Chapter 8 #2
His brow furrows for a moment, and then he laughs breathlessly.
He lifts his hand and brushes his fingers along my cheek.
“That’s it right there. Your honesty. I can’t even be mad at you for it.
I bore myself. I’m not like you. I don’t have things that light me up.
I mean, I do have things that I love, but they’re basic.
Like football. I don’t have a real passion.
” He takes a deep breath and looks into my eyes.
“Except for you, Amelia. You light me up. You make me want things I’ve never wanted before.
That’s why I signed you up for the competition. I wanted to be around you.”
His words hit me like a truck, and my heart races in my chest.
“Tristan…” I close my mouth, unable to form a coherent thought. The vulnerability in his eyes throws me off-balance. It feels so real.
Too real.
“Look, I know I don’t deserve your trust,” he admits. “Especially after…everything that happened. That day in the quad…”
“Why did you do it?” I ask, unable to help myself.
His expression grows pained. “It got out of hand. I… I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.”
Why is my heart fluttering in my chest? It’s a lame excuse. Not really an excuse at all.
He did mean for it to happen. He planned it.
“You mean so much to me,” he says. “I know you don’t feel that way for me. Yet. But I feel like you’re starting to see me differently.” His voice grows hushed. “Am I right about that?”
My throat grows tight. “Yes,” I manage to whisper.
The grin that overspreads his face is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. As bright as the sun yet as soft as morning mist. “That’s all I wanted. I arranged this whole thing just for this.” His blue eyes flash. “I’m going to win you, Amelia. I’m determined.”
I search for any hint of deception in his face, but I find nothing.
Could he mean this? Is it possible that this is the truth? It seems crazy that someone like Tristan would need to go to such great lengths to hang out with a girl, but maybe…
I’ve been cold to him. I’ve been bitter since the dissolution of my friendship with Harper. Maybe I’ve been unapproachable.
He’s tried to talk to me many times over the years, and I cut him off. I shot out a snarky comment and walked away. The only time I didn’t was that day in the library. Something about his demeanor that day—his openness and vulnerability—got to me. I felt like I really saw him. The real Tristan.
Then he betrayed me. And I shut myself away once again.
My voice, when it finally comes, is barely above a whisper. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“Because I was scared,” he says immediately. “I never found the right time. You hated me. If I’d told you how I feel, you would have thrown it back in my face. Made fun of me for it.”
I avert my gaze, my cheeks growing hot. “Maybe you’re right.”
He chuckles softly. “I am right. I know you well.” There’s a wistful hush to his voice. “I’ve watched you over the years. Like I said, I could never look away. I never did.”
My throat grows tight, and my heart pounds like a hammer. Why does he sound like he’s in love with me? Is he really this good of an actor?
“Let me show you something. Let me prove to you that my intentions are genuine.”
I nod hesitantly, and Tristan leans forward. His scent, a mixture of cologne and sweat, is thoroughly intoxicating.
Even this man’s sweat smells good, damn it.
He grabs my hand and places my palm against his chest. The rapidly pounding rhythm matches my own.
“This is what it’s like,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. “Every time I’m with you, this is what it feels like.”
The pounding rhythm against my palm sends liquid heat into my belly. What does this mean? Is he trying to tell me that this “confession” is real?
“I don’t…” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he says softly, pressing his lips to my forehead. “But I’m asking you to stay open-minded for the rest of this competition. Let me show you who I really am.”
“Cut!” the director yells, and I jerk back.
The heady, dreamy haze to the world around me vanishes in an instant. I’m sitting on a blanket on the beach with a camera crew around me. How did I manage to forget?
“Did you enjoy that?” Tristan asks, and a chill runs down my spine.
His tone is arrogant. Smug. Deceitful.
Oh fuck. It really was all a performance. A lie. How did I let myself get swept away in it?
Stupid, stupid Amy.
When I look at Tristan, his earlier vulnerability has vanished like a mirage. Did I only imagine it? He’s smirking at me the way he always does. “Should I win an Oscar?” he asks.
Ice skitters over my skin. Oh God, this is humiliating. My face must be as red as an apple. Is he going to ridicule me for it?
I swallow. “Yes. Better start your campaign soon.”
He frowns. “My campaign?”
“Your Oscar campaign.” I’m surprised how even my voice sounds.
“Oh.” He smiles, but it looks forced. “So you think…” He searches my face, and I wish I could hide away. I don’t want him to pick up on my inner turmoil. “You think I seemed sincere?”
I nod. “Harper will probably throw hands at me after that one.”
His smile fades, and ice enters his eyes. What is that look? What did I say wrong?
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I won’t break her pretty nose. We have too much history.”
His smirk returns, and I wish I could hide from it. I’m not in the state of mind to see this cruel look of his.
“Make sure you don’t,” he says.
As the camera crew packs up their equipment, I stand up, needing to get away. The gentle wind cools my face, but it’s not nearly enough. I feel like I’ll be blushing until graduation day after this epic humiliation.
Later that evening, I’m lying with my eyes fixed on the ceiling. My thoughts are a whirlwind as I replay Tristan’s confession and the look in his eyes when he spoke.
He seemed so genuine that my heart had fluttered out of control.
Because I have feelings for him.
Fuck.
It won’t stop me from getting my revenge. I have to use this humiliation. Harness it.
I’ll show him he can never break me.
My phone buzzes, pulling me from my unpleasant reverie. An email notification pops up from an address I don’t recognize. The subject line reads: “Tristan.”
My heart races as I open the email.
Hey, Amy,
I know it’s been years. You maybe hate me because of everything that went down with Harper. I want to make amends. I’m friends with Tristan now, and I have information that I think you’d find interesting. I’ll be in one of the study rooms on the fourth floor of the library until ten p.m.
Nick
Holy shit. Nick is contacting me? What the hell could this be about?
I glance at the clock. 9:53. I’d better hurry. After throwing on a hoodie and sneakers, I rush out of my dorm room and head toward the library.
I sprint across the dimly lit campus, my heart pounding. As I enter the library and make my way to the fourth floor, a strange sense of foreboding prickles over my skin.
Whatever he has to tell me can’t be good.
When I reach the fourth floor, my eyes scan the study rooms until I find one occupied by a tall guy with dark hair. Wow. He’s really grown up. I don’t think I’ve ever really looked at him since he started at Pacific Crest last year.
I take a deep breath as I enter the room, trying to calm my racing pulse. Nick’s expression is grim.
This isn’t good.
“Look,” he starts, not wasting any time, “I don’t know all the details, but there’s more to this whole competition than what you’ve been told.”
I frown, skepticism vibrating over my whole body. “Why would you turn on your supposed friend?”
His jaw ticks. “He hasn’t been a real friend to me. He’s a liar. He’s lying to you too.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
“He’s been lying to you since the beginning of this competition, and I have proof.”
My stomach drops, and an otherworldly aura settles over me. The world around me grows dark and fuzzy.
I knew this was coming. I knew Tristan was out to get me from the beginning.
So why does it hurt so much?