Promise (5 page)

"
What?
"

"He's trouble, Alexis. Trust me."

"Mom!" My voice was too loud, forgetting
about Owen. I quickly lowered it. "That's not fair! You don't even
know him."

She was silent for a moment. She had to know
I had a good point. Then she said through clenched teeth, "I don't
need to. I can tell he's not good for you."

"Well, I think he is and I'm an adult. I'll
make my own decisions."

Her eyes widened with shock. Her mouth
pressed into an angry line. I couldn't remember the last time I'd
back-talked her. She stormed away, back to the front of the
store.

I dragged myself after her and drank my
coffee in silence, the heavy tension nearly suffocating me.
Customers began arriving, diffusing the hostility until it
eventually disappeared. By the end of the day, I tried to blame
Mom's reaction to Tristan on nerves for the Grand Opening…but I
knew that wasn't quite true. Mom didn't stress out, which made her
overreaction even more unexplainable.

***

I used to think Mondays were nothing but a
rude awakening from the lovely dream of the weekend. Now I looked
forward to them. Tristan and I spent little time together on
Fridays and I didn't see him at all on the weekends, except the one
time at the coffee shop. So, when Monday finally came around, I was
ridiculously giddy as I entered our women's studies class. Except
for the fifty minutes of calculus, we spent from nine-thirty in the
morning to ten at night together. Of course, we were in class and
team meetings the majority of the time, but sometimes it was just
us. I felt a tiny stab of guilt, feeling like I was again sneaking
behind Mom's back, but it was a teeny-tiny stab. After all, she had
no basis…and it was just studying.

One Monday in mid-October, we sat outside on
the quad's lawn. The air was still warm, but we didn't drown from
the humidity. I kicked off my flip-flops and sat on the grass,
absorbing the sunshine. I closed my eyes and tilted my face to the
sun for a few minutes, but I felt Tristan watching me, making me
self-conscious. I surrendered and reluctantly pulled my books out
of my bag.

Tristan had a notebook on his lap and pencil
in hand, so I knew he was already working on something. I left my
calculus for later, not wanting to bother him, and pulled out the
communications text instead. I still had three chapters to read
before I could even start on the paper he was probably already
writing. He was always several steps ahead of me in our
assignments, but, for some reason, still had me review his nearly
perfect essays.

I stole a glance at him one more time before
delving into the text. He caught my eye, grinned and winked,
bringing that fog into my brain.
Why does he
do
that to
me?
Apparently pleased with himself, he bent over and his
pencil flew across the page.

"Hey, Tristan," an unfamiliar female voice
called from behind me a little later.

He glanced over my head and immediately
stiffened.

"Hey," he muttered.

"We're going to the Phi Kaps' house for a
pool party. Wanna come?" a different female asked as they came
closer.

He shot them a strange look, almost like he
was angry.

"On a Monday?" he asked, his voice full of
skepticism. I could hear something else underneath—a steely
hardness.

"It's the Phi Kaps. Any day is good enough
for them," the first girl said. "So, you coming?"

The girls stood by his side now, towering
over him as he remained seated. If he looked up, he'd have an
eyeful of long legs in short shorts and big boobs in tight tops,
but, for some unfathomable reason, he looked at me instead. They
were exactly who I'd picture Mr. Beautiful with—a much better match
than me, no doubt. Apparently, they felt the same. They didn't give
me so much as a glance.

I wondered if Tristan was the college party
type. There was definitely something edgy about him. And what
warm-blooded male would pass up a pool party with college
girls—especially
these
girls?

"No, thanks," he replied, holding my eyes,
the steely undertone still there.

I blinked in surprise and, through my
peripheral vision, saw both girls' mouths fall open. They obviously
weren't used to rejection. They glanced down at the notebook in his
lap, shot their eyes at me and then back at him.

"What
ever
," they both huffed and
stomped off.

