Page 59 of Tripped Up

“Then get used to it.” I wink at her. “Babe.”

Letting out a little eep, she flushes a brilliant red.

“Gross,” Bex interrupts. “Stop flirting where I have to see you.”

“You can leave,” I tell my sister, not taking my eyes off Elsy.

My girl elbows me. “She’s leaving soon enough.”

Relenting, I give her some more personal space. I have to remove my arm from around her in order to eat my burger, but she doesn’t squirm away, so I consider that a success.

I like this, having her by my side as we hang out with my teammates. They’re my family, my brothers. Some of them are married, a few have kids, but mostly, they’re a bunch of dudes who hang out and drink beer after games. It’s nice to have a different perspective in the mix.

When the night ends, I drive my sister back to Elsy’s apartment. There was never any question that Bex would stay with her. We’re close, but they’re closer.

I give Bex a hug goodnight, and she gives me a knowing look as she goes inside.

Catching Elsy’s hand, I pull her back. She stumbles into me, her hand landing on my chest, and I take care steadying her.

“We should talk,” she says softly.

My heart thuds in my chest. “Okay.”

“This is…” She blows out a breath. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

She looks away. “Um…”

“Elsy?”

When she continues to avoid my stare, chewing on her lips, my insides freeze over. If she’s not interested in this, if she’s not as invested as I am, I don’t want to pressure her and make her resent me.

“Got it. I’ll give you some space.”

“Wyatt…”

“Goodnight, Elsy.” Ducking down, I press a soft kiss to her cheek. “Sleep well.”

twenty-one

Elsy

Why does Wyatt keep pulling this shit the night before he goes on a road trip? It’s like he’s confusing me on purpose, like he enjoys pulling the rug out from beneath me and then scurrying away to avoid the fallout.

Logically, I know he’s at the mercy of the league’s schedule. He probably isn’t trying to do this on purpose.

Maybe.

Waking up with a Whitney sibling in bed beside me, but not the sibling I want, is a reminder of why this can’t happen. I can’t sacrifice my friendship with Bex.

We have time for another leisurely brunch—this time, no mimosas—before she has to leave for the airport and I have to head to rehearsal. There’s a performance tonight and I’m not feeling confident with the piece. I’ve been practicing all week, but there’s a bit of tricky fingering I haven’t quite been able to nail. I know I’ll get it eventually, but it’s going to take some work.

Anastasia is already in her seat in the rehearsal hall, her hair done up in curlers. I love that she has no shame about being authentically herself.

It also makes me glad that my go-to performance hairstyle is a sleek ponytail braid. Practice makes perfect, and I’ve been doing my hair this way for years at this point.

“You okay?” she asks as I pull my violin from the case.