Crave (22 page)

“Sure. Just one more thing. What did Dylan say to tick you off so bad?”

I rose from the chair. “Oh, you know all those Williamses. They like to push people's buttons. Dylan just finally found mine.” And then some.

My stomach in knots, I started to go up to my room then changed my mind. The grass was already wet with dew, the fall air sharp like knives inside my burning lungs as I flopped down in the backyard and stared up at the stars. And wondered what Savannah was doing right now.

Savannah

Exhausted, I took my time showering at home after the game. Tonight was my first game as the new head manager, and it was an epic failure. Between supervising the freshmen pre-drill girls in the bleachers next to the Charmers, trying to remember Amber's instructions on how to wrap injuries and which girls needed ice after halftime, and fetching stuff all night long, the night had been nothing but chaos. Seeing Tristan and Dylan's fight on the sidelines at the start of the third quarter definitely hadn't helped. Lost in thought about it, I'd messed up everyone's wraps, requiring the football team's trainer to redo them. I didn't bring enough bags of ice, forcing me on an extra trip up and down the bleachers for more. And I screwed up not one but three orders for snacks for the Charmers who had to stay seated in the bleachers during the team's third-quarter break while they iced down their knees or ankles. It was a wonder Mrs. Daniels hadn't fired me as head manager already.

Still drying my hair, I headed for my bedroom and pulled on a nightgown. But my body was on autopilot as my thoughts once again shifted to tonight's fight.

What had Tristan been
thinking?

I doubted anyone at the game hadn't either seen or heard about how Tristan had shoved Dylan to the ground. But why had he done it? True, Tristan's fight with Greg had been much worse. But he had just been trying to save me from Greg at the time. Otherwise, I'd never seen or even heard about him losing his temper.

Not that Dylan hadn't deserved a good shove or two long before tonight.

“Hey, hon.” Nanna knocked on my door before coming in. “You forgot this in the bathroom.” She held out the gold locket she'd given me in the fourth grade.

“Oh, thanks, Nanna.” I smiled and set it on my nightstand so I could finish drying my hair.

“You seem distracted tonight.”

“Mmm, just tired.” I yawned and climbed into bed.

“Well, get some rest. Don't forget, you've got that carhop fundraiser to do tomorrow.”

I
had
forgotten. Good thing Nanna never forgot anything. Nodding, I turned off my lamp and settled in under the covers as she left the room and shut the door behind her. But in the darkness, my mind returned to thoughts of Tristan.

I'd seen him stalk off to the locker room after shoving Dylan. Probably sent there by his coach. I could only imagine how upset he'd been to miss playing in the last two quarters of the game. Especially during the playoffs. Watching Tristan play football always reminded me of how I felt when I danced. Like watching pure joy in action.

I was still thinking about Tristan as I fell asleep. So I wasn't surprised when I dreamed about him.

After all, I dreamed about him a lot. But except for during that one memorable dream, the invisible barrier always stood between us like unbreakable glass that held me back and prevented him from seeing me.

Not tonight, though.

Tristan looked heartbreakingly sad as he lay on his back in the moonlit grass, his hands laced behind his head. His eyes were open, but he didn't move or look at me as I approached.

Maybe he wanted me to go away.

No, that was ridiculous. This was a dream, and he was just a product of my masochistic subconscious.

I sat down beside him, tucking my legs to one side. At least this time I was wearing a long nightgown instead of just a T-shirt.

After an awkward minute of silence, I murmured, “Hard day?”

He nodded.

“I don't usually get to talk to you in these dreams. This is sort of special. So…want to talk about it?”

Sighing, he rolled toward me onto his side and propped up his head in his hand. “I lost my best friend today.”

“Dylan Williams?”

“Yeah. Though maybe we really haven't been friends for a long time, and I just didn't know it until today.”

“You're not friends anymore because you shoved him at the game?”

“No, we got into an argument earlier today. You could say tonight was just our way of ending the argument.”

“What was the argument about?”

“He was talking crap about…someone. Someone who didn't deserve it.”

I hesitated, but curiosity pushed me to go ahead and ask, “Someone I know?”

He stared up at me, the answer in his eyes.

“Me? You got into a fight with your best friend over me?” Yep, this was definitely a dream. I knew it for sure now. Even still, guilt swamped me as if this were a real conversation we
were having and not just a fantasy. “You shouldn't have. It wasn't worth the fight.” I wasn't his girlfriend. He hadn't even spoken to me for years. Why fight his best friend over me?

“Don't say that,” he ground out, his eyes darkening a little. “Fighting for you is always worth it.”

His words made tears prick my eyes and my breath catch in my chest. Oh, how I wished this weren't just a dream.

“Will Dylan…want to get even?” Maybe I shouldn't have asked that. After all, we were talking about his former best friend.

