She tilts her head as she considers. “Beautiful. Odd. A little drunk, but that was just me.”
I chuckle. “Odd how?”
“Well, they’re both librarians, you know? So, they had the wedding ceremony in this beautiful courtyard on the college campus where they work, and then they had the reception in the library itself. Where they work. They timed the wedding so that it fell during the semester break. It was a beautiful library, but still. A library.” She shakes her head.
“Sounds like it suited them perfectly.”
“Oh, it did. Nicole was very happy. It was nice to see.” Olivia’s expression goes soft, her eyes misting.
Nicole has chronic depression, and I remember Annie telling me that Olivia’s sister had a major depressive episode while we were in college. Olivia has always worshipped her older sisters, so I can imagine Nicole’s struggle was hard for Olivia.
She clears her throat. “Anyway. What are you doing working here this summer? I figured you’d be climbing the corporate ladder at some important job or another postcollege.”
“Actually, I’ve been working in my dad’s office since graduation, saving up money. In the fall, I start a graduate program in occupational therapy. A doctorate. I want to be a pediatric OT.”
Warmth wells in my chest as I think about my plans. There’s no doubt in my mind that it’s the best path for me.
Olivia sets her sandwich on her plate and wipes a napkin across her mouth. “Annie didn’t tell me that.” She watches me with a mix of curiosity and … could be awe, but I’m probably projecting.
I shrug. “She doesn’t tell me a lot about you either.”
“There’s honestly not much to tell.” She snorts and picks up her sandwich again.
“Didn’t you lead your soccer team to the D1 championship senior year?” Now I setmysandwich down to studyher.
She waves her hand in the air as if swatting away my words. “Yeah, but that feels like ages ago. I haven’t done much since. Nothing worth mentioning.”
This self-deprecation is new. I mean, we all had our self-esteem issues in high school, but I remember Olivia as being confident and untouchable.
“The D1 championship is pretty impressive. I think you can afford to rest on your laurels a while. Being a student athlete at a D1 school is no easy task. I should know.”
I played baseball all through college at UT Austin. We were good, but never good enough to make the College World Series, or even the tournament some years. I never really considered going pro—I knew it wasn’t the lifestyle I wanted—but my college performance clinched it. I peaked in high school. I still had a lot of fun playing college ball, though, and formed great friendships with my teammates.
“Thanks,” Olivia murmurs.
School has never been Olivia’s favorite. She has dyslexia and has always had to work harder than everyone else to score average grades. If she wasn’t so smart, she would have struggled even more. I don’t think she even really wanted to go to college, except that it gave her the chance to keep playing soccer.
We keep talking as we finish lunch and walk together to the next orientation class. The conversation somehow turns to professional soccer and Olivia’s favorite team, Chicago.
I scoff. “Bella’s overrated,” I say, referencing one of Chicago’s best players.
She gasps, eyes widening. “You shut your filthy mouth!”
I shake my head, grinning.
“Marco Bella is agod. He’s a lockdown defender who always wins 1v1 situations. The Chicago front office would be idiotic not to re-sign him with a huge raise before his developmental contract runs out.” She pauses. “Plus, mmm, the quads on that man!” She fans her face with her hand.
A bolt of jealousy shoots through me, which is insane because first of all,myquads happen to be pretty nice, too. I mean, I could definitely go harder on leg day, but the definition is good. Second, because what do I care what Olivia Delaney thinks of Marco Bella’s quads or my quads or anybody else’s quads for that matter? Idon’tcare. Haven’t for a long time.
I exaggerate a gag. “I think you might have forgotten that you’re talking to me, Gage, and not my twin sister, Annie.” She rolls her eyes. “And anyway,” I continue, “do you want to play him or date him?”
She stares over my shoulder with glazed eyes.
“Olivia!” I snap my fingers in front of her face.
Blinking, she turns her eyes back to me. She tosses her ponytail and smirks. “Either. Both.”
I clench my teeth. That bolt of jealousy is back. I think I officially hate a professional soccer player I’ve never met.
