Promise

by Kristie Cook

  He chuckled. "My other one is a Harley."

  My eyes widened. "Your other one?"

  "I like toys." He shrugged with a grin. "See you Wednesday."

  I sat in my car and watched him walk away in my rearview mirror. About halfway across the parking lot, his whole body seemed to shift, to relax. I hadn't even noticed he was tense—he'd seemed so cool and casual. I wondered what made him anxious. Surely someone like him couldn't be nervous talking to someone like me. As he fired up the bike, he glanced over at my car and I started my own engine so he wouldn't think something was wrong. Don't mind me. Just ogling.

  Wednesday morning I rushed again, this time to my women's studies class. It was the last place I wanted to be, so I took my time getting to campus and now I was running late. Why did I take this stupid class anyway? Tuesday had been a productive day for writing. Going to this silly class now seemed like a waste of a valuable hour. It would be a long day on campus, too, with the team meeting in the afternoon.

  I walked into class right at 9:30, but it hadn't started yet. A low thrum of chatter among the students filled the room. Not all were female; there were three guys. No…four today. My mouth nearly dropped open. Tristan sat at the back of the class, talking to a couple of girls. He put his arm across the desk next to him and shook his head, saving the seat for someone. I wondered who the lucky girl was as I headed to an open desk.

  I retrieved my books from my bag when he caught my eye and grinned. He nodded at the desk next to him and winked. I stared at him, a dense fog filling my brain. When I shook my head to clear it, he pushed his bottom lip out and gave me sad eyes. A small giggle burst through my lips. Before my brain registered that I moved, I was already back there.

  "What are you doing here?" I whispered.

  "I told you, it sounded interesting, so I picked up the class. Maybe I'll learn something." The smile he flashed caused my heart to flip. He was good at making my heart do gymnastics.

  "I'm sure it's not what you're thinking."

  "Do you really think I enrolled in a class without knowing what it was? Give me a little credit, please," he teased, holding up a syllabus.

  "Sorry. It just doesn't seem like the type of thing you'd be interested in. I feel like it's a waste of time and I'm a woman."

  "Hmm…maybe I can make it interesting for you."

  I lifted my eyebrows. What does that mean? He smiled and nodded at the front of the room. The instructor started class. I tried to focus on her, but my eyes wanted to pull to my right. Sitting next to Tristan in class was like driving down a highway parallel to a breathtaking landscape—I knew I should keep my eyes straight forward, but they kept drifting to the side to enjoy the view.

  I peered at him a couple times out of the corner of my eye, not able to help myself. I thought I saw pain or anger in his eyes and I wondered what he was thinking. The next time I peeked, it was gone. He peered back at me, the gold flecks sparkling. He pushed his notebook to the side of his desk, toward me, with a note written in the margin.

  How many cats do you think she has?

  I suppressed a giggle. I'd wondered the same thing about the teacher on the first day of class. I wrote on my own notebook: 12?

  He flipped over to a blank sheet and his pen dashed across the page. I started to think he was just taking notes when he pushed the notebook toward me again. He'd drawn a cartoon picture of the teacher with twelve cats surrounding her. I had to cover my mouth with my hand to keep from laughing aloud. We exchanged written jokes about her and the cats, adding things to the cartoon drawing, throughout the remainder of class.

  "What are you up to between now and that team meeting we have later?" he asked after class.

  I wrinkled my nose. "I have calculus in ten minutes. Then I'll probably torture myself some more and try to get homework done before our meeting."

  "Not a math geek, huh?"

  "Not even close." It was the only freshman core class I hadn't tested out of. But that was more than he needed to know.

  "Well, you have fun with that. See you later. And thanks for making class interesting."

  I cocked an eyebrow. I should have been thanking him. I had practically fallen out of my seat with silent giggles.

  "Seriously. It's no fun writing notes to myself. I don't play along nearly as well as you do." He grinned. Then he did it again: he winked at me. My insides softened as I gawked at him. I'm such a fool.

  "I'll see you later," I finally muttered when my head cleared. I made a beeline for the door before I made a bigger idiot of myself.

  After calculus, I grabbed a soda and a bag of trail mix at the student union and headed for the seating area where our team would be meeting. I had just spread out my calculus text and notebook on the table when the familiar voice murmured close behind me.

  "I've been waiting for you for a very long time."

  It's like he keeps finding me…but why would he want to? Not that it bothered me. It should have, but it didn't. He made me feel…good. Despite the mind-nudge.

  "If that's the case, then I should turn you in for stalking me," I replied drily as Tristan dropped his bag on the table and took the seat next to me.

  "Hmm, let's consider this. You show up in my communications class, then in my women's studies class that I decide to pick up and have no idea which one you're taking, and now you're right here where I need to be in thirty minutes. I could turn you in for stalking."

