Chapter Eleven
Brooklyn
The tequila shots were rather efficient at making me forget everything, including how bad a hangover could be the next morning.
Every time someone hit a bag, my eye twitched, which in the gym, was every few seconds. Don’t even get me started on the obnoxious, brain-splitting buzzer. I’d dragged myself out of bed at the last possible second this morning, took a quick shower, and threw my hair into two low ponytails. I didn’t even bother with makeup—with how puffy my eyes were, my eyeliner would be in the middle of my lid by the time the swelling went down.
I wrapped both hands around my Double Gulp of Mountain Dew, wishing I’d gone for…whatever the bigger size was. Personally, my vote was for calling it Regret Gulp, which would fit both hangovers and not getting enough sleep, and the fact that I’d probably regret consuming that much soda eventually.
“Hey,” Finn said, way too loud and way too cheery, and I just shook my head at him.
Liam approached from the other side—he and I hadn’t really had a chance to talk much, and it would be just my luck if he decided now was a good time for a heart-to-heart. He glanced from me to Finn to me again, suspicion filling his features. “What’s going on?”
Finn gestured to me. “Our little sister is doing her best impression of you.”
I grunted, laughed because I hadn’t meant to sound like Liam but to convey my annoyance over Finn’s volume, and then immediately regretted it. I pressed my fingers to my temples.
“She’s hung over because Dad…you know that idea he had about getting Knox a big fight?” Finn lowered his voice—finally—but it was to whisper “with Conrad,” so it didn’t make me feel all that much better.
Understanding smoothed Liam’s forehead.
“Yeah,” Finn said, “last night at dinner he asked her to talk to Croc and see if she could get him to change his mind.”
Liam jerked his head toward me, and I didn’t want to hear about how I should be reasonable and a team player, or even a softer version of how good it’d be for the gym. I hated that my emotions were bullying my logic, but that didn’t suddenly make me feel like dealing with this situation in a rational manner. “Brooklyn, I told Dad no. It’s not fair to put you in that position, and if that prick is so full of himself that he only wants fights that make him look good, then I don’t want to deal with him anyway.” He shook his head, disgust coating his features. “Fucking pussy—I’m glad he’s not on our team anymore.”
Happiness broke through the hangover haze and now I wanted that heart-to-heart. Liam and I used to be closer, and I didn’t like how distant things had gotten between us. “Thanks. I appreciate you having my back.”
“Anytime. I’ll talk to Dad about it, too. See if we can’t get on the same page again.” Liam started walking away, then seemed to remember he’d come over with a purpose and turned around. “About yesterday. I’m sorry I snapped at you. I’ve been super stressed lately and I was in a pissy mood. I appreciate you taking on so much while we’re getting this mess straightened out.”
“Hey, you got my back, I got yours.”
We exchanged a smile and then Finn gave me an over-the-top grin that instinctually made me suspicious.
“The three musketeers are back together,” he said, adding a fist pump. “Just like old times. Imagine if it could be like this all the t—”
“Dude, give it a rest. Out of the long list of galleries I applied to intern with, my very favorite offered me a spot, which also happens to include being mentored by an artist I admire, and I’m not giving that up for anything—not even you. And with this pounding in my head, you’re lucky I put it that nicely.” I squinted at him. “How are you not hung over?”
“I had one shot. You were the one with the bottle.”
I pressed my fingers to my forehead. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”
“Okay. Fair warning, though, Dad texted to say he’d be here in an hour. I’m sure he’ll want to have a chat with you.”
“Well, I tried the chat thing last night, and no thanks to that.”
Finn gave a shrug as if to say he had no control, which was a total crock. He was the reason I’d even come home in the first place. He’d told me Dad was different, but I had a feeling it was more like he wished he was. I did, too, but I was done getting my hopes up.
Now I was doing my time. Like I was in prison.
The front door swung open, and Shane strolled in, head high, stride confident. His dark scruff showcased his strong jaw and the Ray Bans must’ve come in his bad boy starter kit, too, because damn. Seriously, I think I just lost an ovary.
It’s goin’ down. It’s yellin’ timber…
Okay, so maybe this was more like cushy prison with hot dudes. For all I knew there were a lot of hotties behind bars, and I was sure they had enough spare time on their hands to get as ripped as professional fighters, and was I now trying to talk myself into how great prison might be? Clearly my brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders.
Yesterday Shane had given me good advice, even if Dad was too narcissistic for it to help much. Except I needed to switch up my thoughts, because I wasn’t supposed to be dwelling on the cocky fighter’s good traits anymore. My body already involuntarily reacted too much whenever Shane entered my orbit, and that meant I needed to be extra careful. I didn’t come home to repeat past mistakes, and I knew better than to confuse lust and attraction with genuine affection. Crazy-hot blinded you, and out-of-control passion left scars and issues. Safe, calm, and secure was where it was at.
Still, something in me reached for him.
It’s a friendly-type connection. It’s okay to be friends.
If I stopped fighting both sides of the connection coin, it’d help me to better keep myself in check. Right?
So I waited for Shane to look my way, planning on giving him a friendly wave. Like he’d said, it was pointless trying to avoid him anyway.
Or maybe not, because he certainly didn’t look my way.
And then I had to pretend I didn’t care, and that only added an irritated edge to the grouchiness my hangover had left me with.