Page 5

Olive

W hen Sebastian played hockey for Lindon University, he was a campus star.

Everyone knew he was aiming for a position on any NHL team who would have him.

He wasn’t picky as to which one, though he wanted to stay on the east coast to be close to Mom and me.

And as his two biggest fans, we knew without a doubt he’d get drafted.

He spent a lot of time in the weight room to get into peak physical shape and practically lived at the rink running drills to better the ones he wasn’t as strong at. The people close to him knew he was going to be successful—that he was going to get everything he deserved out of life.

The money. The title. The attention.

All he wanted was to play the game. He said everything else was a bonus.

I’m proud of the boy three years my elder for not changing who he is simply because of the number of zeroes on his paycheck, or the endorsement offers he gets from big companies.

When he told me he was going to be the new face of Nike, I think I’d been more excited about it than he was.

Mostly because it’s hard finding a good pair of sneakers when you’re a five-foot-eleven woman with a size eleven shoe.

I told him I wanted a pair of Nikes for Christmas the second he signed the contract with the multi-billion-dollar company.

One thing is for sure. I couldn’t handle the type of spotlight that Sebastian has on him all the time. It’s not as big as the ones shining on his seasoned teammates, but it’s there. Watching. Waiting for him to screw up.

Me? I’d be plastered on every magazine and tabloid cover known to man because of my bad decisions. I’d be a PR nightmare. The bonus? I’d be a PR nightmare with a hell of a face card thanks to my makeup collection.

The truth is, though, I like my life. I don’t have any big talents that could make me famous the way he is.

I can’t sing or dance. I suck at art. I have no musical skill, though after three months of piano lessons I probably should have some.

I was relatively decent at basketball in high school, but definitely didn’t get any athletic scholarships for my time on the team.

Out of the Henderson siblings, I’m simply… average.

I’m a junior studying communications at the same alma mater Sebastian graduated from two years ago, with no clue how to utilize the degree.

He was reluctant when I told them that I’d made my choice to go to Lindon when I had three other options that accepted me as well.

But I’ve always found something magical about the campus that drew me in the second I visited him.

And there was also Alexander O’Conner.

Of course, I hadn’t made my decision solely based on a guy.

Especially not one as confusing as Lindon’s former left wing.

When I first met him, I barely knew anything about him other than how hot he was and how much Sebastian absolutely hated his guts.

It mostly had to do with their competition on the ice.

As teammates, they dominated. As competitors?

They battled it out for everybody’s attention.

The coaches, the scouts, you name it. Both were talented. Intense.

But only one could be the best.

The only saving grace for them was that Sebastian graduated first. If they’d been in the same year, I don’t know if their paths would look the way they do now.

Maybe the cocky confidence that Alex had shouldn’t have made him so alluring when I met him officially at a bonfire my freshman year, but I’m only so strong. When a guy looks like he could be the inspiration for a Greek Adonis sculpture, it’s hard not to be enamored. Dickhead personality or not.

High, sharp cheekbones. Strong jaw. Piercing baby blues that look directly into your soul. How could anybody not immediately drop their panties when he shoots them his signature smirk?

And I did drop them.

Multiple times.

So many times that—

Wait . What the hell am I even supposed to be doing right now? And how did I get on the topic?

“You’ve got that look on your face,” Skylar, my best friend since freshman year, says with a tiny smile. She props her chin on her hand, ignoring the book she’s got sprawled open in front of her.

I play dumb. “What look?”

Her blue eyes roll.

They remind me of Alex’s.

God. Nope. Not going there.

“My brain went into unchartered territory,” I admit, opening a can of Coke and taking a sip of the fizzy goodness.

Sebastian should try getting a Coca-Cola endorsement next. I make a mental note to tell him that next time we talk. He’d get better sales than those polar bears ever did in the older commercials.

“Alex?” she guesses sympathetically.

I look down at the internship application to a local newspaper near my hometown in Vermont that I’ve been working on since we sat down in the library. “Badger said he’s coming home once the season is done. I don’t know for how long because I didn’t ask. Maybe just a weekend.”

The season is technically over since the Pittsburg Penguins also lost their game that could have advanced them to the championships this year.