Tristan relaxed as he took a deep breath and
let it out slowly. I didn't understand his rejection. It occurred
to me he was just being polite.

"You can go, if you want," I said. "You don't
have to stay here with me."

He smiled. "Not interested. In going, I
mean."

"Seriously. I'm used to hanging by
myself."

His smile faded and his eyes flickered. "Do
you
want
me to go?"

Yeah, right.
I definitely didn't want
him to go. It made me sad and lonely to just think about it. But he
didn't need to know that.

"Does it matter what I want?" I asked, a
slight edge to my tone.
How did I get here, where being alone
was a bad thing?

"It matters very much to me," he
murmured.

My heart skipped. I stared at the ground,
embarrassed.

"No, I don't want you to go," I whispered. "I
just don't know why you'd want to stay. Most people don't hang
around this long."

"I'm not most people."

He definitely was
not
like most
people, but I knew he wasn't thinking along the same lines I was. I
didn't know how to respond, so I just returned to reading my
textbook, hoping he would forget the conversation. No such
luck.

"Can I ask you a question?" he asked later as
we walked to one of the on-campus cafés before communications
class.

I shrugged and looked up at him. "You can
always
ask
."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Ah. So, then…will you
answer
a question for me?"

"Depends…"

"I guess I'll try my luck." He peered down at
me. "What did you mean earlier when you said most people don't hang
around this long?"

Crap. I shouldn't have said it
. We
were at the café and there was no line. I quickly ordered a salad
and used the rest of the time to come up with a non-answer.

"So…you're not going to answer?" Tristan
asked as we sat at a table by the window.

I shrugged. "I just meant most guys wouldn't
pass up a pool party with hot college girls to do homework."

He leaned toward me, looking into my eyes,
the gold sparkles bright and enrapturing. My breath caught. "That's
not what you meant."

I forced myself to breathe, my head swimming
from the intensity of his gaze.

"It's pretty close," I finally said. He
continued staring at me expectantly. I sighed. Then I tried to
switch directions with my own question. "Why did you pass it
up?"

He shook his head. "You answer mine
first."

I pulled my eyes from his and stared at my
uninspiring salad. "Seriously…that pool party was an example. Most
people wouldn't hang out for hours just doing homework and
discussing trivial things."

I didn't add "with me," although that was the
original meaning. It would point out something was wrong with me. I
expected him to lose interest before he ever knew those things.

"I haven't found any of our conversations
trivial," he replied. I looked back up at him and tilted my head,
an eyebrow cocked. "You have?"

"It's not exactly exciting stuff."

His eyes flickered. "So…you're bored?"

"No!" I sighed again, getting frustrated.
"That's not what I meant."

"Are you going to tell me what you mean,
then? Or are we just going to continue in circles?" He sat back in
his chair and took a bite of his apple, waiting for my answer.

I sighed yet again; it was nearly a groan.
How could he do this to me?
He was too irresistible for my
own good.

"Fine." I took a deep breath. "I really don't
get why you choose to hang out with me, doing nothing special, when
there are so many other things you could be doing with so many
other people. Most people would be long gone by now."

"I told you, I'm not like most people." He
leaned forward, his gaze intense again. "I'd rather hang out, doing
nothing special with you because you
are
…special."

My eyes widened, my heart getting erratic. A
moment of silence passed as I recovered.

"You obviously don't know me very well," I
muttered.

"Hmm…I know you and I are very much
alike."

I raised an eyebrow. "In what alternate
reality? We seem to be complete opposites."

He was perfect. I was ordinary…except for the
weird things. He was a math whiz and I was an English major. He was
athletic; I was far from it. He was beautiful. I was…me.

He nodded, a thoughtful look on his face.
"Hmm…yes, in many ways we are opposites, you're right. But, we're
much more alike than you realize. You're not like most people
either."

So he
did
notice. Yet here he was.

"And that's why I passed it up. College
parties are no good for me. Trust me. You, on the other hand, are
very
good for me." He grinned beautifully and I just stared
at him for a long moment.

