldn't have expected him to be interested in seeing me in this. I'll happily pretend like this is some harmless little flirting, and not a prolonged goodbye where I have no idea how we stand.

I carefully step into the dress, making sure not to snag it with my boots because I don't want to pay for it. For a tense moment, it refuses to come up past my hips and for once, they may be a blessing in disguise. But then the dress slides right up and I have no choice but to slide my arms into the straps. As I pull it up, though, I can tell my bra will be in full display if I don't remove it. Unfortunately, it's one of those comfortable ones in the shade of my skin and it has seen better days, so I take it off. After I pretzel myself, I manage to zip the dress up and look in the mirror.

"Damn." My jaw hangs.

Brooke's voice comes from right outside the flimsy door. "Oh, I gotta see it now."

"Nope. You're not seeing this." I shake my head at myself. My assessment was right. This is a dress for a wild night out. Turns out the faux leather panels and trims hug places that have no right being highlighted—pun intended—during the day.

"I will tear the door off its hinges if I have to." He says this in such a deep, low voice, it makes me shake with a violent shudder.

I rub my hands up and down my arms to smoothen down the goosebumps. We both know I'll show him the dress. I know I'm dying to see his reaction. But I don't have to act like I'm so willing .

Grumbling, I unlock the door and pull it open.

Brooke's eyes bulge just like they did at O'Malley's the night I dressed a tad bold. But this time he doesn't throw a coat around my shoulders or something.

No, he slowly, very deliberately, takes in all the details. From the tight skirt that shows miles of leg through the mesh fabric, to the strategic cutouts around my torso, to the ultra tight top that enhances my otherwise modest chest. Finally, when his eyes lift to my face I know he can see the hot blush on my cheeks.

And it makes him smirk. The asshole.

He twirls a finger in the air. "Turn around."

"Wait." I run my hands down the back and what I feel is a lot of mesh, rather than faux leather. "I didn't check the back but it feels awful cool. Like there's not enough fabric."

His eyebrows pop. "Oh yeah? I can confirm that."

"No." Especially because I'm wearing granny panties. "I'm changing and then we're finding the actual dress we came here for."

"Actually, I selected a couple options while you were in there." He reaches to the side and brings up one. A chuckle comes out of him the second my eyes fall on it. "I double dog dare you."

"Brooklyn." His name comes out of my lips almost like a hiss.

This dress is the opposite. A pink ball of fluff with tiny hearts all over it. I feel like wearing this one even less than the yellow highlighter barf fest I'm currently in.

But I snag it anyway, and back into the dresser I go. He's still giggling like a five year old as I slide one dress off, and the second one on. But then I realize something. The cotton candy atrocity is also going to short-circuit him. I don't know if he grabbed it on purpose, but the dress is backless. And when I mean backless, I mean I have to hide my underwear because the back opening plunges that deep.

This time I open the door without warning. Brooke's eyes twinkle more than the Christmas lights adorning the entire mall. From the front, the dress is all puffy sleeves and a puffy miniskirt. Nothing terrible, although I've never seen him look at my thighs with such attention. I almost stay still for a while longer.

But nah, I turn. He chokes in his own saliva.

I look at him over my shoulder. "Did you pick this dress knowing that like half of it is missing?"

"I h-had no idea." He thumps his chest hard.

That time at O'Malley's, he reacted in a similar way. His coughing fit only abated after he'd buttoned up my jean jacket.

My eyes narrow. I think I got it all wrong back then. Brooklyn doesn't find me unattractive. It's just shocking to him that I am. The second I realize this, my pulse skyrockets through the ceiling and all the way to the moon.

Slowly, I turn back around and fold my arms. "Where's the other dress?"

"What?" He runs a hand through his blond hair once. Twice.

"You said you'd selected a couple of them while I was trying on the first one."

"Oh, right." He clears his throat as he reaches over again. He must've hung them from the door of the adjacent dresser. This time, the dress he presents to me is finally in line with what we're here for. At least on account of the color. "I think you'll actually like this one."

