Dara makes a low, appreciative sound. “And you’re 5’9”. That’s a good height difference. Very compatible.”
“Dara.”
“I’m just saying! Most guys get weird when you’re taller than them in heels. This one wouldn’t.” She pauses. “Not that it matters, obviously.”
“Obviously,” I say flatly. I’ve always loved my height, even when men I’ve dated have been weird about it, which is more often than you’d think. At least Dominic never made me feel like I should slouch or not wear heels. Not that it matters.
“Anyway.” I can hear her smile. “So this all started because you wrote an article about his fighter doping? And now he’s mad at you for telling the truth? I mean, hot guys are always the most unhinged about being held accountable.”
I shift on the window seat. “That’s not exactly where it started.”
“What do you mean?” she asks. “I mean, I know you went to high school together, but you never really told me details.”
A keg party on the beach during senior year is where itreallystarted, though I’m not about to tell Dara that part. Dominic and I had been butting heads since we were freshman, always competing, always at each other’s throats. But when someone dared me to kiss him, I did it because I never backed down from anything, especially not in front of an audience.
That night we ended up hooking up in the bed of his truck on Miller’s Hill. Then we kept hooking up for months. Between classes, after school, late nights when I’d climb out my bedroom window to meet him. It was all secret and intenseand completely insane, though neither of us would have ever admitted it was anything more than hate and hormones.
“Brooke?” Dara’s voice pulls me back. “Are you still there?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I blink and shift the pillow in my lap, forcing myself back to the present. “We were competing for the same scholarship senior year. A big community one through the school. It was a lot of money and a lot of pressure, and we were the two finalists.”
“Okay, so high stakes,” she says. “Let me guess, things got ugly?”
“That’s putting it mildly.” I pick at a loose thread on the pillow. “The thing is, I actually thought maybe we’d support each other, that it could be civil. Instead he went behind my back to the committee with lies about me to try and get me disqualified. So I fought back.”
I swallow against the bitterness the memories bring up. The fucking betrayal of it. We’d been rivals, sure, but after months of sneaking around together I’d been stupid enough to actually start trusting him, to think maybe there was something real underneath all that competition. And then he tried to torpedo my future. Losing that scholarship set my career back by years. And he thinksIruinedhislife?
“So he basically tried to sabotage you and you weren’t having it,” Dara says. “Good. I would have buried him.”
“Pretty much. It ended in the hallway outside the principal’s office, both of us screaming while half the senior class watched. Neither of us got the scholarship after all that, as you can imagine.”
“Damn, Brooke.” She exhales. “You two have been at war since you were teenagers. No wonder being back there is messing with your head.”
“Yeah,” I say, “we didn’t exactly do things halfway. And then fifteen years later I got a tip about his fighter doping,and I had a choice, right? Ignore a legitimate story because of personal history, or do my job. By then I’d clawed my way up toThe Seattle Times,withoutthe scholarship mind you. And that article is actually what got me the job offer atThe Sporting Standard. I moved to New York that year.”
“Good for you,” Dara says approvingly. “You worked hard and took down an asshole who thought he could do whatever he wanted without consequences.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me, like I’m reminding myself as much as her. “Exactly. He can think it was personal if he wants, but I would have followed that story no matter who it was about.”
“Sure you would have,” Dara says warmly. “Now do you want to tell me what else happened between you two?”
I blink. “What? I just told you the whole thing.”
“Oh you told me part of it, but you’re leaving something juicy out,” she says, her voice sweet as honey. “You’ve been acting weird as hell since you got assigned to this, and you could barely string a sentence together when you came out of David’s office. I’ve known you for ten years, Brooke. This is about more than a scholarship spat.”
I consider pretending the call dropped, but Dara would just call back and add this to her evidence. “It was… a really important scholarship, Dara.”
“Mhmm.”
“It was!” I insist.
Dara laughs, loud and delighted. “Alright, alright. Keep your secrets. I’ll get it out of you eventually. So what’s the plan now? You’ve got access, you’re doing the story. What happens when you see him tomorrow?”
“I’m professional,” I say. “I ask my questions. I’ll write a fair profile of his fighter. And I won’t let him get under my skin.”
“How’d that work out for you today?” The amusement in her voice is practically audible.
“Shut up,” I say, though the corner of my mouth is already twitching.