“No.” He gave a wry smile. “He already got his revenge. My parents are yanking me off the team for the rest of the year.”

I forgot to breathe. How many times had I overheard Tristan talking about wanting to play in the NFL? Football was everything to him. Just like dancing had been for me.

And now he'd lost his dream…because of me. “Oh, Tristan. I'm so sorry.”

My eyes burned, and I blinked tears away. I had to remember this was just a dream. It wasn't reality.

So why did I have this urgent need to hug him?

“It wasn't your fault,” Tristan said. “If he hadn't picked a fight with me about you, he would have eventually found some other way to tick me off. My dad's right. I shouldn't have lost control like that during the game.”

And yet he still sounded upset, his voice tight, every word short and clipped.

The idea of him hurting caused my chest to ache. I had to do something.

And so, because it was just a dream where I could do anything I wanted with no consequences, I laid a shaky hand over his where it rested in the grass.

He drew in a quick breath and looked down at our hands.

Okay, maybe I shouldn't touch him, even in a dream.

I started to pull my hand back, but he spread his fingers then squeezed them together again, capturing mine in between.

I couldn't help it; I sighed.

He smiled but didn't look up from our intertwined fingers.

“Why does that feel so right?” I murmured past the tightness in my throat.

His smile faded as he looked up at me with green eyes that were darkening like emeralds turned away from the light. “Why do you keep fighting this feeling?”

“Because I'm not supposed to want this.”

His smile returned, slowly curving his lips up. “But you do anyway.”

I nodded, staring right into his eyes instead of at his nose. Only in my sleep could this ever be safe. It was a luxury I would take advantage of as long as I could.

“So do you still think I'm another of your stalkers?”

“I don't know. You seem fairly recovered in history, judging by how you've ignored me for weeks now.”

His chuckle was a deep, warm rumble that made my pulse race. “I'm not ignoring you. Just trying not to scare you away again. You know, I'm not supposed to want this, either.”

My heart stopped for a second.

He huffed out a short sigh. “Savannah, can't we at least be friends?”

“I would love that.” It came out on a sigh without any hesitation. I wasn't breaking my family's rules by being friends and holding hands with someone in a dream, right?

“Good. I'll remember you said that.” He slowly raised our hands to press a too-warm, too-real-feeling kiss to the back of my hand.

Savannah

When I woke up, I could swear I still felt the press of Tristan's lips against my skin, and I wanted to cry. Why did the good dreams never seem to last long enough?

Then again, maybe I should be glad it was only a dream. Otherwise I would be responsible for Tristan's missing out on playing football for the rest of the year.

I rolled over, looked at my alarm clock then sighed. No time for bawling like a baby over a dream. I needed to get up and ready for the fundraiser. The Charmers were working as carhops at the local Sonic today. All tips would go toward paying for things like our team charm bracelets, duffel bags and game-day team shirts. I and some of the other Charmers were working the early lunch hour, so the tips should be good for our shift.

The job was easy, just delivering food and taking money, and made even easier by the Sonic manager's counting out change for us. Or at least the job
had
been easy until a certain black, chromed-out, single-cab Dodge Ram rumbled into a
parking spot near the glass doors of the Sonic building. Instantly, that familiar ache filled my chest and stomach.

The driver-side window rolled down, revealing the driver. I barely held back a sigh. Tristan should
not
be allowed to wear sunshades. It ought to be illegal to look that good.

My muscles tensed as he placed his order, the speakers near the grill filling the kitchen with his deep voice.

I willed the regular employees to slow down, to take a little longer at putting together Tristan's order. We were swamped with customers now, and all the other Charmers were still out delivering orders. Which left only me to deliver Tristan's.

Just as his order was ready to go, Bethany Brookes returned, granting me a reprieve.

“Here you go.” I thrust the tray of food at the stunned blonde. “Car five.”

“Uh, okay,” she muttered, no doubt wondering why I didn't take it myself. Oh, well, let her think I was being lazy. Anything not to have to take that particular order myself.

With a sigh of relief, I watched her go. No way could I have faced Tristan today. Not after last night's dream. My hand tingled again with the memory of his kiss. I rubbed the spot and turned away from his truck.

I could swear I felt someone staring at me.

I tried to ignore the urge to rub my tingling neck. When someone else's order came in, I was only too grateful to take it to a car parked on the row opposite from Tristan's.

When I returned, the relief was short-lived.

“Milk shake for car five,” the manager said, sliding a red plastic tray with a foam cup toward me. I searched for someone else to take it, but I was the only Charmer there. Lovely.

Clenching my teeth, I grabbed the tray, headed toward Tristan's truck and braced myself for emotional impact.

