Page 23 of Racking Up Penalties
“You deserve it,” he whispers.
“Thank you for everything you did today. I couldn’t have done it without you!”
Tristan smiles. “I was going to convince you to have dinner with me tonight after all our hard work, but I know you have plans. Maybe tomorrow?” He asks hopefully. “Unless you want to ditch the hockey players.”
My heart thumps erratically. Is there any possible chance he’s asking me on a date?
No.
Do I wish he was more than anything?
Yes.
“I owe you dinner so I’ll push them to another night. I’ll make dinner at my place.”
“Amazing,” his smile brightens. “Need a ride home?” he asks, leaning against the door frame with his hands tucked into his jeans pockets and a frown on his face.
My heart skips. “That would be… really great, actually. Emma dropped me off earlier.”
A chill nips at my skin as we reach his car, a familiar old SUV that holds memories of laughter.
“Thanks for this, Tristan,” I say as I buckle myself in, feeling the seat’s familiar contours. He nods, his focus on the road as he pulls out of the parking spot.
I steal glances at him, noting the way his jaw is set, the furrow between his brows more pronounced than usual. “You okay? You seem kind of…quiet tonight.”
He offers me a half-smile. “Yeah, I’m good. Just a lot on my mind, you know?”
“Anything you want to talk about?” I prompt, hoping he will say something about the dates I am canceling tonight.
Of course, he doesn’t.
“Ah, it’s nothing. Just football stuff,” he deflects, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.
I bite my lip, the silence growing thicker with every traffic light we pass. The city lights blur outside the window, but inside, there’s a stillness that begs to be filled. The radio plays softly, a song about love and chances lost, almost mocking in its timing.
I have to ask Alec for Liam and Ethan’s numbers and then text them that I need to reschedule.
We pull up to my building sooner than I expect, the ride having passed in a blur.
“Come on,” I say, beckoning Tristan with a tilt of my head towards the open door. “Time for me to make dinner. Emma is staying with her guys tonight.”
“Only if you let me help,” Tristan replies, a hint of his old self surfacing in the offer.
“Deal,” I say, pulling ingredients from the fridge with more enthusiasm than necessary. “And since you’re here, I’m upgrading us to wine.” I poke my head around the corner to see him nodding, his lips curved in a half-smile.
“Sounds perfect.”
The clinking of cutlery and the sizzle of garlic hitting the hot pan create a symphony of normalcy. I hand Tristan a glass of red wine, our fingers brushing, sending a current of warmth up my arm. For a moment, we just stand there, sipping in comfortable silence.
“Okay, sous-chef,” I tease, nudging him towards the chopping board. “Chop those veggies like your life depends on it.”
“Your wish is my command,” he quips back, and I watch him, this man who’s so much more than just my best friend’s brother, a person who’s woven himself into the fabric of my every day.
We move around each other with practiced ease, laughter bouncing off the walls as we share silly anecdotes. The tension from earlier is forgotten.
Every now and then, our eyes meet, and something unspoken hums between us. It’s in these fleeting glances that I catch glimpses of the Tristan I know, the one whose laughter can light up a room.
“Remember when Emma tried to make her ‘famous’ lasagna and almost burnt down the house?” I chuckle, pouring more wine.
