Crave (13 page)

My heart leaped into my throat, cutting off all airflow.

Mrs. Daniels frowned down at her list. “I'm terribly sorry, that number should have been ninety-one. Number nine-one.”

I froze, staring at Mrs. Daniels, willing her to take it back even as someone else screamed with joy and ran forward to take the last spot on the team.

My spot.

In total, stunned horror, I stared at number ninety-one as the bouncy, tearful blonde joined the team. I knew that girl; we were in the same pre-drill class together. Bethany Brookes.

I turned to Nanna. “Tell me she didn't call my number first, then change her mind.”

“Yes, she did. I'm going to go make her double-check that list.” Nanna marched over to speak with Mrs. Daniels, but I
couldn't bear to watch. I couldn't take my gaze off the happy group of girls. Next year's Charmers. A team I wasn't good enough to be on.

Nanna returned, her furious expression all the answer I needed.

I had to get out of here. I rushed out of the gym, pushing through the crowd already trickling into the foyer. I could feel those prickles of awareness once again telling me someone was watching me. Probably Nanna. Or maybe a stranger. Had the tears already started before I could get to our car? Were people in the crowd pitying the sad loser as I made my way through? I couldn't tell. I couldn't feel any part of my body now beyond the burning of my lungs.

I reached the car, lurching into the oven of a backseat for some reason. Only when I'd laid down on the warm charcoal-colored upholstery and covered my face with a folded arm did I let go.

 

Someone else was in my dream with me later that night. As soon as I saw him, the dream changed, the colors and edges around things sharpening, becoming more like a waking memory instead of a fuzzy dream.

Oh, no. Not
him.
I could not take another of these too-realistic dreams about invisible barriers between myself and Tristan Coleman.

But it
was
him. This time, he was stretched out on a patch of short grass in the bright moonlight. A yard somewhere. Trees, maybe some kind of forest, formed a dark and peaceful backdrop behind him. But definitely a dream location, because even at night, East Texas in May was muggy and stifling. Yet here the air was cool and light against my skin.

Tristan looked incredibly good, though he wore just a gray T-shirt and black sweats, nothing special or dressy. It had
never been his looks that drew me, though. That was the problem with him. If Tristan had been just another pretty boy, I could've ignored his entire existence. Our school had plenty of those to crush on. But I'd never cared much about how a guy looked.

Except this one.

I liked to think I wasn't stupid. It had to be some inner rebellion thing on a subconscious level that I had going on. I just wanted him because he was off-limits. Right? That had to be why my heart insisted on racing every time someone mentioned his name, why I continued to look forward to algebra class. And why my dumb subconscious insisted on torturing me with these dreams about him.

Well, I wasn't that stupid. No matter how realistic and vivid it seemed, I knew this was a dream. A very unwelcome dream, especially after the day I'd just had. But still a dream.

Usually in these dreams, I wound up kicking and screaming at the invisible barrier between us, and he ignored my existence. This time, I wasn't in the mood to play along.

So I sat down, drew up my knees to my chest, tugged my oversize T-shirt over my bare legs, then rested my cheek on them. Maybe if I accepted in my dreams that Tristan wasn't meant for me, I'd finally stop dreaming about him.

That would be nice. Seeing him at school always hurt more after nights like these. It would be a huge relief not to feel this yearning in the pit of my stomach and chest anymore.

I closed my eyes, intending to ignore him. But after a minute, my eyelids crept open again. Maybe just one last peek at him. After all, it was only here in my dreams that I could safely stare at him without his knowing it.

Except this time…he stared back at me.

Maybe he was just looking in my general direction.

I met his gaze, and his eyes widened. Holy crap. Nope,
he was looking right at me. He'd never looked at me in my dreams before, not even once. But he was now, and…

And I was wearing nothing but a T-shirt and underwear.

Maybe trying to confront my dreams about him had forced my subconscious mind to react with more drastic measures. Like morphing my dreams into a new take on the “in my underwear at school” nightmare.

I pulled my T-shirt down farther. I should look away from him, too. But I couldn't, because he was staring back at me, his green gaze unblinking as he rolled to sit up.

