He snorts, rolling his eyes, then looks into mine, the anger simmering down.
“I apologize for slapping your ass…” he says with one hand on his heart.
I roll my eyes. This is typical for Will and I. We get into these explosive arguments and then quickly move on from them, like an endless cycle.
Will’s eyes catch on something behind me and he lets out a low whistle. I turn just as three seemingly freshman girls walk toward us escorted by Andrew, the basketball team’s self proclaimed player. Andy is handsome; he’s from California and looks every bit like he grew up on the West Coast with his sandy blonde hair and deep tan, but his bad boy attitude is overplayed and honestly a bit obnoxious.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I violently whisper, looking back at Will.
He looks down as if remembering that I’m still standing directly in front of him and gives me a cocky smirk and winks at me. I narrow my eyes at him now simmering with rage.
“Fuck you, Will.” I move to leave.
“Come on, Liv,” he gently grabs my wrist in an attempt to keep me there.
“Let go,” I whisper shout and yank my wrist away causing me to fall backward into what feels like a brick wall. A brick wall that also has arms, that are now steadying me.
I turn to see who just caught me from completely embarrassing myself and my mind goes blank. I imagine this is the reaction I would have had as a girl meeting my celebrity crush. I feel… starstruck. I scan his face. He’s definitely not famous. In fact, I’ve never seen him before.
He’s tall— liketowersover me. Taller than Will, which is saying something. His dark wavy hair is tousled in a way that shows he has good personal hygiene, but isn’t staring at himself for too long. Dark lashes frame his eyes which are so brown they feel like a bottomless pit, and maybe they are, because I’m having trouble looking away. I feel warmth rising up my neck.
What the fuck is going on with me?
He raises his eyebrows seemingly wondering the same thing.
“Are you okay?” His voice is deep and masculine in a way that makes my stomach drop.
His voice sounds alarm bells in my mind, and I literally feel my defenses fly up. Before I even think about what I’m saying, “Fuck off” is already out of my mouth.
4
Ben
Given the scowl painted across Olivia’s face, one could correctly guess she is appalled by my intrusion. Not thankful for saving her from the dusty floor of Churchill Hall— she’s appalled.
I can’t seem to look away when I hear a silky, honeyed, “Fuck off.”
The eye contact stills me. Her eyes are a rich, deep brown, speckled with amber, disguising the curiosity that only momentarily peaked through when she first turned around. It is quickly shuttered away as a red flush creeps up her neck.
“I’m sorry?” I murmur, trying to reassemble the fortitude necessary to deal with the situation at hand.
“I’m sure there are better places for you to practice your subpar vigilante skills than Astor. Fuck off and find them,” she says, eyes wide, as she grabs Will’s hand and begins to drag him out of the archway and across the courtyard. It isn’t until I see Will tug her to a halt and catch his mouth angle toward her ear that she stills, making eye contact with me once again.
Her gaze is soft but impenetrable as she looks at me and I can’t bring myself to look away. As much as I’m irritated by her proximity to Will, my unwillingness to disengage alarms me. I force myself to turn away, hoisting my bag over my shoulder.
Walking into the locker room throws me; the musty blend of male perspiration, Bath and Body Works Ocean Mist tinged with Tommy cologne, and stringent multi-purpose cleaner assaults my passageways and travels to that part of your brain that connects smell to memory. I’m lost in thought when I feel a massive block of man slam me into the nearest locker.
“Jesus, Grant. Nice to see you too.” I can’t help the slight smile that forms, even as I rub my most definitely bruised shoulder.
“Nice to fucking see you? You disappear for two years, refuse to come to a game, come for a coffee, refuse anything, and all you’ve got is nice to see you. You mysterious fuck.” He’s grinning as he berates me, unable to be serious for even a second, and I’m glad to see he hasn’t changed.
When I quit the team and left Astor Hill two years ago, one of my hesitations was Grant. But when Grant asked me what was going on, and when I found myself unable to even vaguely explain my head to him, I just balked. I think I felt embarrassed by my inability to get a handle on my anxiety. Grant wouldn’t have judged me, I know that now. I was so in my head though, I didn’t believe it then. I packed my side of our apartment, threw two months rent on the counter, and left. I’ve answered the obligatory “Happy Birthday” texts he’s sent my way, but largely ignored any attempt to pry deeper.
Despite my obvious avoidance, Grant sent:
see u there
only ten seconds after I sent:
