Page 6 of Racking Up Penalties
“Damn, no wonder you liked football more than hockey when we first met,” JD says, throwing his arm around Emma.
I claimed best friend privilege and got the spot next to her on the other side.
“Good thing we converted you,” Luka adds.
“He’s always been good,” she replies, her tone fond and filled with unwavering sibling love. “I’m glad you’re all here to see it.”
Despite the confusion knotting my stomach, the feelings I’ve always ignored, I know there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Watching Tristan play, cheering him on alongside Emma, it feels like exactly where I belong.
When the final whistle blows, signaling the end of a game well played, my hands are sore from clapping.
Chapter 4
I meander through the maze of Eastwood University’s campus, my mind weaving through the complexities of hemlines and fabric choices. I used my free Saturday and Sunday to work on my dress. The late afternoon sun hits the pavement, casting long shadows.
As I pass by the sprawling football field, a familiar figure captures my attention. It’s Tristan Delaney, Emma’s brother, standing there with his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jeans, his gaze fixed on the stadium.
I didn’t get to see him after his game this weekend and he deserves congratulations.
Any other reasons I might want to talk to him are irrelevant.
As I get closer, I can see that his sandy-brown hair is tousled by the breeze, and even from this distance, I can almost swim in the deep blue of his eyes.
My heart does a little pirouette, skipping a beat as it always does when Tristan is near. A flutter of butterflies awakens in my stomach, a reminder of the crush I’ve tried to keep hidden under layers of friendship and loyalty to Emma.
I gather a wisp of confidence that’s enough to propel my legs forward.
“Tristan!” I call out and keep walking over to him before my nerves can convince me otherwise. My heart pounds a fierce rhythm against my ribs.
This is just Tristan, I remind myself. Emma’s brother. My friend. The guy who’s always been easy to talk to, whose laughter has filled so many of our group hangouts. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? It has to be, with the way my skin tingles at the mere thought of being near him again.
“Hey, Tessa,” he says as I finally reach him, his voice lifting the corners of my lips into an involuntary smile.
“Hi, Tristan,” I reply, hoping my voice sounds firmer than I feel. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Tristan’s presence engulfs me like a warm breeze. His eyes catch mine, a spark of mischief igniting within their deep blue depths. It’s a look that’s both familiar and jolting, setting off fireworks in my chest.
He pulls me into a tight hug and I can feel every muscle against my body. Damn, he is fit. “What’s a beautiful girl like you doing on this side of campus?” His voice laced with a playful undertone that sends a shiver down my spine.
“Looking for trouble, obviously,” I quip back, unable to suppress the flutter in my stomach. There’s an art to handling Tristan’s charm. He’s always been flirty. A smile stretches across his face, and it’s dazzling.
“Trouble?” The twinkle in his eye brightens. “Well, you’ve found it. I’m all yours.”
“Are you now?” The words tumble out before I can stop them, wrapped in a laugh that sounds more breathless than I intended.
“Always,” he says, leaning in just a fraction, as if sharing a secret meant only for me.
I bite my lip, trying to anchor myself in the moment, in the reality that Tristan flirts like he breathes, effortlessly and with everyone. He’s Emma’s brother, and I shouldn’t be reading into every little thing he does or says. But the way he looks at me, like there’s something just for me behind that jovial façade, is bad for my health.
“Careful, Tristan,” I tease, hoping to mask my racing heart. “If you’re not careful, someone might take you up on that offer.”
“Maybe that’s what I’m hoping for.” His tone is light, but there’s a weight to his words that tugs at something deep inside me.
“Hope away,” I shoot back with a playful smirk, trying to keep the mood buoyant, to keep myself from drowning in the sea of what-ifs. What if he means it? What if he doesn’t?
“Will do, Tess. Will do.” Tristan winks, and it’s like a punch to my gut, sending waves of exhilaration mixed with trepidation through my veins.
I force a chuckle, shaking my head at our verbal sparring match, wondering where the lines blur between jest and genuine interest.