"I don't get it," I finally whispered.

"You don't have to. It's just the way it is."
He glanced behind me, apparently at a clock. "Eat up or we'll be
late."

***

When I arrived home, Mom stood in the foyer,
as if she had been waiting. She didn't look happy.

"You're still hanging out with him," she
said. It wasn't a question. She would know the truth, if she were
looking for it, which apparently she had been.

I shrugged. "I guess that's what you'd call
it. We just study, really."

She glared at me for a long moment. "You
really like him?"

"Yeah, I do. Who wouldn't? He's absolutely
gorgeous!"

"Yes, well, looks aren't everything." Her
tone was curt, almost cold.

"Of course, they aren't! You know me better
than that."

She sighed. "You're right. So, what
else?"

"He's nice, easy to be around and a real
gentleman. And I
think
he likes me."

"You don't need to like someone just because
they like you, Alexis. What about Owen? He's a sweetie."

"Mother, will you stop it? You're being
condescending." I glared at her.

She crossed her arms. Her voice hardened.
"I'm just looking out for your best interests, Alexis."

"And you think
Owen
is in my best
interest?" It came out as almost a sneer.

"Owen or just about anyone other than this
Tristan!"

"So, you want me to date, but I can only like
the guy as long as it's someone
you
pick."

"I just don't want you to get hurt!"

"And how do you know Owen or whoever
you
choose wouldn't hurt me?" I nearly shouted

"And how do
you
know Tristan isn't
just like
James
?"

Ouch.
That hurt and she knew it. She
probably figured likening Tristan to him would be all it took to
change my mind. It only made me angrier.

"And I guess it's
impossible
for Owen
to be anything like James, since you know him soooo well."

She narrowed her eyes and kept her voice low
but hard. "Owen is
nothing
like James. You can trust me on
that one."

"But you can't trust me with Tristan?"

"
No, I can't!
"

I flinched. She dropped her head, pinching
the bridge of her nose. After a long moment, she finally looked at
me, concern filling her eyes.

"It's not you whom I don't trust, honey," she
said, her voice now soft. "How well do you even know Tristan?"

"Better than you do," I spat. I groaned in
frustration, though, because she had a point—I really didn't know
Tristan at all.

"I'm just worried about you." The concern in
her voice wiped my anger away.

I sighed. "Do you want me to date or
not?"

"I think it'd be good for you to date. You
need to come out of your shell. But I want you to date a
nice
boy. Tristan…" She hesitated.

"What?"

She didn't answer, but her meaning was
obvious.

"I just don't want you to get hurt," she said
again. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders. I laid my head
against her for a minute and then looked at her face, into her
warm, brown eyes.

"I'm willing to take the chance with
Tristan," I admitted and she frowned. "Mom, you know me. I don't
make friends easily because I don't trust people—for very good
reasons. James, for one. But I'm trusting my sense with Tristan and
I
feel
that he's different. I want to spend time with him…as
long as he wants to spend time with me."

She stared at me for a long moment, pressing
her lips into a hard line. Then she abruptly spun around and
marched down the hall.

"Even if he's not like James, he
will
hurt you," she said over her shoulder. Just before she ducked into
her room, she added, "Just remember who you are, Alexis."

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

"Why don't you tell me who I am?" I yelled. I
stared down the empty hallway, I guess expecting her to come back
and explain. Or for the answer to magically appear. Of course,
neither happened.

I stomped to my own room and threw my bag on
the floor. A notebook slid out and several loose papers scattered
across the floor, including my research notes. I picked them up and
glared at them for a long moment, wanting to blame them for
everything—not them specifically, but the mystery of who I was. It
seemed to be at the heart of everything wrong with my life.

I finally balled up the stupid papers and
stuffed them in my desk drawer. I didn't need them anymore. The
ideas were absurd and a waste of time. The research was only useful
for my writing.