Crave (Harlequin Teen)

fight.” I wasn’t his girlfriend. He hadn’t even spoken to me for years. Why fight his best friend over me?
    “Don’t say that,” he ground out, his eyes darkening a little. “Fighting for you is always worth it.”
    His words made tears prick my eyes and my breath catch in my chest. Oh, how I wished this weren’t just a dream.
    “Will Dylan…want to get even?” Maybe I shouldn’t have asked that. After all, we were talking about his former best friend.
    “No.” He gave a wry smile. “He already got his revenge. My parents are yanking me off the team for the rest of the year.”
    I forgot to breathe. How many times had I overheard Tristan talking about wanting to play in the NFL? Football was everything to him. Just like dancing had been for me.
    And now he’d lost his dream…because of me. “Oh, Tristan. I’m so sorry.”
    My eyes burned, and I blinked tears away. I had to remember this was just a dream. It wasn’t reality.
    So why did I have this urgent need to hug him?
    “It wasn’t your fault,” Tristan said. “If he hadn’t picked a fight with me about you, he would have eventually found some other way to tick me off. My dad’s right. I shouldn’t have lost control like that during the game.”
    And yet he still sounded upset, his voice tight, every word short and clipped.
    The idea of him hurting caused my chest to ache. I had to do something.
    And so, because it was just a dream where I could do anything I wanted with no consequences, I laid a shaky hand over his where it rested in the grass.
    He drew in a quick breath and looked down at our hands.
    Okay, maybe I shouldn’t touch him, even in a dream.
    I started to pull my hand back, but he spread his fingers then squeezed them together again, capturing mine in between.
    I couldn’t help it; I sighed.
    He smiled but didn’t look up from our intertwined fingers.
    “Why does that feel so right?” I murmured past the tightness in my throat.
    His smile faded as he looked up at me with green eyes that were darkening like emeralds turned away from the light. “Why do you keep fighting this feeling?”
    “Because I’m not supposed to want this.”
    His smile returned, slowly curving his lips up. “But you do anyway.”
    I nodded, staring right into his eyes instead of at his nose. Only in my sleep could this ever be safe. It was a luxury I would take advantage of as long as I could.
    “So do you still think I’m another of your stalkers?”
    “I don’t know. You seem fairly recovered in history, judging by how you’ve ignored me for weeks now.”
    His chuckle was a deep, warm rumble that made my pulse race. “I’m not ignoring you. Just trying not to scare you away again. You know, I’m not supposed to want this, either.”
    My heart stopped for a second.
    He huffed out a short sigh. “Savannah, can’t we at least be friends?”
    “I would love that.” It came out on a sigh without any hesitation. I wasn’t breaking my family’s rules by being friends and holding hands with someone in a dream, right?
    “Good. I’ll remember you said that.” He slowly raised our hands to press a too-warm, too-real-feeling kiss to the back of my hand.

CHAPTER 11
    Savannah
    When I woke up, I could swear I still felt the press of Tristan’s lips against my skin, and I wanted to cry. Why did the good dreams never seem to last long enough?
    Then again, maybe I should be glad it was only a dream. Otherwise I would be responsible for Tristan’s missing out on playing football for the rest of the year.
    I rolled over, looked at my alarm clock then sighed. No time for bawling like a baby over a dream. I needed to get up and ready for the fundraiser. The Charmers were working as carhops at the local Sonic today. All tips would go toward paying for things like our team charm bracelets, duffel bags and game-day team shirts. I and some of the other Charmers were working the early lunch hour, so the tips should be good for our shift.
    The job was easy, just delivering food and taking money, and made even easier by the Sonic manager’s counting out change for us. Or at least the job had been easy until a certain black, chromed-out, single-cab Dodge Ram rumbled into a parking spot near the glass doors of the Sonic building. Instantly, that familiar ache filled my chest and stomach.
    The driver-side window rolled down, revealing the driver. I barely held back a sigh. Tristan should not be allowed to wear sunshades. It ought to be illegal to