Page 8 of Scoring Lessons

“Olivia Anderson has nothing to say for once?” I nodded thoughtfully. “Wow. Hell must be freezing over.”

She muttered something along the lines of, “God, help me,” and, “This is exhausting,” then straightened her shoulders and met me head-on. “I need you to promise me something.”

I pursed my lips in mock contemplation. “I don’t know if I like the sound of that.”

“Wesley, please.”

The way she said my name, almost like a vulnerable whisper, made me stumble for a millisecond.

“I know my brother only arranged this to keep tabs on me. You can’t go running to him with every little thing. This is my life, and I don’t need anyone meddling in it.” Her tone was deadly serious as she pinned me in place with a sharp stare.

“Whatever you do with your life is none of my business. If he wants to know something, he can ask you directly.”

Anderson may have been my best friend, but I wasn’t at his beck and call, nor was I the guy who needed to lay down the law where she was concerned.

It was no secret how overbearing Anderson was with Olivia. I couldn’t even blame the guy, you know? Their piece of shit father did a real number on them. Anderson only wanted what was best for his sister, and being overprotective was the only way he knew how to show it.

Olivia knew that. But I was also sure it didn’t make it any less annoying for her.

Her look was scrutinizing with a hint of doubt. “Promise?”

I lifted my little finger. “I’ll pinky promise, if it’ll make you feel better.”

Her eyes shifted, flickering with recognition, as if memory after memory fought to have a sliver of space in her brain all at once.

I smirked knowingly.

We hadn’t always been in this constant back and forth. When we were kids, we used to get along. Until one day, we didn't. I would be lying if I said it didn’t bother me at times. Olivia had changed a lot over the years. When she moved to New York, she secluded herself from all of us. It hurt my best friend more than he could ever admit out loud. Though I kept my mouth shut, because it wasn’t my place.

“You broke the last pinky promise we made.”

When we were in high school, we used to go to parties after football games. Once, I walked into one of the bathrooms and caught her making out with the captain of the football team. She made me pinky promise not to tell her brother—and in my defense, I hadn’t planned to tell him. But then the guy did something I didn’t like very much, so I ended up telling Anderson, and in a protective brotherly fashion, he punched the guy square in the face.

One thing about Olivia Anderson? That girl sure knew how to hold a grudge.

I shot her a playful smirk. “I was also a dumb teenager. Are you going to hold that over me forever, Livvie?”

She gritted her teeth. “Stop calling me that.”

“My God, you and your—” I groaned, exasperated. See? It was impossible not to fall into this fucking habit with her. “Just take my pinky promise, Olivia.” I made a point to emphasize her name as I rolled my eyes.

She begrudgingly interlaced her tiny finger with mine. The touch was brief. Rough. My skin flickered with an unexpected light buzz.

“Good girl,” I mocked through a sly grin.

Her face shifted from impassive to annoyed for the second time that night, and her hand smacked against my forearm.

“Fuck off, Wesley,” she practically growled. “Don’t ever call me that again.”

I rubbed the spot where she smacked me, as it would somehow have helped erase the sudden zing sparking underneath my skin. “Oh no,” I drawled, clutching my arm dramatically. “It hurts.”

“I can’t fucking stand you,” were her parting words as she spun on her heel, leaving me standing there with a grin so wide, my cheeks hurt.

THREE

OLIVIA

I’D RATHER STARVE TO DEATH.