“Now, a selfie with you,” Annalise demanded.
Ele shrugged. In for a penny, in for a pound.
Tristan stood off to the side, capturing them in the background.
“I wanna see,” she said, running to Tristan.
He knelt and showed her the photos. Satisfied, Annalise turned and ran back to Ele, hugging her hard.
Then, the Ramseys were leaving, the game was breaking up, and Ele was disappearing up the boardwalk with Michael in front and Robert following behind. When they got to the elevator, she paused.
“It’s not midnight yet,” she said to Robert.
14
28 June
The Michigan Inn
Tristan entered the elevator with Rowan and Caleb, strangely frustrated. Which was ridiculous. His team had advanced to the knockout stage of the tournament. He’d enjoyed a fun evening with his mates. Ele had ventured out, without escort, and looked to have a good time. And wasn’t that the shit of it? Looking up and seeing her there, comfortable and radiant, had filled him up with a pride he’d thought he could only experience when he put the ball in the back of the net. Shocked and a bit awed by her presence, he’d been unable to hold back the joy
he felt, rocking a shit-eating grin all night.
But he hadn’t been able to reap any of the rewards of her outing. He’d hardly spoken to her, he hadn’t gotten to touch her, and he certainly hadn’t gotten to put his mouth on hers. Hence the unfulfilled emptiness in the aftermath.
When he glanced up, he found Rowan’s gaze locked on him. He quirked an eyebrow, a silent question he knew he would get no answer to. Rowan knew what was going on—not the extent of it maybe—but he hadn’t asked for any clarification, and Tristan hadn’t offered any. Rowan was his closest friend, but they were guys. Feeling all sad because he couldn’t spend time with a girl was not something he was going to admit to anyone—even or especially with Rowan. His buddy had some beef with the palace, and although they avoided politics as much as they avoided gushy feelings, Rowan’s stance on the aristocracy of their country was not positive.
Rowan merely shook his head and then turned his gaze to the elevator doors.
“Football tournament?” Caleb asked as the car stopped.
“Not tonight, Junior,” Ro responded. “We have to be up and on the plane early tomorrow. Curfew observed.”
Rowan stepped out first and didn’t see Caleb bring his hand up to his forehead in a mock salute. Tristan snickered but filed out.
“Aye, aye, Skipper,” Caleb joked.
Rowan walked to his room.
Caleb and Tristan exchanged a confused look, and Caleb mouthed, What the fuck?
Tristan shrugged, hoping he wasn’t the cause of Rowan’s worried face and dictatorial demeanor.
Caleb stopped at his door and whispered to Tristan, “You up for it?”
But Tristan found he really wasn’t. He was stupidly sulky and wasn’t up for the barb-and-jab, shit-talking company tonight. He would either be too snippy to Caleb or too easy a target. Neither outcome sounded like a particularly good idea.
“Nah, I’m kind of tired. And we have to pack. We should probably get all of our stuff ready, so we aren’t scrambling in the morning. Based on Ro’s mood, it’d be better to not piss him off.”
Caleb’s disappointment was obvious, but he didn’t make note of it. He shrugged, too, and walked into his room. “Don’t forget my wake-up call, Tris,” he said before the door closed behind him.
Tristan shook his head but knew he’d bang on Caleb’s door thirty minutes before departure to make sure he was up and moving. “But pack tonight,” Tristan reminded. Loudly.
“Yeah, yeah,” he heard Caleb’s response, muffled by the walls and door.
Smiling, he opened the door to his room. He kicked off his shoes when he entered and then started the arduous task of packing. He pulled out his suitcase when a knock sounded at the door.
“Come on, C. I told you I’d—” He opened it to find Robert standing there.