Chapter 20: Chapter 20

Tristan

“Tristan, that interception in the third quarter was a game changer.” My mom smiles wide. “You read the quarterback perfectly.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. My mom knew nothing about football until I started Pee Wee at five years old. Within months, she became as fiercely analytical as a sports journalist, and every bit as annoying. Why are we talking about football when Amy is quiet and fidgeting next to me? Both my mom and dad should be going out of their way to make her feel at ease.

I reach under the table and grab her restless hand, shooting her what I hope is a comforting smile.

The restaurant is dimly lit with big chandeliers and mosaic tile. This is exactly the kind of place I’d like to take Amy. Just the two of us. Where she could talk to her heart’s content about writing. I could impress her by ordering the whole damn menu. And then we could end the night by cuddling on my bed and watching whatever adaptation of ~Pride and Prejudice~ she wants.

I’ll be lucky to even get a good-night kiss for how annoying my parents are behaving.

“How did you do on your Probability and Statistics test?” my dad asks.

~Fuck, are we really doing this?~

They haven’t asked a single question about what’s going on in my life outside of football and academics. I have a new girl with me, damn it, and they’ve barely even spoken to her.

“I got a D,” I say.

My mom’s mouth drops open. “D? When have you ever gotten a D on a math test?”

“I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.” I squeeze Amy’s hand.

My mom shakes her head. “That stupid, sexist competition. The admins should be going out of their way to make sure you keep up with your coursework, especially since you’re one of their students with the biggest potential. Someday, you’ll be enhancing their reputation. You’ll probably be in the NFL.”

I snort out a laugh. “Mom, that’s not happening.”

She scowls. “Why would you say that?”

I take a sip of my wine. “Because I’m playing for a Division II school. NFL would be like winning the lottery.”

“If you know so much about probability,” my dad says, “you should have done better on your exam.”

Oh my God, here we go. How embarrassing that they have to be their full selves in front of Amy.

“I got a C in statistics,” Amy says, probably the most words she’s said all evening. “My only C. It was just regular statistics. I’m an English major, and I thought it would be the easiest of all the math classes.” She smiles shyly at me. “I was wrong. I’d never be able to pass any of Tristan’s fancy math classes.”

Warmth fills my chest, and I squeeze her hand under the table. That was probably the most self-deprecating thing Amy has ever said in my presence, at least when it comes to her intelligence, and I know why she did it.

She’s standing up for me in her own shy way. And here I am, lying and scheming so that I can use her for a few months and then discard her.

My heart squeezes so tight it’s hard to take a breath. Fuck, I really don’t want to hurt her.

My mom smiles at Amy. “Some of us are good at math, and some of us are good at verbal reasoning. Tristan struggles in anything related to the arts. So did his dad.”

“And you’re good at everything,” I say.

My mom’s lips purse. “Not to sound insufferable, but yes.”

Amy grins at my mom. “I love your confidence. I hope I’m a bad bitch when I—” She slaps her hand over her mouth, and pink floods her cheeks. She looks so cute I want to kiss her, but it would probably embarrass her.

My mom waves a hand. “You don’t have to worry about language in front of us. I am a bad bitch.”

Everyone chuckles, and a soft calm descends over my body, making my limbs heavy. This is probably the least irritated I’ve ever felt during a dinner with my parents, and it’s all because of ~her~. I feel better with her just sitting there.

What the fuck is this?

Why has this little woman always had so much power over me?

After asking the server for another bottle of wine, my mom turns to Amy. “I hope I don’t make you uncomfortable saying this, but you seem like a smart, driven girl. I’m sure you don’t think that a college relationship has any long-term potential.”

My stomach plummets to the floor when Amy’s eyes grow huge.

“Where are you going with this?” I ask, though I already know.

My mom shrugs. “Only that I don’t want you slacking on your long-term goals just because you finally got together with your high school crush.”

My stomach roils. Of course she would say something like that. She doesn’t care about my friendships or relationships, no matter how much they mean to me. She doesn’t fucking care about revealing my deeply held secrets at the dinner table. How the hell does she even know Amy was my crush?

“What are you talking about?” Amy asks, her voice unsteady.

“Now I’m embarrassing Tristan,” my mom says, meeting my eyes. “You haven’t told her?”

“I didn’t have a crush on her.”

My mom smiles knowingly as she takes a sip of her near empty glass of wine. “Okay, maybe I’m making assumptions, but you definitely talked about her a lot.”

My jaw clenches of its own will. When did my mom ever listen to me in high school? Every time I tried to start a conversation, it was like the lights went out in her eyes, and she picked up her phone to get her through the tedium of hearing me talk. Just my luck, the one thing that punctured through her wall of indifference was my obsession with Amy.

“He was my bully,” Amy says and whips around to face her. Thankfully, she’s smiling, but probably only to smooth any awkwardness coming from her candor.

“You know how high school boys are,” my mom says, “they tease the girls they really like. As much as I tried to protect Tristan from toxic masculinity, I couldn’t keep him out of his peer group. Which I assure you is where he got it from, not from me or his dad.”

“Anyway,” my dad interjects, probably feeling just as uncomfortable with the turn of this conversation as I am. “Tristan, I have a proposition for you.” He smiles. “What if I gave you a Tesla in exchange for an A in Probability in Statistics?”

Holy fuck. He’s clearly not thought about anything else since he heard about the D. God, my parents are the worst. He’s making me look like a little trust fund bitch right in front of Amy.

“I don’t need a Tesla,” I say.

“I’ll take your Tesla,” Amy says, winning a huge grin from my dad.

“There you go,” he says. “Win it for your girlfriend.”

Girlfriend. Holy shit, that sounds good. So good.

Like coming home.

A chill runs down my spine. What the fuck is wrong with me?

