Page 32 of Twisted Play
That’s how Rory and I met our freshman year—our scholarships covered our tuition, but not a penny more. We’d both volunteered at the food bank out of a misplaced sense of guilt, like we were taking resources meant for someone else, along with two other women. Now, I knew better, but I wouldn’t have traded those nights bonding with my now-best friends for anything.
My eyes shot to hers, finding only understanding. “Idon’t have time to pull volunteer shifts,” I sighed. “It’ll be fine.”
“Itwon’tbe fine,” she snapped. “I’m the student director of the food bank now, remember? Take food if you need it.”
“Ladies?” a smooth, masculine voice interrupted from behind me, like warm honey running down my spine.
I turned in my seat, surprised to see Tristan Baptiste standing there, one hand on the back of my chair, his smile wide with delight. I flushed—how much of our conversation had he heard?
“May I join you?” he continued, holding up his own sandwich and coffee.
Rory’s eyes flicked between him and me, and then she grinned. “I was just leaving, actually. And Eva?” She waited for my gaze to meet hers. “You deserve good things in your life.”
Tristan slid into her seat, and I had to tear my eyes away from his perfect fucking cheekbones, golden eyes, and dark brown skin to wave goodbye to Rory.
“Good morning,” I murmured, suddenly shy, still irrationally embarrassed at how quickly I’d inhaled my burrito, and that he might have heard Rory tell me to go to the food bank, as if fat women couldn’t also be poor, or as if I were fat because I devoured my food.
“How’re you doing?” he asked, the corners of his eyes soft with concern.
What did this gorgeous hockey god want? I sipped at my delicious coffee confection, letting the sugar rush through me, and peered at Tristan while I collected myself. Rory might get to see hot-mess Eva, but nobody else did. “Busy. School—work—the team—you know, it keeps me hopping.”
And the blackmail. Mustn’t forget the blackmail.
“Is your job with the team work-study?”
I laughed. “In theory. But you know how it is—D1 sports means a lot of unpaid hours in exchange for credits I don’t really need.”
“I pick up bartending shifts in the off season,” he offered. “It’s not a lot, but…” He trailed off then shrugged. “I can’t work during the season, and my hockey scholarship doesn’t cover everything. And I hate being a burden to my family.”
Disarmed by his honesty, my icy mien defrosted a hair as I did my best to ignore the eyes that followed our every movement. Discomfort wiggled down my spine at our fellow students dissecting me and wondering what one of the stars of the hockey team was doing with a woman like me.
Tristan demolished his first breakfast sandwich, then a second, keeping up the small talk. He eyed the third before sliding it back into the paper bag.
“For my second breakfast,” he explained. “We missed you at practice yesterday.”
I blinked.
“Imissed you,” he said, ducking his head as if embarrassed. “You hadn’t missed a single one before that.”
My eyes shot to his. He’d noticed?
“So I worried.”
A frisson of worry crept up my spine. First Cole, now Tristan. Why were they both interested in me all of a sudden? My life was complicated enough—the last thing I needed was heartbreak.
Tristan reached across the table to take my free hand in his, electricity sparking everywhere our skin touched.
I attempted to tug my hand away, only for him to tighten his grip, his fingers burning into my skin like brands.
“You okay?” he asked me.
“One hundred percent. I just need to go study for my bio-chem exam,” I said, trying to stand.
“Lucky me, I’m on the way to the library too,” he said, as if I’d told him where I intended to study, and us studying together there was a foregone conclusion. “Let’s go.”
He gathered up our trash and tossed it, releasing my hand only for as long as it took me to stand before snatching it back.
When I tried to tug it away again, he ignored me, instead twining his fingers in mine as we wound our way through the throngs of students heading to their morning classes.