Skylar’s brows jump up. “No kidding? I would have thought he’d stay in Pennsylvania to be near his team.”

I thought the same, but apparently, I’m not that lucky.

When he signed on with the Penguins, I figured he’d stay in the Keystone State to train harder than any other rookie who got signed on.

He always worked like he had something to prove, and I can’t imagine he’d stop now that he’s exactly where he wants to be.

Tapping my pen against the table, I blow out a raspberry. “Badger wouldn’t have lied about that,” I tell her, almost sadly. It was easier to have distance between Alex and I—out of sight, out of mind. Mostly. I could forget about everything we’d done when he was five hundred miles away.

Skylar closes her book and pushes it off to the side. “Speaking of Badger…”

Groaning because I know where this is going, I fidget with my soda can. “Don’t go there.”

“He’s cute,” she presses anyway.

She’s not wrong. Badger is cute in a goofy boy-next-door way. He’s…softer than I normally go for. And soft isn’t bad. Unless it’s a tire. Or, I don’t know, a basketball. But that isn’t my type. Granted, my type usually breaks my heart, so you’d think I’d be willing to at least try something new.

“And I always thought you two had something going on,” Skylar adds. “Why else would he show up at Fishtail when you’re working?”

“Because we have really good chicken wings and homemade bleu cheese sauce?” I offer, grinning despite the exasperated look she gives me.

The bar is known for their wings and homemade sauces. People flock to it for them, especially on Tuesdays when everything is half priced. It’s a broke college kids’ wet dream.

“Plus,” I say, “it isn’t like Lindon has many other options if you want to drink.”

Lindon is a small town populated heavily by the university during the school year, and Main Street is the only one lined with businesses—cafes, sandwich shops, restaurants, and bars. Students congregate to them because there isn’t much else to do within fifty miles.

“There’s literally two other bars down the street,” she points out matter-of-factly.

“And one of them closed temporarily after the police raided it for serving underaged kids,” I remind her, sticking my thumb out.

I raise my index to add, “And the other one is full of seedy bikers and criminals. Not exactly college kid friendly unless you have a death wish or really bad taste in men.”

She winces. “Okay, fair point. But Badger still flirts with you. And last time I was there, he ordered a burger, not wings.”

“He flirts with everyone,” I counter quickly, hoping to shut down this train of thought. It’s not a lie, either. He’s a flirty guy. Sometimes, I don’t even think he means to be. “Your boyfriend was a charmer too before he met you.”

A couple years ago, Daniel Bridges Junior was your typical flirty football player—a wide receiver for Lindon U’s football team. He was confident and quirky and good looking. But now he’s totally gone for my best friend.

It’s cute.

Sometimes so cute that I envy them.

I pride myself in being comfortable alone, but on the nights when all of my friends are busy with their boyfriends, I find myself just the tiniest bit sad.

Skylar shrugs, not letting me change the subject. “I know it may be weird because Alex and Badger were friends, but—”

“Sky,” I plead in a whiney voice. “Can we talk about anything else? Literally anything. Because I don’t want to discuss Badger or any of his friends or how they might…act around me.”

Her mouth wavers downward. “Why are you like that?”

The brows I spent a lot of time tweezing and lining to perfection with my new brow liner this morning furrow. “Like what?”

Pressing her lips together, she studies me for a second before stifling a sigh.

“Like you’re allergic to labels or the possibility that Badger—” I shoot her a look that she brushes off.

“—or any boy could like you. You know you’re amazing.

It’s not shocking people can see it. I’ve never met another girl who can kick ass at video games, tell you the stats of a sports game, and teach you how to correctly apply eyeliner. You’re the whole package.”

My fingertips scratch the back of my hand as I squirm in my seat.

Compliments aren’t really my thing. I love to give them but hate receiving them.

But she isn’t wrong. Sebastian and his high school friends used to get pissed when I beat them at Call of Duty or correct them on football stats whenever they’d start talking about fantasy league or Super Bowl predictions.

And I’ve taught Skylar everything I know about makeup application; how to find her perfect shade, what looks best with her blue eyes, and how to contour.

“Labels make me itchy,” I admit, rubbing my arm.

“But why?”