Book Off Brooklyn Novels & Stories

Twelve seconds of a corridor I recognised — the one beside the language block, the quiet one nobody used during class time — and two people standing close together in it. Brooklyn. Jordan. I watched him lean forward. I watched it happen in real time on a three inch screen and I watched Brooklyn go still and I watched him pull back and then say something I couldn't hear because there was no audio for the first part. Then the audio kicked in mid-sentence and Jordan's voice came through clearly enough. *I'm in love with you, Brooklyn.* I put the phone face down on the floor. I sat there for approximately four seconds. Then I stood up and picked up the book on my desk and threw it at the wall.

At the door, Siobhán said: “Where are you going now, love.” I said: “Home.” She said: “Are you alright.” I said: “I am, Mam.” She did not press. I drove back to Brooklyn. I drove the long route along the river because I needed the river that morning, and I did not need to be home immediately. I drove and I let the city move past the windows, and I considered the four days ahead. Friday afternoon: I was going to buy the book. Saturday: I was going to go to the bookstore again, and I was going to read in the chair by the window of the café, and I was going to do nothing else that demanded a decision.

The place was already packed, half the team crammed into the back booths, Ronan waving me over like I couldn't already see him from across the room, some girl I didn't recognize laughing way too hard at something Brian said. "There he is." Brian slid a drink toward me before I even sat down. "Drink up, captain. You look like you need it." I did not argue with that. A few rounds in, things were fine. Good, actually. Loud music, bad jokes, Ronan telling some story about his ex that got funnier every time he told it wrong, embellishing details nobody could confirm or deny at this point. I almost forgot about the whole Beckett situation for a solid hour, which for me was basically a miracle, con

This woman, wearing a pair of red-bottom heels, strutted past his secretary, Margaret, without permission, and entered Dean's office. Brooklyn enters a sleek, glass-walled office, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. He was seated at his large mahogany desk, overlooking the bustling cityscape. Dean was in a meeting, but her intense expression prompted him to dismiss everyone. "Dean Whitmore!" As Brooklyn stood in Dean’s office, the remnants of rage and heartbreak still crackled in her chest. It was uncanny how his phone suddenly vibrated on the desk. Dean glanced at the screen, his face shifting from controlled calm to alarm.

~Brooklyn's POV~ The salt-tanged wind whipped across my face as I stepped onto the gleaming deck of Habibi Armani's private yacht, my heart pounding like a war drum in my chest. I'd scraped together every penny from my grad school stipend to afford the designer dress clinging to my curves... a slinky black number that screamed 'ambitious' without begging for attention. But tonight, in the glittering harbor lights of Miami, I wasn't just Brooklyn the overworked psych major. I was Brooklyn the opportunist, ready to trade a little skin for a shot at the life I'd always craved.

"No idea, but he looks like actor, so handsome." Brooklyn smirked, her red lips curving upward. "My favorite kind." She flicked her hair over her shoulder, her gaze lingering on him. Edward could feel her eyes on him, just as he had planned. He didn’t look her way immediately, instead taking a slow sip of his drink, his demeanor cool and detached. When he finally allowed himself to glance in her direction, it was brief, calculated—a flicker of acknowledgment that was gone as quickly as it appeared. The subtle act was enough to light a spark in Brooklyn. Intrigued, she made her way to the bar, her heels clicking against the floor. She slid onto the stool next to him, her movements deliberate.