Page 8 of Pucking Unhinged
He doesn’t look up. Just keeps his head bent, his hand splayed against me like he’s memorizing the shape of my leg.
And then, Tristan leans forward.
It’s barely anything, a dip of his head, a fraction of movement. But I feel it. The brush of his breath against my skin, the split-second before contact. Like he’s going to press his mouth to me. Like he’s going to mark me there on the inside of my thigh.
But he stops. Jerks back, too sharp, like he caught himself right before he did something he couldn’t take back.
I blink down at him, heart rattling around in my chest so loud I’m sure everyone in this building can hear it. Did I imagine it? Did he really almost?
The thought of crossing this line terrifies me because he’s all I’ve ever had in this life, and I don’t know what I’d do if things changed, if I lost him in some way because we were reckless. And worse, it tempts me. Because some secret part of me aches for what he didn’t do just now.
He moves to the other foot, wordless, sliding the second shoe free with careful fingers. He doesn’t meet my eyes. Doesn’t have to. The tension between us is already too heavy.
I gather my bag with shaky hands, trying to steady my voice. I need to get this off my chest so I can stop feeling like a burden to the only person I’ve truly connected with. “All the bad stuff is behind us, you know. It’s senior year, and I don’t want you to feel like you still have to keep picking me up anymore.”
His head lifts, and the way those big green eyes cut into me makes me gasp. “And who exactly is going to stop me?” It’s not really a question, so I don’t feel the need to respond. Instead, he stands to full height, reaching to put two long fingers under my chin. He’s forcing me to look up at him, but really it feels like he’s forcing me to let him stare into my soul. “Me picking you up has nothing to do with anyone but you…” he breathes out hard before he says, “and me. I promised you that no one will ever hurt you again, so that’s a moot point.”
Tristan Vale doesn’t make promises he doesn’t intend to keep.
TRISTAN
I’m restless tonight with the kind of energy that makes my teeth grind. It’s like I’m agitated for no reason, which isn’t unusual for me. It just feels more intense than most days for some reason. Maybe my Spidey senses are tingling, as Callum would say. You know what, fuck him and his stupid sayings actually. Winter is right. It’s senior year, all the bullshit is behind us, and I need to just relax.
My father has called me six times today, so that won’t be happening any time soon. The more I think about it, the weirder this whole ‘family’ get together seems. While I don’t want to play into his bullshit, I do want to know what he’s concocting with this whole wedding fiasco.
The three ladies of our house are excited, and their voices are filling the whole fucking house with plans for tonight. It's the Homecoming Carnival, and that sounds a little too people-y to me, but if Winter is excited about it, so am I. It’s the back-to-school tradition where Castlebrook, St. Charles, St. Augustine, and Harmony drag their best and brightest out to pretend we’re typical college kids and not the entitled spoiled brats we were raised to be. Rides, prizes, food. A show, I suppose.
I can pick out Winter’s calm tone easily through all the chatter bouncing around. And over the months, I’ve been able to differentiate Lilac’s motherly scolding of Callum and Madison’s playful chiding that should absolutely be screaming because Hayden is so fucking annoying. I have to drive to the post office to pick my mail up now because the mail person feels unsafe at our house because of him. He’s an absolute menace and that isn’t the compliment he thinks it is.
I lean back against the doorway, arms crossed, just watching Winter. She’s so elegantly beautiful even in a t-shirt and jeans. I suppose I should say, especially in a t-shirt and jeans. She wears a lot of skirts and dresses, and I admire her in every single one of them. Jeans means she’s planning on riding with me on my bike, because I have a rule that all of her skin has to be covered. I’d never drive recklessly with her, but I’m not taking any chances. The dining room table is covered in a pale pink cloth, edges draped down almost to the floor. Madi has spread out a mess of fabric, bows, and markers, turning the whole thing into her own little workshop. Winter, Lilac and even Callum swarm around her like her helper bees.
“Reese texted and said she's going to meet us at the carnival," Madi says to the other girls, but it’s Hayden who pokes his head in from the other room. He’s got a plate of really messy looking chicken wings in his hands, sauce on his mouth and t-shirt. I’m convinced he doesn’t know that Madison makes him food to occupy him like a fucking toddler. She even turned a hockey game on for him before she slipped in here to make a dress out of a hockey jersey. I think it’s a dumb idea, but Winter wanted one, so naturally I want to see her wearing it. It’ll have my name and number on the back, because Madison is good about those things. I suppose she treats Callum and me like toddlers too. “Ouch,” she hisses when she pulls a pin out and pricks her finger.
“Oh, is she coming with Ramsey?” Lilac asks, and her eyes widen because we’re still all waiting for Ramsey to beat the fuck out of Reese’s boyfriend. Justin is a punk, and I commend Ramsey for playing the long game.
Callum leans over the back of Lilac’s chair, hands waving as he lists food like he’s drafting a grocery order. “Corn dogs, funnel cakes, fried Oreos, cotton candy?—”
Groans echo from every corner.
“You’re disgusting,” Lilac mutters, wrinkling her nose.
“You’re a trash can,” Hayden adds, biting into a wing, unironically, with a smirk.
Callum grins, unbothered. “A trash can with abs.”
“More like a dumpster fire,” Hayden shoots back.
The girls laugh again, shaking their heads at the two of them, but I just stay where I am. I can’t help but be envious of the loud and unhidden way my teammates love their girls. I want that with Winter. I want to just grab her, kiss her on the mouth and annoy her until she erupts into a fit of giggles.
My eyes drift to Hayden circling Madi at the table like a predator who can’t sit still. She’s bent over a half-finished jersey, focused, some blonde hair slipping from her ponytail. Her little Pink Bow Club has blown up, orders stacking higher than she can keep track of. I don’t care about jerseys, bows, or whatever else she sells, but I think that she deserves good things. Anyone who puts up with Hayden Lockwood has earned that much.
Of course, Hayden picks that moment to wander too close with his plate of half-eaten wings.
“Hayden!” Madi shrieks when the first drop of sauce splatters dangerously close to her fabric, but he’s quick and catches it before it can ruin anything.
Lilac and Winter both burst out laughing, moving to shove him back. “Out!” Winter giggles, her braid slipping forward as she leans into the push.
Hayden raises his brows, all mock innocence. He ignores Winter and Lilac, who despite all of their valiant efforts, don’t even make him budge an inch. He speaks directly to Madi when he says, “What? I just want to be included in everything that you’re doing.”
