Chapter Twenty-Nine
Twenty-Nine
Michelle
I’m doing this. I’m not chickening out.
We finally pull up to a gorgeous house, so quintessentially Californian it couldn’t fit with Tristan’s golden-boy looks any more perfectly.
Palm trees line a manicured lawn, a brick path leads to clean white stucco walls, warm brown roof tiles sit snugly on top, and huge black-paned windows flank the oversize polished wood door.
I reach for my seat belt, but Tristan wraps his big, calloused hand around mine, and I pause.
“Michelle, fuck—” he shakes his head, then tries again. “Everyone knows I would never be a good boyfriend.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, my mouth scrunching to the side in confusion. “Who said that to you? You’re the one who always says in interviews that you don’t want a girlfriend.”
A grin splits his mouth, flashing those white teeth and dimples against his LA tan. “You’ve been watching my press.”
“I watch everyone’s press.”
His grin falls, and I immediately regret saying it.
“I do also…read all of your interviews, though. And pay special attention to your press.” I swallow.
“Why do you read my interviews, Michelle?”
I suppress a shiver at the way he says my name, the way it makes me go hot and cold all at once.
“Because I like you, Tristan. And I don’t know why you think you’d be a bad boyfriend. You’re a great friend to everyone. You’ve been a great friend to me.”
“Because I’m not serious enough,” he says with a laugh, but there’s no joy in it. “I’m the team’s version of a class clown, and I dropped out of school so I could play.”
“You’re the team captain,” I tell him, confused. “Everyone listens to you. They love you.”
“I don’t even have a degree.”
“Did you need one to go pro?” I press. “Did you want one?”
“No,” he says, his gaze riveted on my face. “No, I didn’t. And yeah, maybe I did want one, but I couldn’t keep up with the schoolwork. You deserve someone who can do it all.”
“You are doing it all, dummy.” I wave my hand at the expansive house in front of us. “But more importantly, I want you, Tristan,” I say softly.
My admission takes us both by surprise.
His hazel gaze heats, and I bite my lower lip, not sure if I should have told him that yet.
“You are absolutely not allowed to use not having a college degree as a reason we can’t date.
” It’s so absurd that I almost want to laugh, but it’s clearly not to him, which breaks my heart.
“I don’t know who made you feel like that, but it’s just wrong.
But if it means so much to you, then go back to school.
And if it doesn’t mean that much to you… then let it go.”
“You say it like it’s that easy.”
“Of course it’s not easy,” I puff out my cheeks as I exhale noisily. “But I’m not going to accept that as a reason that you’re not good enough for me, or whatever it is you think.”
He stares at me like he can’t believe I would feel that way, much less say it out loud.
“Why did you leave my apartment the other morning? You just…left.”
Now he blows out a breath, dropping his head backward against the headrest.
I’ve effectively killed the moment. Typical me.
“Because you wanted to try to be casual. That’s what you told me.”
His words sting even more because they’re true.
“I wasn’t going to push you for more when you were finally starting to come out of your shell,” he continues, surprising me. “You had fun that night, and we had fun that morning, and if you just wanted me to hook up with, I wasn’t going to fucking stand in your way.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know why you think you’re not good enough for me when I clearly have a stick up my ass and was lying to us both about what I wanted.”
He gives me a long, hopeful look that makes my chest constrict with an emotion I can’t name.
“You don’t have a stick up your ass,” he tells me very seriously, squeezing my hand. “I would have felt it if you did.”
I can’t help but laugh at that, and it eases the tension knotting my shoulders. “You don’t have to be perfect to deserve someone to…care about you.”
I almost said love. I almost said it as a generalization, but I stopped myself.
I might love him. The realization shocks me, but it also feels so, so right.
He already seems spooked by the idea of a relationship with me, and I’m not about to drop the L-bomb on him, especially when I’m a mixed-up jumble of emotions.
That word does not need to be said, even when speaking generically.
Doesn’t mean I can’t imagine it, though. Imagine it and feel butterflies every time he’s in my head and feel electric every time we touch.
“I don’t want to bring you down.” His dimples disappear.
“I asked you out before because I thought maybe we could do…easy. Casual.” He says the word like it’s a curse, and it nearly makes tears sting my eyes.
“I wanted you, but I knew you would never want me, not for more than fun. Then there’s the whole work thing. ”
“The whole work thing,” I repeat. “Yeah, being the director of operations for the team my boyfriend plays for does feel totally icky, even if there aren’t any rules against it.”
