Page 17 of Racking Up Penalties
The last whistle pierces the air, sharp and commanding, and I peel off my helmet with a grin plastered across my face. The grass is still damp beneath my cleats from the morning dew. Everything about this move to Eastwood University screams opportunity, and I can feel it down to my bones.
“Nice throw, Tristan!” Coach yells, his voice booming across the field.
“Thanks, Coach!” I shout back, my chest swelling with pride. My connection with the wide receiver, Jack, today was on point, our timing was flawless. If practice is any indication, this season we’re going to light up the scoreboard.
I jog off the field, adrenaline gradually ebbing away. But there’s another kind of anticipation that bubbles up inside me, one that has nothing to do with football, just Tessa.
My fingers fumble for my phone the moment I reach my locker, heart kicking up a notch. It’s silly, really, how much I look forward to her messages. They’re like caffeine shots to my system, addictive and energizing.
Please let there be a text from her. I swipe at my screen, a hopeful smile teasing my lips.
Nothing yet, but that doesn’t dull the quickening thump of my heart.
Tessa Montgomery isn’t just any girl. She’s a whirlwind of red hair and vibrant laughter, someone who manages to see the world in a kaleidoscope of colors I never knew existed. And she’s also my sister Emma’s best friend, which means she’s practically family. Yet, here I am, unable to stop the flutter in my chest whenever she crosses my mind.
A bead of sweat trails down my temple, and I wipe it away absentmindedly. The intensity of today’s drills still lingers in my muscles, a satisfying burn that grounds me to the present. In the grand scheme of things, football is my ticket forward. But Tessa… well, she’s the reason I came here.
On the field, I’m all precision and power, but when it comes to Tessa, I’m just a guy hoping for a sign, a word, anything to clue me in on where her heart lies.
The locker room is a buzz of post-practice chatter, but I hardly register the noise. My fingers hover over my phone’s screen, hesitant for just a moment before tapping out a message to Tessa.
Hey Tess, when do you need me for the styling gig for the hockey team?
I shove the phone back into my locker and start winding my way to the showers.
The sound of my message tone cuts through the noise, and I’m running back and snatching the phone out again like it’s the last lifeline on earth.
Are you sure you want to do this, Tristan? I wouldn’t blame you if you backed out.
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth—classic Tessa, always giving me a way out. She knows how to push my buttons whether she realizes it or not.
There’s no way I’m giving up time with her.
I type back, thumbs flying over the keyboard.
I’m all in. Whatever you need.
Her reply comes swiftly, and I can almost hear the laughter in her voice.
Good. Because it’s tomorrow. And we’ll see if you can handle the chaos.
Challenge accepted.I respond, adding a winking emoji for good measure.
As our conversation ends, I’m grinning. There’s a symphony of warmth that starts to play in my chest, a prelude to the thrill of working alongside her. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.
There’s just something I need to do.
The late afternoon sun dips lower in the sky as I jog down the street toward Luka, JD, and Alec’s place. A nervous energy courses through me, fueled by anticipation of tomorrow’s time with Tessa.
It’s not just about getting through the styling session; it’s about being close to her, even if it means navigating a minefield of hockey players who all think they’re God’s gift to women.
I bound up the steps two at a time and rap on the front door. The door swings open, and Luka’s grinning face greets me.
“Tristan! What are you doing here?” Luka claps me on the shoulder, pulling me into the familiar chaos of their shared house.
I chuckle, though my gut tightens at the prospect of tomorrow. “I need your help.”
“For what?” Alec asks, walking into the room.