Of course he'd be graceful even in that one small movement. Everything Jacksonville's golden prince did was perfect. Oh, well, at least my imagination had gotten the details right.

Like the way his honey-blond hair curled over his ears and at the nape of his neck, stopping just short of brushing the collar of his shirt. And the way his sleeves stretched around his biceps. I sighed and laid my cheek on top of my knees again, giving in to the temptation to stare at him. Maybe my subconscious knew just what I'd needed today, after all.

He stood up in one fluid movement, making my heart trip at the base of my throat. He approached me, his steps cautious. But no barrier stopped him. Ah, a good dream.

And so detailed. As he stood before me, towering above me, our bare toes almost touching in the grass, I noticed for the first time the veins running along the backs of his hands. He held out one of those hands as if to help me up.

I laughed and shook my head. Even if it was a dream, no way was I going to stand up until my subconscious gave me some pants to wear.

“Then I guess I'll have to come to you.” He sat down beside me, facing me as he mimicked my pose and wrapped his arms around his bent knees.

Amazing. He even sounded right. I had a better memory
than I'd given myself credit for. His voice held exactly the right amount of rumbling deepness. And just like in real life, he sounded as if he was trying not to laugh at me.

Well, I
was
the one in my underwear here.

“Why do you keep staring at me? Aren't you going to say something?” I blurted out. This dream was getting a little ridiculous. Who fantasized about a boy sitting there staring at them? Shouldn't that be more in the first-date nightmare category? Not that I'd know about first dates from personal experience, seeing as how I'd never been on any.

His thick eyebrows shot up. “What should I say?”

“Oh, I don't know. But if this is a dream, it could at least be interesting.” Where were my pants already?

He chuckled, tempting me to smile. “You're a lot more talkative than usual.”

I shrugged. “It's my dream. Shouldn't I be allowed to say what I think and feel?”

“I thought this was my dream.”

“Great. So even in my dream, you have to be cocky.”

“Cocky? Look who's talking, Miss Nothing-but-a-T-shirt and-Attitude.”

“Yeah, you'd think since I know it's a dream, I could fix that.”

He grinned. “Oh, I don't know, it's not a bad look on you.”

“Mmm, a compliment. Finally. I thought players gave those out a lot more often.” I returned his grin. “Quick, say some thing else nice.” My toes scrunched down in the grass. I could get used to having this kind of dream.

“Bossy.”

I had to laugh. “I said say something
nice.
”

It was his turn to laugh now. “You didn't want the truth?”

Hmm, good point. “No, actually, a large dose of truth
would be lovely right now. But maybe with a touch less rudeness.”

“Had a bad day?” His smile faded.

“You can say that again.” I sighed and yanked up a piece of grass. “My life would've been a lot easier to handle lately if everyone had just told me the truth all my life. At least then I could have grown up knowing…things, and be better prepared for them, you know?”

“Okay, so we'll stick with the truth, then, if that'll make your day better.”

“Yes, please,” I breathed out on a sigh.

“Why don't you make eye contact with anyone at school?”

My head popped up, and I instinctively turned my face away. “I didn't mean I wanted to play Truth or Dare.”

“Chicken?”

“No.” I met his gaze and discovered I couldn't breathe. When he grinned at me like that, with the laughter shining in his eyes…it was almost too much, the feelings too intense to handle. Like he could see my every thought and emotion.

“That's better,” he murmured. “So tell me about your day.”

“I'd rather not think about it, to be honest. Tell me about yours instead. You looked like yours was much better.” I waved a hand at the spot where he'd been lying and looking so peaceful a few minutes before.

“Yeah, it was pretty good. Which is a surprise, since it was training with my dad.”

“Training…for football?”

The smile melted out of his eyes first, then from his mouth. He gave a short, stiff nod.

“So tell me why it made you happy.” I didn't want my subconscious to turn this into an uncomfortable dream.

It was his turn to pluck a blade of grass and play with it. “Oh, I don't know. I guess it was just cool that I could have
fun hanging out with my dad. He always used to sort of scare me. But lately we've become almost like friends.”