“Hey, Savannah,” he murmured when I reached his
window. He'd removed his sunshades, and I felt the full effect of that watchful gaze on me. Maybe his wearing sunglasses shouldn't be illegal, after all. At least they would have given me some protection against those soft green eyes and long, gold-tipped eyelashes. Why, oh, why, did the boys always get the long eyelashes?

I couldn't speak; my throat was too dry. So I forced a small smile instead.

“I guess you heard the news by now.”

That got me to look up, at least as high as his nose. “Hmm?” He was wearing an electric-blue polo today. A white T-shirt peeked out from beneath its opening. My fingertips itched to trace that ribbed collar.

“About last night's game?” he prompted.

“Oh. Yeah, I saw it.”

“Seems like everyone did.” His chuckle sounded just like it did in my dreams. “So, I suddenly have a lot of extra time on my hands. And a free first period every day.”

Wait. What? “You're not playing football anymore?” Why wouldn't the coaches have just temporarily benched him or something? Getting kicked off the team for shoving a team-mate seemed a bit overkill.

“Yeah. My parents yanked me from the team for the rest of the year.”

Holy crap. Just like in my dream. My heartbeat took off. How the heck had I dreamed about
this?
Was this some kind of witchy thing, like clairvoyance or ESP?

And in my dream, he said that Dylan and he had been fighting because of me.

Was it true?

“Tristan, did you shove Dylan because of—” Wait. I couldn't say that without sounding like an egomaniac. But I
had to know. “Um, why were you and Dylan fighting? If you don't mind my asking, that is.”

He froze, then lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Don't worry about that. So listen, Bethany had an interesting suggestion.”

I fought the urge to frown. Of course he would think anything Bethany said was brilliant. Everything the perky blonde said captivated the boys. Good thing she was actually nice or more girls would fantasize about murdering her on a daily basis.

Tristan continued. “She said your team has an opening left for an escort.”

A Charmers escort? Him? He'd be bored out of his mind. All they did was sit beside the managers at the football games. That and escort the officers around the field during the second quarter when the officers went over to meet and greet the other dance teams. Not to mention Mrs. Daniels and the new Charmers captain usually handpicked each year's escorts. The job was invitation only.

Then again, no Charmer would ever turn down the opportunity to hang on Tristan's arm if given the chance. If he asked, they'd let him be a Charmers escort in a heartbeat.

But why in the world would he want to?

“Um, that's an…interesting idea,” I finally managed to stammer out.

“Yeah. So what do you think? Should I give it a shot? Am I Charmers escort material?” He put on his best grin and waggled his eyebrows like a goofy comedian while he gave me money for his order.

I tried to put on my Ice Princess mask but wasn't quick enough. A small laugh escaped me. “Well, it would be convenient for flirting with the Charmers.” In fact, the escorts were
notorious for dating the Charmers. Since his player notoriety was already firmly established in our school, he'd fit right in.

“Good point. It would make it easier to actually see a Charmer, since your team seems to have nonstop practices and performances.”

I nodded, though the idea of his dating a Charmer made my stomach churn.

“So you think I should do it?” He stopped smiling, solemnly waiting as if my answer actually mattered to him.

“I…” Because I yearned to gaze into his eyes, I stared down at the five-dollar bill he'd given me instead. “I'll go get your change.”

I tried not to run for the safety of the kitchen. What refuge could it really offer anyway? The building was mostly glass on the upper half of its front three walls. And I knew with absolute certainty that Tristan was staring at me now. Probably wondering if I was nuts.

I lingered inside until the manager frowned at me, then I slowly walked back to his truck. “Here's your change.” I counted it out, careful not to touch him in the process.

“Aren't you going to give me something?”

Pulse racing, my gaze slid up to his mouth. “What?”

“A straw?”

“Oh!” With a relieved laugh, I got him a straw from my half apron's pocket.

And gasped as his fingers wrapped around both the straw and my hand. “And your answer to my question?” he murmured, his hold a gentle torment to my skin.

A breeze kicked up around us, bringing with it the slightest hint of his cologne, a little bit spicy, a little bit cool and crisp. I wanted to drink it in.

What was the question?

Oh, yeah. Should he be a Charmers escort?

Oh, Lord, what a question to ask me of all people, and while holding my hand, too. He must know or at least suspect that I had a crush on him. Okay, a bit more than a crush now, but that was beside the point.

He stared at me, still waiting for my answer, his strong fingers gentle and warm on my skin. Oh, crud.

“Um, Tristan, I think you should do whatever will make you happy.” There, that was a good reply. “I'd better go. Thanks for helping out the Charmers. Have a great…” Whatever else I had meant to say was forgotten as he lifted my hand to press a kiss to the back of it.

He paused then murmured, “Thanks for helping me decide.”