“She’s not really my girlfriend,” I say, and Amy’s expression instantly changes. Her eyes grow remote.

Is she upset that I corrected my dad?

I’m fine with her being my girlfriend after the game is over—at least, I think I am—but she’s not my girlfriend now. Why is she retreating from me?

Amy

~She’s not really my girlfriend.~

The fact that it hurts shows just how silly I am. I would never date Tristan.

Thankfully, I held up for the rest of the evening. I don’t think he saw that I was upset. He’s been quiet on the drive home, probably because his parents were so exhausting for him. I thought my parents were achievement focused. I’m pretty sure Tristan’s achievements are the only thing his parents give a shit about.

“I’m sorry my parents are annoying,” Tristan says as he pulls into my dorm parking lot.

I expected him to ask me to come to his place, but it’s probably better that he didn’t. I need time to mentally kick myself for getting upset over being publicly denied the girlfriend title.

Of course I’m not his girlfriend. Why the hell am I upset?

“They were fine to me,” I say. “I felt bad for you having to report to them like you’re on parole.”

He laughs, and the mask he’s been wearing for the last hour crumbles and falls away. “They literally only care about my grades and football. They don’t have any interest in my thoughts and ideas.” He shoots me a half smile. “Not that I have many.”

I scowl. “What a ridiculous thing to say. You’re one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met.”

The change over him is immediate. His eyes grow wide, and his lips part. He stares at me as if I’ve just whispered ancient secrets of the universe rather than tell him something that ought to be obvious.

“Do you really mean that?” he asks, his voice husky.

“Of course I do. I love talking to you.”

He lets out a breathless laugh. “I’ve been wanting you to say that for years.”

My skin grows hot. I never know what to make of him when he gets in these intense moods. “It’s only the truth.”

He leans forward, grabs my face, and presses a hard kiss against my mouth. “Amy,” he whispers. “Tell me you’ll give me a chance.”

I set my hands on his shoulders and push him back. “I don’t know if I’m ready to make that decision.”

He squeezes my shoulders. “I’ll never hurt you. Not intentionally. I’d rather die.”

Dizziness descends over me, making my head heavy. How could anyone be this deliberately cruel?

It doesn’t make sense. If this is really a prank—if he’s only buttering me up to humiliate me—his methods could put a Marvel villain to shame.

Maybe it’s me. Maybe I interpreted all the signs like the dreamer I am. I took the little information I got from Nick and invented a story in my head. A romance plot more ridiculous than any of my ~Pride and Prejudice~ retellings.

The wicked rake spends weeks seducing the lonely wallflower with the sole purpose of making her cry.

Not for money. Not for any tangible gain.

Just for fun.

I avert my gaze. “I hope that’s true.”

He kisses my forehead. “It is true. You’re precious to me.”

My heart squeezes in my chest, and tears hover behind my eyes. I think I believe him. No matter what he’s done in the past. No matter what his plans were when the game began, I think his feelings now are sincere. But even if they aren’t, I’m going to act in good faith. It’s time to stop storing my heart in a glass case, as if it will shatter at the slightest touch.

I can’t seek my revenge and enjoy it without real evidence.

If it means making myself vulnerable to humiliation on the day of the closing ceremony, so be it. My heart will shatter if this really is all a prank, and I’ll probably cry in front of thousands of people.

It will be okay. I’m not going to hide away anymore.

Pain is the cost of truly living.

Tristan

The exhilaration coursing through my veins is so all-consuming that I hardly remember the drive home. I wanted to invite her over, but I couldn’t trust myself.

I wouldn’t be gentle with her tonight. Not after what she just told me.

~“You’re one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met.” ~

She meant it too. Amy’s never had any reservations over calling me boring. And all I’ve ever wanted is to spark in her even a fraction of what she ignites in me. I wanted to be told that this drug-like intensity I feel for her is not completely one-sided.

Getting what I’ve always wanted is also terrifying. How will I ever be able to let her go?

I can’t stay obsessed forever. I already followed her to college, for Christ’s sake. I could be studying computational math at UCLA right now, building connections with some of the greatest minds in the country. Yet here I am, wasting my time chasing this girl around this tiny liberal arts university. My parents almost killed me when I chose Pacific Crest, but I was determined. I was a sap.

I don’t care.

Somehow, I don’t give a fuck.

There’s a knock at my door, and I jerk up in bed. A moment later, Harper walks into my room, and it takes everything within me to keep from groaning.

“Can I study here?” she asks. “My roommate has her boyfriend over.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “They wanted privacy.”

Fuck, I want privacy too.

I want to jerk off thinking of Amy. Maybe even pull out those panties she gave me while I do it.

Harper hasn’t come over here in months. She knows it annoys me. Having her here when I’m sleeping confuses me. It feels too uncomfortably similar to when we were a couple.

Thank fuck, she’s never come over when Amy’s here. That would’ve been a disaster.

I’ve been careless in my eagerness to win Amy. I’ve spun too many lies. I’m lucky none of them backfired.

“Sure,” I say. “But I need to sleep, so don’t stay too late.”

“Don’t wait up for me. I’ll just have your desk lamp on. And I’ll be super quiet.

Her concern for my welfare makes the hairs on my arms stand up. When has she ever given a shit whether I’ve been able to sleep? She’s come over here crying over guys who weren’t me—her damn ex-boyfriend—and had no compunction about making me stay up with her and talk through what went wrong.

Fuck, I’m being a shit friend. I’ve been the deceitful one, not her. And for all of Harper’s faults, she’s been a loyal friend to me.

“You can leave the lights on,” I say. “You know I can sleep through anything.”

She smiles wide, and my uneasiness sends a sharp pang to my chest.

~Don’t be paranoid. You’ve already gotten everything you’ve ever wanted.~