“I've seen pictures of your dad in the newspaper. He does look a little scary with that beard. Kind of like a big polar bear.”

Tristan laughed with me. “Yeah, exactly. But it turns out he's pretty funny. Like how protective he is of my mom and sister and does all this stuff to keep them safe, and they don't even know it. So he's playing the big bad undercover bodyguard because he thinks they're so fragile, and yet he has to be sneaky while he's doing it because he's afraid they'll find out and get mad.”

That really made me laugh. “You men always think women are weak and need to be protected.”

“Aren't you?” Smirking, he reached out and brushed my toes with a piece of grass.

I sucked in a breath and jerked my feet in closer. Oh, no, he remembered how ticklish I was. Though saying I was ticklish was a major understatement.

“Hmm, still ticklish? There you go, a sure sign you're a fragile female in need of protection. Can't even stand a little piece of grass on your toes.”

He tickled me again, forcing sharp laughter out of me. I swatted at his hands. Laughing, he captured both my hands with one of his and continued tickling my toes with the other. I wanted to focus on the warmth of his hand on mine, the thrilling strength in those fingers, but that blade of grass couldn't be ignored.

Out of reflex, my feet pulled in then shot out to try and avoid his merciless attack. My heels thwacked against his right shin.

“Oh, sorry!” I yanked my feet back in as I reached out
to pull up the elastic cuff of his sweats. “Ouch. It's already turning blue.”

He grinned and rubbed his shin. “No worries, it's just a dream, right? Besides, it was worth it.”

“Why?”

“It got you to bare your legs for a few seconds.”

I gasped, and heat flooded my cheeks.

Tristan

I was still laughing at her when I woke up in the backyard.

I lay there for a few seconds, grinning like an idiot. I'd done it. I'd dream connected with Savannah. And all I'd had to do to avoid Mom's spell was fall asleep in the backyard again.

My parents would kill me if they found out.

That wiped the grin off my face. With a sigh, I rolled to sit up. Okay, so I'd pushed the rules a bit. But couldn't a guy have a little bit of fun every now and then? I'd been good for weeks. I'd kept my distance from Savannnah. I'd even tried dating some other girls. But none of them were quite like her.

Savannah would think last night had been just a dream, so what would it hurt? She'd wake up clueless that we'd actually connected in our dreams. And I'd woken up feeling better than I had in years…

…with a monster-size bruise growing on my shin.

Savannah

I woke up Sunday morning with a smile. One that faded too soon, along with last night's dream about Tristan, to be replaced by the memory of my failure to make the Charmers team yesterday.

Too bad I couldn't bottle up the peace and contentment I'd felt with Tristan in my dream and carry it around with me in
real life. I felt anything but peaceful or content all day long. By the time Dad called that evening for his weekly check-in, I had to fight to keep my tone polite. He was the absolute last person I wanted to speak to right now.

“Savannah, you sound…upset.”

I glared at the popcorn ceiling over my bed. “I tried out for my high school's dance team yesterday.”

“And?” He drew the word out like a man attempting to verbally defuse a bomb. Which was perfect, considering how I wanted to explode with fury right now.

“And I wasn't good enough. So I guess your council will be thrilled.” Part of me was shocked at myself. I'd never spoken so rudely to him in my life.

“While I realize it is not what you want to hear right now, that really is for the best.”

My jaw dropped, and my eyes burned for a few seconds while I tried to find a response. But I couldn't. Why couldn't he be a loving father, normal, caring about my feelings instead of what his council wanted all the time? Like that father at the auditions. Again I saw that man walk into the gym, intent on doing battle to make his daughter happy. And then the image froze in my mind. Something about that man…something was off.

Wait. That was it.

May in East Texas averaged in the low nineties with eighty percent humidity. No man would've been able to wear a full suit like that without sweating at least a little. That guy hadn't, though. His hands had been ice-cold, just like Dad's always were. Even if he'd just come from an air-conditioned car, the parking lot was too far from the foyer doors. That man would have already warmed up by the time I ran into him.