Page 57 of Plotting Summer

His smile broadens. “Deal.”

“So, what caused the rift between you and Walker?”

“You did.”

“Me?” I expect him to say he’s kidding, but he doesn’t. “What did I have to do with it?”

Tristan’s hand lifts off the seat behind me, and he mindlessly pushes a hair from my face. It doesn’t feel mindless given the focused way he’s looking at me, but it’s the only thing that my risk-averse brain can latch onto. And it’s the only way I can convince my dancing nerve endings to calm themselves down and pay attention. “Do you remember the last day of school your freshman year when we were out chatting on my dock about our summer plans and Walker came out to get you? He’d said that your mom wanted you to ride along with your grandma to the store to help her with her grocery shopping?”

Of course I remember it. Any memory involving Tristan has been safely stored away into a separate compartment of my brain that’s only function is to record detailed memories of him. “He’d had a bad day at golf practice.”

Tristan nods. “When you headed inside, I told him to ease up on you. He responded that I should mind my own business and started back to the house. I probably should have left it there, but instead, I followed him. I called him some things I regret and said that you didn’t deserve to be treated the way he treated you.”

My heart swells at the thought of Tristan championing my awkward freshman self, even if it was to my brother. “And that was it?”

“No. In a few choice words of his own, Walker basically said that I was one to talk. He accused me of constantly toying with you while I had a girlfriend.” Tristan’s gaze goes distant for a brief moment. “Once he shoved me, the rest gets a bit hazy. Thankfully, Beau heard the commotion and broke things up before more than our pride was injured.” His eyes return to mine. “I never would have toyed with you. Not intentionally. I swear it.”

The idea is almost laughable. Sure, Tristan paid more attention to me than any other guy, but he never, not once, did something to lead me on. Trust me, I would have remembered if he had. “I never felt like you did.” I reach out to squeeze his hand resting on the seat between us. It’s meant as a friendly gesture, but when my hand makes contact with his, he not only welcomes it but intertwines our fingers. What? Last I checked, friends don’t hold hands. At least not co-ed friends. But that’s very clearly what we’re doing, and my brain is going into hyperdrive, trying to figure out what in the world is happening.

“My turn,” Tristan says, setting his other hand against my arm, and with both contact points, a surge of excitement flows through me as if he’s an energy source and I’m the conductor for it. “What were you thinking about when I found you the day of our boat ride? What movie was playing in your head?”

I set myself up for this entirely, and my stomach still flutters with nerves, but Tristan’s hands on me make me feel invincible. And a little reckless. “I was thinking about”—I lean in close and put my lips right next to his ear—“Beau.”

Tristan glances over at me, his face so close that we're one brief movement away from our smiling lips touching. “You were not,” he says. His gaze searches mine as if he’s trying to determine if I’m serious.

I shrug, attempting to fight my smile with little success. “That uniform of his⁠—”

“He didn’t wear a uniform in high school.” And suddenly, Tristan’s hands are at my sides, and he’s tickling me!

“Okay, okay!” I say through my squirming giggle.

He pauses, his fingers still in position. And I realize I’ve completely underutilized tickling in my books. Why did I never see it as sexy until now? “You’re going to tell me the truth this time?” he says.

I nod, smiling like a smitten little kitten.

“And?” His fingers move just enough that I know he’s serious about continuing where he left off if he’s forced to.

“You were the one I was thinking about. Are you happy now?”

“Exceptionally.” Tristan smiles, his fingers relaxing but staying put exactly where they are. “Which also makes sense with what Heath mentioned to me on our run earlier.”

It’s my turn to gawk. “I knew it! I knew he told you I had a crush on you.”

“Had? I’m pretty sure he said has. As in present tense.”

“Oh, he’s in so much trouble.”

“So it’s true, then?” Tristan smiles. “You have a thing for me?”

“If you think I’m just going to hand over an answer without a victory⁠—”

His fingers tighten again, but before he can tickle me, I spring out of the golf cart and start running, a stream of laughter trailing behind me. I don’t get far when Tristan’s hand clasps my wrist, and he turns me toward him, pulling me against his body. “Does this count as a victory? Because I think it might.”

It does for me. Honestly, I can’t think of anything better than Tristan’s arms wrapped around me and him staring down at me with a yearning that matches my own. “I might have a little thing for you,” I whisper. Apparently my lungs have stopped functioning at full-capacity along with the rest of me.

“That’s good, because I might have a thing for you too.” His smile widens. “But mine isn’t little.”

My heart nearly bursts with his declaration. The man I’ve been pining after for practically my entire life has a thing for me? But it also doesn’t entirely make sense. And not just because it’s hard to believe it could be true. “But the other night at the villa, you seemed so eager to leave. And then you wanted to drive me back to Naples Saturday, which I assumed was your way of saying you were done with our arrangement—we’d agreed to do it until I went home.”