Mara grins.
“That is not a nothing look.”
I stand, tray in hand.
“Practice in twenty. Try to remember why you’re here.”
As I walk away, they’re still laughing.
Still teasing—living in a world where mistakes are stories instead of consequences.
I wish I could exist there.
Just for a day, but every time I get close—I remember how fast everything can disappear.
Outside, the sun is already brutal.
Music carries from the outdoor basketball court. The one meant for pick up games not for the actual team.
Whistle. Sneakers. Shouts. Tan torsos. Abs.
I don’t mean to look.
I do anyway.
Tristan is mid-scrimmage.
Sweat shining across his shoulders, moving through bodies like contact doesn’t slow him down— it redirects him.
He rebounds. Lands. Immediately scans.
It’s instinct.
It’s intelligence.
It’s… dangerous.
Kane calls a play.
Tristan nods without argument.
That catches my attention.
No ego.
Just adjustment.
He glances toward the sideline.
Sees me.
Doesn’t wave.
Doesn’t smile.
Just holds my gaze for a second like we’re continuing a conversation no one else can hear.
My stomach does that stupid drop again.
I break eye contact first. Try not to stare at him shirtless like every other female—because they won’t stop looking.
Discipline is a habit.
Attraction is a liability.
Because boys like Tristan Vale don’t ruin your life all at once.
They do it slowly.
And I cannot afford slow disasters.
