Chapter Twelve

Tristan

Tristan faked a smile when Dylan sat down at their table. Even after the shock had worn off, Tristan was still caught off guard by seeing Dylan with Alyssa, even if it was probably nothing…

“Guess what! I asked her out!” Dylan said, setting down his tray in triumph. He tapped the table with his fist and grinned at Tristan. “I finally did it.”

“That’s great.” Tristan took a deep breath. “What did she say?”

“That she works a bunch after school, which is totally cool since we have practice all the time. I asked her about next Sunday, and she said she’d think about it.”

Think about it. Think about it? Heat spread up Tristan’s back. Just what was this girl playing at? “So she said yes?”

“Mostly.” Dylan frowned. “I think? God, she isn’t letting me down easy, is she?”

I sure hope so. Tristan cringed inwardly. Only a total bastard would get in the way of his friend’s crush. Still, how could he have known Dylan was after the girl he’d kissed yesterday? “I don’t know. Guess you’ll have to see.”

They both would.

Tristan pretended to eat while Dylan and the other guys from the team went on about the playoffs. After his “training” session with Alyssa, Tristan hadn’t been too worried, but now he could feel tension creeping into his shoulders. This was turning into a real hell of a Monday.

“Hey, I asked you if you were ready to hit against that left-hander from Allen,” Dylan said, poking Tristan in the side. “Where’d you go, man?”

“Just thinking.” He pushed his tray away. “Yeah, I practice against you all the time. Why wouldn’t I be ready?”

The rest of the guys exchanged looks but left it to Dylan to say, “He pitches a ninety-two-mile-per hour fastball. He’s going straight into Triple-A after he graduates. Hitting me is difficult, if I do say so myself, but this guy is other-planet hard.”

Great, as if he wasn’t knotted up inside enough. “Guess we’ll see on Friday, then.”

When the others started debating how many hits Kyle would get off Allen’s pitcher, Tristan gave up trying to pay attention. He scanned the cafeteria, not sure what he was looking for, until he caught Alyssa staring at him from a table four rows over. She gave him a slight smile, so tiny that he doubted even the blond girl sitting next to her noticed.

But he did.

His pulse leapt, and he smiled back—a quick flash, nothing the guys would detect, either. A little secret, just between the two of them. And right then, he knew why she’d told Dylan why she would have to get back to him for coffee. She had other plans.

He winked at her, and she bit her lip, flushing. He half expected her to point him out to her friend, but she didn’t. Fair enough. He didn’t want Dylan to see them staring at each other across a crowded cafeteria, either.

This was going to cause some unnecessary drama later, but maybe she’d understand if he said they needed to keep things on the down-low until the playoffs were over. Dylan was pitching against Allen this week, and getting into a huge fight over a girl would throw off his game. Tristan was having enough trouble for the both of them—Dylan needed to stay frosty.

Still, it was hard to hide the spring in his step as he headed to chemistry.

Chemistry. Now that was funny.

“I think he’s trying to kill us.” Jackson flopped on the bench in the dugout to retie a shoe. “I’m a pitcher. I bunt, and I don’t steal bases. Speed is not my skill.”

Kyle clunked him on the head with his glove. “Yeah, and what if, just once, your bunt dies a few feet from the foul line and you have the chance to beat a throw to first? Are you going to tell us then speed isn’t your skill when you’re out?”

Jackson bared his teeth at Kyle and growled. Tristan raised his eyebrows. This newbie was talking way too much smack for a sophomore called up to varsity because Mark was hurt. Tristan didn’t say anything, though. He knew Kyle would take care of it.

And he did. “Coach, I think Morris wants to do a few more sprints. Says he has something left in the tank.”

Coach looked at Jackson, who was red in the face and still panting. His eyes flicked to Kyle for a second, then he nodded. “Good idea. Morris, run two more sets for me.”

“What?” When the old man didn’t back down, Jackson shot Kyle a sour look and jogged up the steps.

Tristan smiled at the kid’s back. “Nice one, Sawyer.”

“You have to housebreak them when they first come up.” Kyle sat next to him on the bench. “How’s your swing coming along? Better?”

“Better-ish, I think.” It was true, too. He’d spent all afternoon thinking about Alyssa’s coaching methods and trying not to grin like a goofball in class. “Might be coming out of it.”

“Good.” Kyle patted him on the back and went to check in with the infielders. Tristan wasn’t quite sure what had happened to Sawyer—aside from Faith—but he liked this new, talkative, supportive team captain over the swaggering, loner-ish old Kyle.

Dylan took Kyle’s place. He had a glum expression. “The more I think about it, the more I think that girl, Alyssa, was letting me down easy.”

Tristan’s gut tightened. “Maybe.”

“Why, though?” Dylan gave him a hurt look. “Am I really that big a loser?”

Tristan had to pretend to tie his shoe to avoid Dylan’s eyes. “No, you aren’t. She didn’t outright say no or laugh in your face. Girls let guys down easy when they’re not interested, but still think the guy’s okay.”

“You’d think I’d know that already.” Dylan let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Except this is the first time I’ve been turned down. Or maybe turned down. I don’t exactly know.”

Tristan rolled his eyes, still focused on retying his shoe—again. “Lucky. I got shot down a bunch before Raina went out with me.”

“Well, it sucks.” Dylan sighed and grabbed his glove. “Come on. You’re up first.”

Nerves tickled the back of Tristan’s neck as he reached for his bat. “Fine.”

“I’ll go easy on you. Promise.” Dylan smirked.

Uh-huh, right. Tristan went to the batter’s box, got set, and waited on the first pitch. A changeup, barely inside the strike zone. He took a swing and missed it.

Dylan pointed at him. “Gotcha.”

“Whatever.” Tristan reset. “Don’t make me wait all day, princess.”

Dylan gave him the finger behind his glove so Coach didn’t see, then wound up. Another damned changeup. Tristan let that one go by.

“Hit one already!” Dylan called.

“Quit throwing that crap, and I will!”

Dylan didn’t waste any time, throwing a wicked curveball. Tristan gave it all he had, but barely nicked the edge of it. Two pitches later, he had yet to hit one.

“Murrell, get out of your own head!” Kyle called from the dugout. “Find some Zen.”

Tristan took a deep breath and let his shoulders relax. He built a picture of Alyssa in his mind, the way she smiled, how she felt in his arms, even the way she smelled. Dylan, who’d been watching him, smirked, wound up, and tossed a fastball straight down the middle.

The swing started without Tristan even having to think about it. His entire body followed through.

Ting!

The ball sailed up, up, up, and over the back fence. Kyle let out a whoop, and even Dylan looked impressed. Tristan stared down at his bat. It hadn’t betrayed him for once. Maybe his baseball god was a girl with curly hair and a smart mouth.

Fielding practice went fine as always, and Tristan left the field with some actual, honest-to-God confidence. He checked his phone. It was five thirty. If he hurried, he could get to Swing Away before Alyssa left for the day. Seeing her last night hadn’t been enough. Like his confidence in baseball, it had been a while since he’d been this interested in pursuing a girl.

Did he feel a stab of guilt knowing Dylan would be unhappy? Yes, he wasn’t a complete asshole. But wasn’t everything fair in love and war? Dylan hadn’t even talked to Alyssa much before today.

Deep down, Tristan knew he was making excuses, and he knew there’d be hell to pay, but a chance to become a “we” with Alyssa was definitely worth it.

He’d pick up the pieces later.