"You can cut people out easier than anyone I know."
I shrug my shoulders, her words not landing like she means them to. I've been told my whole life how admirable it is that I can just brush things off. But sometimes it's not as easy as it looks. This decision feels right, but it doesn't feelgood. Working with him for the next couple of weeks will be hard as hell, and not wanting him—another form of torture. But this is how I've survived my whole life, without caving under the weight of my mother's disappointment.
"I'm an independent woman, Al," I say, taking a massive bite.
"With a giant pair of scissors."
I fake a smile, grateful that this time the credibility of my words will be muffled by my mouth full of food. "Snip snip."
18
Drew
Looking at the clock on the wall, the red block letters seem to mock me as I check the laces on my skates for the third time. I've officially hung around the locker room for as long as I can, waiting for Brooke. Every five minutes I've peered into the hallway, making up a different excuse each time a teammate asked me what I was looking for.
One time I needed Ward, another I had a question for Coach, and when Burnsey asked, I just told him to fuck off like I usually do. The bottom line is there's still no sign of her, and that's a problem. Partially because I have to get out onto the ice like… now. And partially because I haven't been able to stop thinking about her since our little mishap on her steps.
I went out with Cheyanne last night because I had to. Because that's the deal that Jane and I made. But that never means I have to enjoy it. I thought about Brooke the entire time.
When Cheyanne batted her lashes, Brooke's eyes came to mind. When she flashed her smile, I thought of Brooke's. And when she threw herself at me, way too tipsy after two glasses of wine, all I could think about was my mystery girl.
Usually, my date and I agree that we might as well at least get a night out of it. Sometimes we're even on the same page, and we blow through dinner just to get to the fun part. But last night, no one but Brooke would have satisfied that craving. And there was no way I was sleeping with Cheyanne. She wasn't happy, but I was thrilled to go home. Ready to fall asleep and wake up, only to rush to the rink this morning.
For nothing.
"Fuck," I groan, standing from my stall and snatching my helmet from the shelf. I cross through the locker room, running my thumb under my chain. Pushing the door open to the tunnel, I attempt to talk myself off the ledge.
I've made it this long, I can wait until—
I exhale heavily the second I lay eyes on Brooke's chocolate hair, the front hanging in her face as she looks down at her iPad. She's leaning against the wall at the front of the tunnel, the perfect barrier between me and the ice.
"Hey you," I say once I'm next to her. She doesn't answer, so I reach out and brush her elbow.
She startles and lifts her head, her eyes darting to where my fingers still linger on her skin. When she sees it's me, she pulls out a headphone, her eyebrows shooting up before her whole face settles into a blank stare.
"Hey," I say, smiling. "I've been looking for you."
One corner of her lips turns up as she looks down at the screen in her hand. "Well, here I am."
Her tone's a mix of frankness and irritation. It takes me aback, but I brush it off. "I see that." I lean on the wall next to her, my hand now hanging by her leg. I sweep my thumb up the hem of her jeans and watch her swallow. "What's goin' on?"
Brooke clears her throat, her eyes still trained on whatever she's working on. "Not much, just trying to get this set up for after practice."
"Another question video?"
"Mhmm."
I'm thrown by her energy. Even when she was fighting this with everything she had, she was more open than she is now. Then, after last night, I thought we were getting somewhere. "Cool," I say hesitantly. I don'twant to push her, but I don't want us to waste more time either. "So, do you still want to talk?" I lean into her, my attempt at grabbing her attention from the screen. "About last night?"
She finally glances up at me, but when she does, I almost wish she hadn't. Her eyes are cold despite her warm cheeks. "No, I'm good. I don't really think there's much to talk about."
I pull back, searching her expression for an explanation. "But, I thought you—"
"Listen, Drew." She turns fully to me, but as she does, she takes a step back, widening the gap between us. "I'm kind of busy here, and you have like a minute to get on the ice before practice."
She swings her iPad back up toward her chest, and before I can stop myself, I grab it from her hands. "Brooke, what's wrong?"
She narrows her eyes at me, her intention to look pissed, but there's a layer hidden underneath of something else. "Nothing," she snaps. "We don't have anything to discuss, and we both have things to do, so it's probably best to just—"