“I like a woman in charge,” he says, quirking an eyebrow.
I purse my lips to keep from laughing, because we need to finish this conversation. “I don’t think I’m going to stay at the Aces for much longer.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You are not quitting your job for me.”
That does make me laugh. “I’m not quitting it yet.
And I would be quitting it for me, not for you.
Mark is driving me out of my skin.” I nudge him with my shoulder, and he pulls me into a hug.
“I don’t want that life anymore. I want to find out who I am when I do the things I want to do, not the things I think I should do. ”
“I want that for you, too, Michelle. I want the world for you. I just don’t want to hold you back, or be the reason you quit anything, ever.” It’s soft, a confession.
I reach up for him instinctively, rubbing the pad of my thumbs against his cheeks, my gaze darting between his eyes.
“Tristan, never once have you even come close to bringing me down.” I grin at him.
“You always make me smile. You started this whole thing. You made me think about why I had to be so controlled. So perfect, at least on the outside. You’ve only ever been the best influence on me.
Always. I…want to be with you. Not just because you are good, um, in bed.
” I choke out the words, feeling heat rise in my cheeks.
“But because I like you. As a person. A lot. I’m happy when I’m with you. You make life more fun.”
“Michelle.” He says my name on a groan, and that wide-eyed adoration is back on his face, his gaze drinking me in. “I can’t even think.” His throat bobs as he swallows. “I can’t even tell you how fucking good it is to hear you say that.”
I rub his cheek, and his eyes flutter shut for half a second before he reopens them, a devious grin on his face.
“Anything else you want to tell me about how much you like me? I could get used to this.”
“You’re also very hot.” I nod in agreement with myself. “That is a plus. That, and you’re good…at things.”
He chuckles, and I feel his pec move as he flexes. “I am hot. We’re similar in that.” The chuckle dies, and he gives me a sharp look. “Then what do you want us to be?”
“What do you want us to be?” I toss back at him. I love that he asked. I love that he wants to hear how I feel.
A slow, mischievous grin kicks up the corners of his mouth, and then he whips his head to the side, nipping at my thumb while I laugh.
“We could go to Vegas and get married,” he suggests.
I bark out a laugh, caught off guard. “No, I don’t think so. It’s so all or nothing with you, huh?”
“No, I’m all or nothing for you,” he corrects.
I blink rapidly, trying to process that.
“Will you…” he pauses dramatically, “be my valentine?”
I tilt my head back, laughing. “Valentine’s was weeks ago, you goober.”
He only grins wider, all sunshine and happiness, warmth radiating from him. “Next year, then?”
“If you play your cards right,” I hedge, my heart pounding erratically. What a wild thing to say. I tilt my head, studying his face, trying to decipher his expression. “Are you serious?”
“If you play your cards right,” he responds, mimicking my head tilt with one of his own.
His grin is giant, and contagious, and I’m smiling as wide as he is a second later.
The seat belt clicks as he unbuckles, and then he reaches over to unbuckle mine, too.
“Ready to shop till you drop?” he asks. “Do you need to stretch first? Hydrate? Pregame massage? Pregame…something else?” He waggles his eyebrows, and another easy laugh spills out of me.
My heart’s lighter than it’s been in ages, and as I climb out of his oversize truck, shaking my head, I realize the truth of it.
No one makes me laugh like Tristan does.
No one makes me feel like Tristan does.
And now…we’re a thing. We’re official.
Footsteps catch my attention, and I squeal in surprise as he scoops me up into his arms.
“What are you doing?” I’m laughing so hard I struggle to get the words out, wheezing.
“We’re going to have to get you an inhaler if you’re going to get like this every time I make a joke.” He studies me critically, not even sparing a glance at the key he’s jamming into his front door.
I laugh again as he throws open the door, bowing with me in his arms, his eyes widening in mock shock as he gently sets me onto his hardwood floor.
“My lady,” he intones dramatically, “welcome to my castle. You will find refreshments in amongst the scullery boys and new garments in the receiving chambers.”
An incredibly convoluted hand gesture accompanies this pronouncement, and he bows again, then clicks his heels together while I stare up at him in disbelieving amusement.
He pulls me closer by my waist, tucking me against his body while I laugh at him. “The scullery boys? Receiving chambers?”