He smiled against my hair.
“I like a challenge.”
I stepped back before the air shifted too far.
Before memory crept in.
Before velvet curtains and laughter tried to rewrite the moment.
“I don’t do easy,” I told him.
“I won’t expect you too,” he replied.
Since then?
He hasn’t stopped trying.
Protein bars in my locker.
“Accidental” seat next to mine in study hall.
Front row at my matches.
Hookups with other girls, dates three at the same time, never the same girl sat courtside. But he never doted on any of them.
Hands in his pockets, watching like he’s calculating the long game.
He’s a player.
On the court and off it.
But with me?
He’s patient.
Which might be worse.
And now— Tristan Vale stands in my gym.
And across the glass partition, Kane spots him.
Basketball practice has started.
Sneakers squeaking.
Whistles blowing.
Kane jogs toward the basketball coach and the Harvard transfer, Tristan.
My Tristan.
Handshake.
Firm.
Smile.
Too calm.