I feel the fabric between my fingers. It's silky but not as thin as the real deal. "Hmm. Okay." I take it from him and make a big show of heading back into my dresser at a snail's pace. Through the mirror, I can see his eyes glued to the expanse of bare skin at my back. I close the door and lock it, not because he'd ever try anything. But because I might. If he keeps looking at me like that I will.

Please, keep looking at me like that , I beg in my mind.

I hurry out of the pink dress to put on the black one. This fabric has zero give, so I slide it down from above. It's like it was custom made for my weird shape though. The drooping folds at my chest compared to how tight it fits everywhere else is actually very flattering.

This time, no matter how much I pretzel myself, I can't zip it up. It's fine, though. The dress fits like a glove, so I know one of my roommates can help me into it on the night of the event. But now I can't pull the tab down either, which means it got stuck on the fabric.

I contemplate whether to live in the dress forever, or to…

To… open the door, and ask Brooklyn for help.

I swallow so hard that I can hear it. My chest rises and falls with my rapid breathing. I'm going to do this, though. I have to test this new theory that he does think I'm hot. That the kiss we shared in the spring wasn't a fluke. That there could've been something between us if he wasn't leaving in a month.

"Brooke?" My voice breaks a little.

"What's up?"

"I need help. I'm stuck."

"‘Kay. Open the door."

That sounds a lot more ominous than it should. But I open the door, even though I know this will change things.

Brooke's expression is serious as his eyes run down my frame. No laughter or coughing this time. Instead, he does something even more terrifying. He walks into the dressing room.

I take a step back, almost hitting the wall behind me. The door swings shut all by itself. As it clicks, my breath hitches.

Green eyes travel down the slope of my clavicle to my shoulder, down to my arm where the goosebumps are the worst. His lips curve in the corners. "You don't look stuck. This one fits you like a glove."

I shuffle awkwardly to present my back. "Not me, it's the zipper." I keep my face angled toward the mirror so I can catch every minutia. His eyelids lower, and I feel his gaze down my bare back like a caress. It skips past the zipper tab and settles on my butt.

For the first time in our lives, Brooklyn is openly staring at my ass. And his hand closes into a tight fist at his side like he's holding back from reaching out.

A weaker woman would collapse against the wall. I don't know how I manage to not be that weaker woman.

"Brooke?"

"Right." He jerks himself out of the trance, taking a step closer to get a proper look. I can't do anything to hide the shiver when his fingers brush against my back. "Sorry. I know you're ticklish."

I grit my teeth. That wasn't it. At all.

"Damn. This is really stuck." He grunts as he tugs on the fabric, which jerks me against him.

"Uhh." I lean my head back to look up at him. "You might want to be a bit more careful or you'll rip the whole thing open."

Brooke blinks down at me. Swallows hard. "I'm considering it."

The beat of my heart turns into pounding. His hands release the zipper and instead, cinch around my waist. His name falls out of my lips like a question, but all the answer I get his Brooklyn lowering his forehead to my shoulder. His skin feels like fire against mine.

"Liv…"

"Brooke?"

"I'm trying to behave here. "

I grab his hands against my stomach. "What do you mean, behave?"

"I'm supposed to be your best friend. I am your best friend." His breath fans against my mostly bare back, making my muscles clench at the strength of the sensation. "But I don't have very friendly thoughts in my mind right now."

I bite my lip and ask, "What kind of thoughts do you have?"

A dark chuckle follows. "I really want to rip this freaking dress to shreds, throw you against the wall, and kiss you senseless. And more. Definitely more."

Welp. This is when I collapse against the wall. It feels like ice against my forehead.

"Okay, let's be rational here," I say with a choked up voice. "If you rip out the dress, we'll have to pay for it and I still won't have something to wear for the gala."

Brooklyn snorts. But then he spins me around, and he doesn't have to throw me against the wall. The heat in his eyes alone is enough to melt me against it.

He leans an arm against the wall just over my head, and the posture brings his face almost level with mine. His eyes roam all over my face, as if searching for something. And for the first time since I've been crushing on him, I don't care if he can see how smitten I am. I run the tip of my tongue across my lips, savoring the coffee of his breath against them already.