  I could tell he was just teasing, but my face reddened anyway.

  "I wouldn't, though, turn you in, I mean. You can stalk me anytime." He grinned. I blushed. Mr. Beautiful is flirting with me.

  "Yeah, well, I don't have time right now. First, I need to get this homework done."

  "Ah, right, your own personal torture. Need some help? I am a math geek."

  I laughed. "Geek" was the last word anyone would use to describe Tristan.

  That's how it all started. With two classes together and team projects to work on, I saw him every other day during the week. He helped me with my calculus, I helped him perfect his essays and we kept each other company in our classes. Each time we were together, I felt another click in my heart and that was probably not good.

  I honestly couldn't explain my behavior. I should have pulled away, if I knew what was good for me. Instead, I was drawn toward him. He brought something out in me I never knew was there. I couldn't pinpoint what it was, but it felt good. Emotionally good. Well, physically good, too. But also emotionally. Really.

  Even more than my own behavior, I certainly didn't understand his—he could easily take his pick of girls. I didn't complain, of course. Our conversations centered on homework, college and the weather—pretty boring, yet safe, topics. The more time we spent together, the better I felt around him. The mind-nudge had all but disappeared.

  Spending time with Tristan on campus left little time for my research. But there wasn't much to do, anyway. The deeper I sunk into it, the more outlandish it became. All I found were myths—telepaths, witches, werewolves, vampires—and even then, each had only one or two of our characteristics. Nothing matched, not even fantasy. I came to a dead-end with no idea where to go next.

  Chapter 3

  On a late September Saturday, Mom finally held the Grand Opening of the bookstore. She'd been working long hours cleaning, painting and setting up. I helped her some, but she insisted I spend more time writing. So she hired Owen, who looked like he should still be in college, but wasn't. I didn't ask, but I guessed he'd dropped out to enjoy the Florida lifestyle of sun and fun, although I thought he was on the wrong coast. He seemed to belong in California, hanging out with the surfers.

  I volunteered to help with the Grand Opening. I thought they might need it, but it was also for selfish reasons, hoping it would assuage my guilt for sneaking around so much. Mom had very good reasons for protecting our secrets—promises to people she didn't like and hadn't seen since I was a baby, but good reasons nonetheless—but I also felt justified. I just wishe
d it didn't have to be like this.

  "Good morning, little dudette," Owen greeted when I entered the bookstore. I grunted. "Hmm…not a good morning?"

  "It's nine-thirty on a Saturday and I'm not in bed. What could be good about it?" I muttered.

  He nodded and laughed. "Yeah, know what ya mean."

  I watched as he enthusiastically cleaned the counter, contradicting his words.

  "You look like a morning person to me."

  He threw me a disgusted look, though his sapphire-blue eyes gleamed with humor. "I take that as an insult."

  "So you're not always like this?"

  He scrubbed his hand through his blond hair as he seemed to think about it. "I have no idea. Don't see this time of day whenever I can help it."

  He winked at me. It was cute, but it didn't have that mind-fogging effect Tristan's wink did. He wasn't ugly or even unattractive, but…well, not Mr. Beautiful. In fact, in the looks department, Owen compared to Tristan like I compared to Mom. She disagreed, saying Owen looked like a sweet James Dean, one of her favorite actors from the old movies she loved so much.

  "You want some coffee?" I asked. "I could sure use some."

  "Why don't you two go get some for all of us?" Mom called from somewhere between rows of bookshelves. "Take a five out of the drawer."

  Mom didn't excite easily, but the way she gushed about Owen—how great he was, such a good worker, funny, yada, yada—you'd think he stepped right out of the pages of a book about Mr. Right. When I asked her why she didn't go out with him, she said she needed a man-break. Besides, she'd said, he was closer to my age than hers. Yep, she was trying to set us up. Hence, sending us both to do a one-person job.

  "That's okay, Owen," I said. "I think I can manage."

  Warmth and humidity already hung in the air, but a salty Gulf breeze awakened my senses as I crossed the main business street of Cape Heron, a sleepy little resort town—for now, anyway. It was a small town among many dotting the Gulf Coast between Sarasota and Fort Myers. The region would grow busier soon as the first snowbirds left their summer homes in the north and came south for the winter.

  Though season hadn't started, I wasn't surprised to find a line at the coffee shop, since it was the only one on Fifth Street. It was actually an old-style diner with wood and vinyl booths and a row of peg-like stools pinned in front of the counter. The smells of smoky bacon, sweet pancakes and pungent coffee beans mixed in the air, reminding me of the many diners we stopped at during our moves. I also smelled old-lady night cream and Ben-Gay on the couple in front of me, light enough that I knew it was applied last night.