After he released my hand, I stumbled away a few steps, completely speechless. We both froze for what seemed a long time. When I could think again, I turned and slowly walked to the safety of the kitchen, rubbing my still-tingling hand as I went.

Tristan

I sat in my truck, unable to move or do anything but watch Savannah walk away from what she probably thought was another crazy stalker.

Was it too much too soon, kissing her hand like that? I'd hoped it would remind her of our shared dream last night. But what if it scared her off instead?

I'd hoped that after last night we could make more progress today. I'd had it all scripted out, though I'd had to order a milk shake I didn't want just to get her to come to my truck. But the conversation hadn't followed the plan at all. Why couldn't I get her to relax and be herself with me in real life like I could in our dreams?

Somehow I had to get her to let her guard down around me
in real life, too. One or two shared dreams a year wasn't going to cut it. We needed to spend more waking time together.

Hmm. Well, she did say I should do whatever would make me happy. Mom had said “any activity but sports.” And seeing Savannah every day up close and outside the Clann's spying eyes would definitely make me happy as well as give her time to learn to relax around me.

Grinning, I grabbed my cell phone, pulled up the internet and searched Google for a certain woman's number.

Savannah

I clutched my thermos cup of tea in one hand and the ring of team keys in the other as I got out of my truck in the JHS front parking lot. The truck was an old, single-cab Chevy S10, primer gray and in desperate need of a few layers of paint. My father had had it delivered last week for my sixteenth birthday, an obvious and unsuccessful bribe to try and get me to talk to him again. Apparently speaking with his daughter didn't even rate a truck with an actual paint job. Not that a brand-new sports car would have been enough to make me forgive him for threatening Mom's and Nanna's lives, either.

Even my friends had teased me a little at my slumber party, suggesting I buy some Rust-Oleum spray paint to keep it from rusting any further. Still, it got me where I needed to go and was free, so I'd asked Mom to pass on my thanks to him. But I also didn't feel too bad about pushing the door shut with one foot. It wasn't like I could damage the finish.

In the early-morning, late-October hush, the campus was cooler now that autumn had finally arrived. It was also empty and peaceful, just the way I liked it best. No one around watching me, judging me. No one to have to try to hide all my secrets from. Until the Charmers began to show up in the next fifteen minutes, the campus was all mine. And maybe
the janitors', though I never saw them around this early before school. At this time of the day, the normally confining pines surrounding the school felt cozier, like a giant green blanket to hide in.

I adjusted the headphones over my hair and ears, pushed Play on my iPod, then walked fast past the cafeteria and math building. I needed to get moving or I'd be late with the sound system for practice. I'd switched out this duty with the freshmen managers today so they could start fetching ice bags and deliver roll-call charts to the front office instead. This new system should work out perfectly since I had to unlock the dance rooms anyway.

Sighing, I passed the math building, started up the cement ramp that led to the sports and art building's foyer doors…and nearly dropped my thermos and keys.

Tristan was leaning against the doors, his hands tucked into the pockets of his faded jeans. In the early-morning light, made gray by the shadow of the building, he looked surreal against the royal-blue painted doors. Maybe I was still half-asleep and imagining him. I yanked off my headphones.

“Good morning, Savannah.”

I stumbled but quickly recovered. Nope, he was definitely here. “Um, good morning, Tristan.”

“You use the old-style headphones. Interesting choice.” He nodded at the hot-pink and black headphones still dangling from my hand.

Blinking fast, I jerked open the zipper on my duffel bag and shoved my iPod inside. “Uh, yeah. My ears are too small for those earbud things to stay in.” Plus the old-style headphones stayed on better when I danced. “What are you doing here?” I winced. That came out ruder than I'd intended, but it was better than showing how I really felt about him. “I mean, if you're here about the escort thing—”

“Yes and no.”

Okay. That cleared it all up. “Are you here to talk to Mrs. Daniels?”

“No, I already talked to her on Saturday. I gave her a call and explained my situation.”

Even walking as slowly as I could, I still wound up at the doors. And much too close to him. I fumbled through the team keys one-handed, trying to hurry up and get the doors unlocked so I could move away from the temptation as quickly as possible.

“Here, let me.” He eased the thermos from my hand, his fingers sliding over mine in the process. A tiny shiver rippled up my spine. I froze for a few seconds then recovered and focused on unlocking the doors. He held open the door for me and offered me the thermos.

“And what did Mrs. Daniels say?” I took the thermos back, careful not to touch his fingers, then darted under his arm and through the doorway. But not fast enough to miss catching the tiniest hint of his cologne.

“She and I came up with a better idea.” He followed me inside, the heavy door slamming shut behind him. The sound echoed, emphasizing how empty the building was. How alone we were together.