Playing with Forever

Chapter 21: An Unappealing Offer Part III

"Hey, beautiful."

I ignored Tristan, just continued to buy my caffeine-free soda from the vending machine. Caffeine made me even more jittery than normal, but I was addicted to soda. Any kind would do, as long as it was injected with sugar.

"My parents are loaning me our cabin for Thanksgiving," he continued, leaning smugly against the machine, right in my way. "Picture it: you, me, a long weekend, and a king-size bed."

I continued to fumble with the machine, refusing to look at his face. "Looks like you're sleeping on your own, Tristan. You couldn't pay me to go with you."

"That can be arranged."

Ugh. "Get away from me, Tristan."

"Why spend yours when you can spend mine?" he taunted.

"Oh, that's right, I hate you. Now leave me alone or I'll report you for harassment."

He reached out and put a hand on my neck, his thumb brushing my jawline. "So pretty when you're pissed." I jerked away. He just laughed and I pushed past him so I could be with Sam for lunch. The nerve...

I slammed my books down when I got to our usual spot under the tree, still fuming about Tristan and the fact that I hadn't gotten my root beer. Only this time, I was getting to the meat of things. "Sam, I have a question."

"I might have an answer," he said, marking his page in The Metamorphosis with an empty granola bar wrapper and putting it away now that I had arrived.

"Auras tell things about a person," I reiterated.

He nodded. "Yes."

"So how do you explain Tristan's?"

"Tristan," Sam repeated, still-distractingly beautiful eyes darkening in a glare.

"I mean, it's super bright, like nothing I've ever seen—that dark red with flashes of silver. Is he immortal, too?"

He glowered. "No. Tristan is not immortal. Gold is the color of immortal auras."

"Then what is he?"

"Do you remember how I said there were magical people in the world?" Sam asked. I cocked my head as I thought back to Halloween night and all he had told me. I vaguely remembered him saying something to that effect. He continued, "I was not just referring to us immortals. Magic comes in many forms, as talents. Tristan has a talent reinforced by magic, which is why his aura has silver in it. Can you guess his talent?"

Hm. I thought for a moment, considering. "Popularity?" I tried. Everyone adored Tristan, to the point where it couldn't be natural, surely. 

Sam shook his head, brown eyes dancing angrily as he looked at me. There was no mistake that Sam hated Tristan as much as Tristan hated him. "Persuasion," he drew out mockingly.

The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. How Tristan got everything he wanted. How he got so many girls to go out with him. Why he could smooth over disagreements in his favor, how his opinion was suddenly everyone's opinion. Why he was so put out by the fact that he couldn't persuade me. "I get it!"

Sam called him a bad name in French, and I scolded him for his explicit language. "He is," Sam insisted angrily, squishing a section of orange in his hand and squirting juice out between his fingers. I yelped when some of it splashed me. I agreed with his assessment of Tristan, but I wasn't going to say it in such vulgar words. "He uses it for personal gain."

True. He did. I had definitely felt Tristan's power every time he harassed me. Ugh, what a jerk.

Tristan's proposition stuck with me, as did the anger it caused, and the only way I knew how to take out my anger was on the volleyball court. It was just a normal practice, but my fury fueled me too much, made me too aggressive. Stupidly, I went for a dive I shouldn't have. I paid for it.

The next morning, I called Sam, angry at myself for getting into such a pickle. "Bonjour, Abigail," he mumbled, munching on toast or cereal or whatever he ate in probably mass quantities for breakfast.

"Can I ask you for a favor?"

"Of course."

I sighed, frustrated. "Can you give me a ride to school today?"

He was unfazed, crunching another bite of breakfast. "Sure. I'll pick you up in twenty minutes, then?"

"Thanks, Sam."

"Mhm."

I was sitting on the front porch when he pulled up. I glanced at him when his car approached, then sucked up my pride and limped down the driveway.

"Abigail, what happened?" he asked, popping out of the car and wrapping an arm around my back to help support me. Unnecessary, but nice, the fact that he reacted so quickly and with such concern.

I liked having a friend who cared.

I shook my head in response. "Nothing. I just have a bad knee, and sometimes it acts up if I push it too hard. That's why I need a ride—I can't walk to school, and I can't drive myself with it." Sam helped me into his car, then drove off towards school after buckling himself in and making sure I was comfortable. "I really appreciate this, Sam," I told him again because it was true.

"Does your knee do this often?" he asked, concern clear in his voice.

"Sometimes. I busted it really badly a few years ago, and it didn't heal properly. I probably should have had surgery, but whatever. It just flares every once in a while, but I deal just fine." Don't ask me more than that.

"I am sorry," he said, glancing over at me. He meant it.

When we pulled up to school, Sam opened my door and offered me his hand. I took it gratefully and let him help me out. Touching his hand sent a shock of excitement through my arm and warmth pooled in my belly, and I felt a blush heat up my face. His paint spattered hand was welcoming and a little rough. I let my hand linger in his a moment too long, then snatched it back, embarrassed. I glanced up at him and saw him peering at me with soft eyes and I quickly looked away.

Get it together, Abby. You're not ready to have feelings for him. For anyone.

Mina and Coach were the only ones to mention my limp while I had to sit out on practice that afternoon. I had made it through the day, but my knee was sore and it ached. It was a terribly long day and I could barely wait for it be over. Sam was taking me to get Nate from daycare and then on to home where I'd put my leg up and ice the knee with a bag of frozen peas.

As we were walking out to his car that evening, though, my knee gave out, despite the brace I'd worn all day. I cried out in surprise as I started to fall, involuntarily grabbing Sam's shoulder, and he reached out and snatched me by the waist. He pulled me against his body, hips to hips, chest to chest. I completely froze at the feel of his body against mine and stayed put.

"Are you alright?" he asked, still balancing most of my weight with concern in his expression.

I didn't move. "Yes, I'm fine." My voice came out breathier than I intended.

Sam stared down at my face, our eyes locked for a long moment. His eyes darkened the longer he looked at me, and I couldn't deny the heat starting to building between us. Whatever I was feeling, he felt it, too. His hands tightened on my waist. Excitement started brewing inside me, but fear quickly overcame it. I abruptly looked away, and he took the opportunity to gently steady me. Embarrassed, I hastily took my hands off him as if they'd burned me. His hands, though, lingered on my waist before slowly sliding off my sides.

I stood awkwardly for a few moments, then turned away with another furious blush and walked the rest of the way to the car. Sam reluctantly followed me.

Get it together, Abby, I repeated.