  While I waited, I observed people, a habit I picked up as a writer. People-watching gave me something to do with my abundant alone time and gave me ideas for my characters. I was lost in thought while watching a man with gray, caterpillar eyebrows and a matching mustache sip his coffee at the counter, a newspaper in front of him. His mustache crawled as he silently moved his lips while reading. He'd be a great werewolf, perhaps a pack leader.

  "Hello, sexy Lexi," a lovely voice murmured in my ear.

  I spun around to find Tristan just behind me, leaning over, very close. Mmm…he smells so good.

  "Sorry, you don't like Lexi, do you?" He smiled.

  Actually, I love the way it sounds from you. Did he really call me sexy?

  "It wasn't the Lexi part," I said pointedly.

  His smile widened, his eyes sparkling brighter. "So, I can call you Lexi?"

  "Not in public." I never went by Lexi specifically because of that nickname.

  "But in private is okay," he said. It wasn't a question. And he followed it with his devastating smile. My turn was up and the cashier had to ask me three times for my order before I even realized she was talking to me.

  "Make that four coffees," Tristan said to the cashier as he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. "I got it."

  He smiled irresistibly as he paid and I just couldn't bring myself to argue. When the cashier placed the steaming cups on the counter, I deliberated how I'd carry three without burning myself. Maybe it really was a two-person job.

  "Let me help," Tristan said.

  He grabbed one of the Styrofoam cups just as I did. An electric pulse flew through my hand and up my arm as our fingers touched. I flinched and looked up at him. He smiled. He felt it, too, it seemed, but hadn't pulled back. It was, admittedly, a pleasurable sensation. It was the first time we'd ever touched—except when I collided with him that first night. When there had also been a shock. Weird… I took the other two cups and walked out without a word.

  My stomach tightened as we crossed the street—Mr. Beautiful and my goddess-like mother were about to meet. The cowbell on the front door jangled when we walked in and Mom came from the back room, her arms loaded with glossy hardcover books. She looked up at me, then behind me at Tristan. She stopped dead and the books crashed to the floor. Her mouth fell open, as did mine. Mom never dropped things—she had excellent reflexes. She just stood there stiffly, still staring at him. Please, please don't let them….

  "Um, Sophia?" I said, puzzled by her reaction. It wasn't exactly what I expected.

  She continued glaring at Tristan and I realized I should make introductions, but my voice trailed off in the middle of them. Mom paid absolutely no attention to me and I suddenly felt like the outsider. Her eyes narrowed tightly at Tristan as she lifted her chin. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tristan just barely nod. Mom, almost imperceptibly, tilted her head in response. And then, to my complete embarrassment, she turned on her heel and marched to the back room. She said something harsh to Owen and he rushed out. He stiffened when he saw Tristan, nodded and then hurriedly picked up the books.

  "Sorry about that," I said.

  "Sure, no problem," Tristan said, watching the doorway to the backroom, as if expecting her to come back out…or wanting to follow her.

  I moaned internally.

  "Thanks for the coffee." I made my voice light so it wouldn't betray my feelings of defeat and disappointment.

  He pulled his eyes away from the back room and turned to me.

  "My pleasure. I'll see you later." He leaned closer and whispered, "Bye, sexy Lexi."

  Stunned, I looked up at him. He flashed a smile, then strode out of the store, leaving me in a daze. Could he possibly…? Not him and Mom? Maybe…just maybe? My heart sped with hope.

  But then I remembered Mom. I trudged to the back room where she paced around a stack of boxes.

  "What was that all about?" I demanded.

  "What?" False innocence filled her tone.

  "Um, your warm welcome to Tristan?"

  "Oh, that. Sorry." She waved it off.

  "Mom," I whispered through clenched teeth, hoping Owen didn't overhear us. "You were really rude. That was so embarrassing. I kind of like this guy."

  Mom's eyes grew wide. "You like him? How do you even know him?"

  She sounded angry, startling me into forgetting that I was the one upset.

  "He's in two of my classes and on my communications team."

  Her eyes flashed. "I can't believe you haven't told me about him!"

  I moaned with guilt, avoiding her glare by looking at the floor as I pulled at my hair. I tried to avoid the full truth. "Well, it's not like there's anything to it…."

  "That could change. So what's the rest?" She knew me too well.

  I continued to stare at the floor, yanking and twisting my hair. "Well, I knew you'd want to meet him and I was afraid…you and Tristan…well, you know…."

  My insides squirmed uncomfortably. Mom surprised me with a loud, "Ha!" My head snapped up to see her smug expression.

  "That, my dear, is one thing you don't need to worry about," she said. "I have absolutely no interest in him and I strongly wish you wouldn't, either."

  "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 eve
n 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.