Brooke sucks in air through his teeth, as if my gesture physically hurt him. Faster than a lightning bolt, he holds the side of my neck and pulls me against him. His thumb runs down the length of my jaw until tucks under my chin to tip my head back. His eyes steal the breath from me.

"Liv. If we do this, we'll cross a line there's no coming back from." I'm sure he can feel the rapid pulse at the base of my throat against the heel of his hand, or how hard I swallow. His breathing is already fast, as if he'd been running to this moment. "If I kiss you right now, it won't be as a stranger. It sure as hell won't be as a friend either."

"I know," I whisper, my hands sneaking under his coat to fist around his sweatshirt.

"Is that what you want?" His jaw tightens as he swallows. "Say it."

"What?" I couldn't say my name right now if I had to.

"Say that you want me to kiss you right now."

"I… want…" I look into his eyes as I say, "You."

His mouth crashes against mine and I close my eyes, melting against him. I'd never describe our first kiss as sweet, but this one is downright bruising.

Brooklyn pushes his lips against mine, coercing my jaw open. I tilt my head back to give him full access, and we both moan when our tongues meet. His free hand slides down my back to the mound of my butt cheek, squeezing tight, bringing me flush against him and I gasp. But then, as his lips close around mine, that hand keeps going down until I feel a rush of air.

He tears his mouth away from mine and I open my eyes, about to protest. Except now Brooke drags both of his hands up my thighs, pulling the fabric of the dress up. I watch, confused but not upset at all. It only clicks when he wraps his hands around the back of my thighs and lifts me up.

Yelping, I close my arms around his neck so I don't slide right back down. Brooklyn looks up at me, eyes dark and hooded even as he smirks. "Don't worry, I'd never let you fall." He pushes me against the wall, hands sliding down my thighs until he wraps my legs around him.

I gasp. Joke's on him, I already fell a long time ago.

"Shut up and kiss me again."

"Yes, ma'am."

This time it's not as urgent. He kisses my bottom lip with all the care in the world, like maybe he knows it's already throbbing and swollen. But then he closes his teeth around it, so soft it doesn't hurt, but I feel the scrape of his teeth all the way down to my toes. The moan that tears out of my throat is so not safe for all audiences.

"Damn, you're so hot," he murmurs against my lips before kissing me hard once more. I grab a fistful of his hair, clench my legs tighter, and he's still not close enough. One of his hands holds my weight firmly under one thigh, but the other one travels higher. Not high enough. Not fast enough. And then his pants start buzzing.

Our mouths make a shocking sound as we separate. I keep my eyes squeezed shut, knowing that if I open them, there'll be stars dancing around his face.

We both breathe hard—him more so. Which is funny, seeing as he's the elite athlete here. His forehead rests on mine, our noses against each other. "I think that's my alarm to head to practice," he says in a low, husky voice that raises a shiver out of me.

By slow increments, I open my eyes to meet his. "Okay," I whisper. "Go."

He nods. "I'm going."

I bite my lip and gasp softly at how tender it is. He brings the roaming hand up to run his thumb against my lip. "I don't see you moving," I say against the pad of his thumb.

"I don't wanna move."

Puckering my lips, I place a little kiss on his finger. "Go."

Brooklyn groans, but he grabs me by the waist and lowers me until my boots touch the floor again. He keeps me there for a moment, tight against him. As he looks into my eyes, his hands travel across my back to the zipper. Two hard tugs, and it finally frees itself.

I suck in air as Brooklyn lowers the tab all the way down and says, "Promise me you'll wear this dress."

"Yeap. This is the one," I respond, the words jerky .

Brooke presses his smile against my lips and disappears out of the door just like that. Like we almost didn't just get frisky in here.

It takes me an extraordinarily long time to get changed. The sales associate glares at me the entire time she bags the dress, which, surprise, Brooke paid for on his way out. She probably heard the whole little episode. What she doesn't know is how hard I had to work to earn it, or how hard I'm going to have to work now to keep him.