Ruthless Love (Ash and Innocence 1)

I didn’t move at first. So, he’d seen me drizzling the whiskey into my shake, had he? I wondered if he thought he’d be able to snitch on me to coach and get me benched for the game.

Whatever his plan, I didn’t intend to let him carry it out.

I stood suddenly, making the table screech as I jostled it to the side. The guy didn’t even have time to move before I had two fistfuls of his shirt and drove him backwards into the bar between two girls, who jumped out of the way, knocking over their shakes.

The place went from a happy hum of conversation to shocked silence in an instant. It was just me and the guy, our faces inches apart.

“You want to ask me that again?” I whispered.

His eyes were wide, and his face was shaking. He finally shook his head tightly.

I told myself to let him go, but my hands didn’t want to listen. I kept thinking of the fucking realtor and my dad—of how much I’d like to sink my fist into his face.

“Tristan!” Kennedy said. I felt her hands on me a second later, urging me back from the kid.

It was like snapping out of some kind of trance. I let him go, watching distractedly as he scurried away. One of the employees was on the phone, watching me with fear in his eyes.

I held my hands up. “I’m good,” I said. “He was just talking shit.”

Kennedy was looking at me in a way that made my stomach clench. I walked outside, part of me hoping she wouldn’t follow. But she caught up with me by my car.

Her eyebrows were drawn together. “What was that?”

“I told you. He was talking shit.”

She breathed out, chewing the side of her lip.

“What?” I asked, growing impatient.

“Nothing,” she said. “Do you mind just dropping me off at home instead of taking me to your house, though? I think that milkshake upset my stomach.”

I searched her face for some sign of what she was really thinking but found nothing. “Yeah. No problem.”29KennedyI found Tristan in the library after school. He was tutoring the same little freshman kid from the first time I’d listened in. I waved at Tristan, who nodded back at me before returning to finish his session with the freshman.

I waited nearby, reading over the essay I felt like I’d been working on for weeks while I listened to him. After a few seconds, I realized they weren’t talking about writing.

“…you’d be surprised,” Tristan said.

The kid sighed. “Okay. I’ll actually try this time.”

“In person,” Tristan said warningly. “I don’t want to hear that you texted her, dropped a note in her locker, or anything in between. You walk up to her and say it. Okay?”

The kid nodded, then left, giving Tristan the customary fist bump on his way out.

“Relationship advice again?” I asked, taking the chair where the freshman had been sitting.

“Something like that. Look, I’m sorry about yesterday at Dead Ringers. I’ve been on edge ever since…”

I nodded, knowing what he was talking about. I’d figured as much, but it was good to see he felt like he could be open about it. “You can talk to me, Tristan. I’m not the enemy anymore.”

He laughed softly. “You shouldn’t have ever been the enemy. That was me being a dumbass.”

“No comment.”

Tristan pulled my essay over by his forefinger, shooting me a curious glance. “You finish it?”

“Until you read it and tell me it’s garbage. Yes, I did.”

He hunched over the paper, reading it slowly, running his finger along as he went. Sometimes, he’d circle back to the top of a paragraph, rereading a single sentence several times. Finally, he pushed it back a hair and nodded his approval. “I’m afraid I can’t give you any feedback on this. Not here,” he added quietly.

“What?”

“Trade secrets of the essayist. If the wrong person hears, I could lose my gig as the best tutor in the school.”

“What a tragedy that would be.”

“You can be sassy, or you can come with me and get what you need to turn this from an ‘A’ to an ‘A+.’ It’s your choice, Wheels.”

I slapped his arm. “Don’t call me that.”

“The best terms of endearment are the ones that started as insults.”

I frowned. “I’m pretty sure that’s not true.”

Tristan stood, reaching for my hand. “You coming, or not?”

I took his hand in mine, secretly enjoying the way it felt to be pulled along through the shelves of books by him. We weaved our way to the back of the library where he turned around and put my back to a shelf.

We were relatively isolated, except for a window behind us that looked out on a parking lot that would be empty of people for another few hours. I suddenly understood his little secret was bullshit, but I wasn’t sure I cared.