Crave (Harlequin Teen)

accepted the headset from him, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. His fingers brushed mine. Oh, of course. If he’d given the headset directly to Mrs. Daniels, then he couldn’t touch my fingers and drive me even more crazy.
    My temper shooting up, I snapped, “Thanks.”
    I finished the conversation with the amused director, then stomped down the metal bleachers, my footsteps ringing clear as bells despite the fact that the captain was yelling out instructions for the team.
    “Miss Savannah,” one of the freshmen managers said as I returned to the sound system. “Are you ready for us to go put out the game-day locker notes?”
    “Yes,” I replied out of habit without looking up. We switched out this duty every other week with the cheerleaders and had it down to a science. Then I had an idea. “On second thought, wait. Let’s change things up. Tristan needs to know how to do that, too. So one of you stay with me, and one of you go with him to put up the notes.” It was pure genius. Why hadn’t I thought of this before?
    “Which one—”
    “Either, I don’t care.” I was snapping at the poor freshmen now. Great. I took a deep breath, made myself smile a little and said in a softer tone, “You two decide.”
    My forced smile turned into a real one when the girls had to resort to a quick game of rock-paper-scissors to decide who would go. The victor gave a short squeal of delight.
    Tristan scowled at me before walking off with the winner toward the school buildings.
    Once he was gone from sight, I sighed and rolled the tension out of my shoulders. Carrying the sound system back to the office this morning wouldn’t be fun, but I’d done it most of last summer without his help. I’d carry the heavier MegaVox so my manager could have the much lighter jam box. It would be worth it just to have a break from the relentless need I felt when around him. Plus, he wouldn’t have a chance this morning to ask me out, since he always asked right after we locked up the sound system at the end of every practice.
    Once we reached Mrs. Daniels’s office, I had another brilliant idea. I also had my manager help me load all the Secret Sis gifts into my truck so Tristan wouldn’t need to help me later.
    Unfortunately, a quick stop by my locker before lunch proved I hadn’t totally thwarted him. He hadn’t just put out good-luck notes on the football players’ lockers. He’d also left me a little note, handwritten across the back of a blue Charmers game-day note and stuffed between the slats of my locker. Usually the game-day notes said something like “Good luck at tonight’s game!” This note said something different.
     
    Please have dinner with me.
     
    That night, I went through the first half of the game on autopilot, too lost in thought to see any of the action on the field.
    I wished I could ask someone what to do about Tristan. Then again, I knew all my friends and family well enough to guess what each one would say if asked.
    Michelle kept an eye on social status like some people memorized sports stats. For her, my dating Tristan would be an easy and ecstatic yes! After all, Tristan was rock-star hot in every way. And as Michelle and many other girls at JHS would see it, dating Tristan would mean an instant rise in social status, making a girl immediately worthy of notice. The longer a girl could hold his attention, the more noteworthy she became.
    How many girls used Tristan for status points alone, and not because they cared about him as a person?
    I sighed.
    Then there was Anne’s take. She would be quick to point out how notoriously short Tristan’s attention span was when it came to girls. No girl had lasted longer than two months on Tristan’s arm before he moved to the next.
    Did I really want to fall for someone who would break my heart in a matter of weeks?
    Carrie also wouldn’t hesitate with her answer. Boys were a waste of time. Focus on getting into a good college.
    “Miss Savannah?” someone whispered. “Do you have an extra bobby pin?”
    Without even looking, I grabbed a few from my bag and handed them over.
    Nanna would scowl and threaten to throttle me for even asking. You know the rules! she would say while shaking a gnarled finger at me.
    And my mother—
    The referee blew his whistle, signaling the end of the second quarter and the start of halftime. And time for me to get back to work.
    For a while, I was too busy to think about anything other than helping the dancers