Chapter 19: Chapter 19

Tristan

Amy smiles shyly at me before sitting down in the front row of the auditorium with the other two girls, Natalie and Mia. I grin at her. “I had a lot of fun last night, Amelia.”

Natalie and Mia both whip around to look at her, and her adorable chubby cheeks grow pink. “Me too,” she says in a tight voice.

Fuck, she’s so cute. I’ve made huge progress with her. Even a week ago, she would have told me to fuck off.

I’m ~this~ close to winning her. A few months from now, I’ll have fully quenched this obsession.

Tasting her was heaven. I don’t know how I made it through the rest of the night only cuddling with her. She must have noticed my dick was hard as a rock.

She didn’t mention it. My little Amelia is shy when it comes to sex.

I’m going to be so good to her. I’ll push into her nice and slow, kiss her softly, and tell her how perfect she is. I’ll get her used to me before I start fucking her raw.

And then I’ll have to let her go.

Just the thought of it fills my chest with an unbearable emptiness.

~Fuck.~

These tender feelings for her had better go away. Why do they seem to only get more and more potent the more time I spend with her?

Because I haven’t fucked her yet.

That must be it.

“Alright, everyone!” The announcer’s voice makes me jump. “Tristan has a special surprise for you today. A writing contest.”

The announcer explains the rules of the romantic scene writing competition, but I tune him out as I fix my gaze on Amy. She looks a little paler than she did a moment ago, and she’s tapping her thumb against her thigh.

She’s more than a little nervous, but she’ll be just fine. My girl knows how to write. Even if I weren’t planning on letting her win no matter what, she’s a shoo-in for this one. Writing romantic scenes is her passion.

When the announcer concludes the explanation, his assistant starts passing out notebooks and pens to the girls. I walk over to Amy and sit down beside her.

“Are you ready or what?” I ask.

She glares at me. “You arranged this, didn’t you?”

The coldness in her voice sends a chill down my spine, but I try to maintain my composure. I knew when I planned this that she’d be thinking of the day Harper read her fanfic aloud, but that’s the point.

This is part of my atonement.

“I did,” I say. “I want you to show everyone that you deserve that ten grand. This is your expertise.”

She scoffs. “The game is stupid anyway. No one has to earn anything. They just have to make you like them. Is it too impossible for everyone to imagine you liking me for myself?”

Her hostility makes my stomach sink. I set my hand on her thigh and give it a squeeze. “I’m not trying to embarrass you. I couldn’t if I tried. Your writing is good. The scene Harper read that day was good, too. People only laughed because~ she~ was laughing. I’ll bet a lot of them thought she was being an asshole, even if they didn’t say it. You have no reason to be embarrassed. I’d do anything to go back in time and stop her from doing it, but I can’t.”

She’s still frowning, but she doesn’t look nearly as angry as she did a moment ago. I lift my hand and stroke her cheek. “This is me making amends, Amy. Not trying to embarrass you.”

Her lips quirk. “I’ll write a scene about you and make you terrible in bed.”

I burst into laughter before leaning in and kissing her cheek. “You can make me as bad in bed as you want, as long as your fictional Amy is only with me. No one else. Not even Mr. Darcy.”

Her smile grows. “I’ll make my fictional Amy a witch and have her use magic to torture you.”

I graze my mouth from her cheek to her ear. “The real Amy’s a witch. She’s had me under a spell for years.”

When I pull away, her eyes are wide. I stand up and walk to my seat right in front of the stage to give me the best view when the girls read their scenes. Maybe I revealed too much, but I’m past caring. It should be obvious to her by now that she really does have me under a spell.

One I plan to break, if I can only win her first.

The announcer tells the girls that they have thirty minutes to write their scene. As soon as he says they can start, I lift my phone and pretend to look at it while I watch Amy.

Her dark brows are drawn together, and those doe eyes are downcast as she looks at her open notebook. She doesn’t start writing immediately like the other two girls do. A few minutes later, she must have an idea, because she starts furiously scribbling. She’s so absorbed, I bet if I called her name, she wouldn’t hear me. She told me her mind becomes the story, just like my mind becomes the game.

The thirty minutes are almost up, and Amy looks completely different than she did in the beginning. She’s sitting back in her chair with her shoulders upright and her chin lowered, like a fucking queen. I can’t wait to hear her read her scene.

I hope she meant it when she said it would be about me. I don’t give a fuck if she makes me bad in bed.

Just the thought of her writing me in a sex scene makes me hard.

“Time’s up!” the announcer calls. He explains that each girl will take turns reading their scene aloud on the stage.

Natalie is the first to stand up. She reads her scene. While it’s not bad, it’s clear she’s not a writer. She shoots me a smile when her scene concludes, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I’ve noticed a similar apathy from the other contestants since I made my little “love confession” to Amy on our one-on-one date.

