Page 24 of Racking Up Penalties
“I had blocked that out,” he laughs, shaking his head. “I’m still convinced she used charcoal instead of cheese.”
“Hey, don’t let her hear you say that,” I warn playfully, bumping his hip with mine.
Dinner comes together like a patchwork of flavors and effort. We sit down at my small table, plates heaped with food, the rich aroma enveloping us. It feels good to be here, to be doing this simple, everyday thing with Tristan.
“Thanks for this, Tessa. Really,” Tristan says, his voice softer now, carrying a weight that makes my heart squeeze.
“Anytime,” I reply, meaning every word. “This is what friends do, right?”
“Right,” he echoes, but the way he looks at me, eyes lingering a beat too long, makes me wonder what’s hiding behind that affirmation.
“More wine?” I ask, breaking the moment.
“Definitely,” he agrees, holding out his glass.
Laughter fades and the room grows quiet, the only sound is the scratch of utensils on plates. Tristan’s gaze drifts away from me, his brow furrowing slightly as if he’s wrestling with an invisible opponent. The air between us thickens with unspoken words.
“Tristan?” I prompt gently, tilting my head to catch his eye. “You okay?”
He snaps back, a smile quickly sketched across his lips. “Yeah, sorry. Just thinking.”
“About?” I ask, curiosity piqued. It’s unlike Tristan to hold back; he’s always been a straight shooter, especially with me.
“Nothing important,” he dismisses, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. They’re like pools of midnight blue, reflecting some inner turmoil.
“Come on, you can tell me anything, you know that.” I lean in.
He opens his mouth, closes it, then shakes his head with a rueful chuckle. “It’s really nothing. Just—”
“Tristan, if it’s about Emma, she’s fine. Alec and the guys, they’re good for her,” I assure him, guessing at the root of his silence.
“No, no, it’s not that,” he says quickly, waving off the suggestion. “Emma’s happy. That’s all I ever wanted for her.”
“Then what is it?” My voice is soft and encouraging, but he just shrugs, locking whatever it is back inside. I let it slide, not wanting to pry too hard, afraid I might break something.
“Okay, you’re right. I should say it. Just say it.” Tristan looks at me with an intense gaze. “Emma is really happy with three guys and I’ve gotten an up-close chance to see how it works. So, go on those dates with Liam and Ethan but I don’t want to be left behind.”
“Tristan, what are you-”
“I love you, Tessa. I’ve always loved you and I came to this school to make you mine. I’m not letting some hockey players get in the way of that. I can’t play a slow, long game anymore and I never should have. So, I am telling you. I love you Tessa Montgomery and I want you to be mine.”
I stare at him, mouth hanging open in shock. I have to be dreaming, right? There’s no way this is real.
I embarrass myself by pinching my wrist. Tristan notices and laughs but not enough to be genuine. He’s nervous and looking at me like I’m the world to him.
How did I miss this? I got it so wrong.
I stand up and slowly move around the table until I’m on his side, and hop right into his arms.
Our eyes lock, and everything else fades away. My heart races as he leans closer, each movement deliberate, full of intention. His hand comes up, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear and sending shivers down my spine. My breath catches, anticipation mingling with uncertainty.
“I love you too, Tristan.”
I’m perched on Tristan’s lap, the hard edge of the kitchen table pressing into my back. The room seems to hold its breath, the air charged with a tension that buzzes against my skin like static electricity.
Tristan’s deep blue eyes are locked onto mine, and in them, I see a reflection of my own wild heartbeat. A silent permission hangs between us, and it’s all the invitation I need. I lean in, close the gap, and press my lips to his.
The kiss detonates like a firework inside me, bursting with heat, color, and light. My fingers tangle in his sandy-brown hair, pulling him closer as if I could meld him into me. His hands slide up my back, firm and commanding, setting every nerve ending ablaze. Our mouths move together in a rhythm that’s both frantic and perfectly timed.