They know it’s already over. They know I’ve already made my choice.

“Alright, Amy, you’re up,” the announcer says, gesturing toward the stage. She hesitates for a moment and then takes a deep breath and walks to the front of the room.

Amy shoots me a pointed look before reading her scene. The setting is contemporary, and it’s about a football player and a writer. My heart starts to race.

It’s about us.

There’s no reason she wouldn’t use her skill in writing Jane Austen fanfiction if this scene weren’t about us.

I hardly even blink as she tells the story of a sarcastic journalist who gets stuck in a broken-down elevator with a professional football player. Amy smirks at me every time the football player says something stupid, which is pretty much every other line. I shoot her a look that promises retribution, but the story takes a turn. The football player—notably a cornerback—tells the girl he’s always watched her from afar. He’s tried to talk to her, but he could see in her eyes that she found him boring. The journalist doesn’t believe him. She asks him what game he’s playing, and then he kisses her.

The story ends.

My whole body is buzzing as Mia reads her story next. I hardly hear it, but a few phrases puncture my daze. From the little I hear, the story doesn’t sound as good as Amy’s, but I might be biased.

I adore my snarky little Amelia.

The announcer asks if I need time to pick the winner. I ought to say I do so that I don’t seem like an asshole to the other girls, but I’m too impatient to talk to my girl.

“I liked Amy’s story the best,” I say, and Natalie and Mia both exchange knowing looks.

It’s okay. They must know it’s nothing personal.

I’m too full of Amy to have room for anyone else.

Amy’s staring down at her lap when I walk over to her. “You could have at least made it seem like the game isn’t rigged,” she whispers, as if she read my thoughts from a moment ago.

I grin as I sit down next to her and lean in to whisper in her ear. “Can’t give them hope when I already have my winner.”

She rolls her eyes. “When it comes to writing, I’d rather be the true winner instead of the teacher’s pet.”

“Teacher’s pet,” I say, squeezing her thigh. “I like the sound of that. Maybe you should dress up like a schoolgirl, and I can paddle your ass for writing me as the dumbass cornerback in your story.”

Amy’s cheeks turn a delightful shade of pink, but her stern expression doesn’t waver. It’s so cute how she never wants me to know when she’s flustered. “You deserve much worse than that. I should have made him a sadist, but you’d have probably liked that.”

“Oh, I would have. Especially if you had made him punish the little journalist.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I made the girl tall. Did you miss that?”

I lift my hand and tuck a strand of dark hair behind her ears. She looks beautiful with the new dark hair. I’m getting used to it, I guess. Still, I miss the purple. I must be a jealous lunatic, because I miss being one of the few who sees how adorable this woman is. Now, everyone sees it, and it makes me crazy.

But she’s going to be mine soon.

For a while, at least.

“Hey, I have a question for you,” I say.

She frowns. “What?”

I glance down at my lap, my heart pounding in my chest. Holy shit, am I nervous? I shouldn’t be. She owes me a “yes” after the agreement we made.

“My parents are coming into town tomorrow night, and they want to get dinner. I told them… They think we’re dating.”

“Because you’re…trying to make Harper jealous.”

“Yes.”

~No~. I did it because I’m trying to will it into reality. She will be mine by the end of this, goddamn it.

“Okay,” Amy says, a hint of hesitation in her voice. “I can do it. I’m not really good with parents though, just to warn you.”

I smile, relief making me a little lightheaded. “I know they’ll love you. My mom was an overachiever nerd in college too. She’ll probably ask you what in the hell you’re doing with me.”

Amy’s expression clouds over. Ah, the conversation we had on our hike… Is she upset on my behalf for my mom’s lack of loyalty? I hope so. Any sympathy for me is a good sign.

Later that night, I’m still half giddy over the thought of Amy meeting my parents. This is what real couples do. Fuck. I’m this close to getting her out of my system. Why am I still thinking like that sappy high schooler who thought he was in love with her?

That gnawing fear at the back of my mind is starting to grow a voice.

~Maybe, just maybe, I won’t be able to let her go.~

~Maybe no amount of time with her will be enough.~

Fuck.

It can’t be true. This obsession with her isn’t healthy. Love shouldn’t be all-consuming. It shouldn’t be an itching need.

If I’d had a healthy relationship with my goddamn parents growing up, I’d probably right now be in a healthy relationship with a girl who doesn’t fill my thoughts every single moment of the day. One who doesn’t distract me from football and my future goals.

Fuck, I haven’t given the slightest thought to grad school or job hunting or whatever the fuck I want to do after college ever since the game began.

She’s wrong for me, and it’s time to finally cleanse myself of her.