Tripp

TRIPP

The Life Series Book 2

By

Kristen Kehoe

He still knows me, still makes me feel as no one else ever has, ever will, and yet, now I don’t want the reminder. Now I understand the girl in class who was running and I wonder if that’s my chosen path; running from Marcus, running from Tripp and my feelings, running from everything I can’t fight and win.

--
Rachel Reynolds,
Life Interrupted (The Life Series Book 1)
 

Copyright © 2015 by Kristen Kehoe

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.

Book Cover design by James at GoOnWrite.com

Editing by Billi Joy Carson at EddingAddict.com

Prologue

Present

Life is a series of choices. Like a basketball game—we all make decisions that push our playing status forward or backward, and we all have to live with the consequences of our choices. Do we want to be the guy with the ball when that buzzer is about to go off and we need a big play before it does? Can we handle being the person who takes the shot and misses? Or do we want to be the one who passes the ball and takes orders because we’re great at giving support, but not so great at owning the choices we make and their results?

I’ve always wanted the ball. I don’t mind passing or setting the screen, but then I’m going to roll out into the post with my hand up and demand the ball because I trust myself and my instincts, and because I don’t want to regret letting someone else take that shot.

At eighteen, there are very few things that I regret, very few moments when I asked for the ball and didn’t get it—and no, that’s not because I’m a guy and selfish, as more than one girl has been apt to point out. I don’t regret a lot of things; I grew up in a house and a family where regret wasn’t talked about—success was. And not in the “be successful or die” kind of way, but in more of a “work for what you want and overcome what stands in your way” type of mentality.

I don’t let things or people stand in my way; when they try, I work to get around them, and if that doesn’t make a difference, I do my best to go through them. When that fails, I call my two older brothers and together, the three of us can get through pretty much anything.

Anything, except Rachel, that is.

My story isn’t mine alone. It’s mine and Rachel’s, which might make me a giant pussy, but I’ve learned to accept what I’m unable to change—and I’ve tried to change it, trust me.

We became friends in elementary school. It was a day when I desperately needed a win for my recess football team, so the dumbass fifth graders would stop razzing me about being a pretty boy with no throwing arm. Not for the first time in my nine years did I curse the long and somewhat-girly eyelashes that were a constant source of teasing for me.

No matter how short I kept my blonde hair, or how regularly I handed out an ass whooping to those who dared to challenge me, they were always able to needle me with that one fact. On a side note, said lashes have since been praised by females and definitely given me a stronger game with the opposite sex.
Suck it
, Kyle Myers; I hope you’ve enjoyed the company of your hand thanks to your pizza face.

This particular day at recess I was done—done being hassled, done being called a pale comparison to my older brothers and their legendary recess wins, and done losing. While I had grown over the summer between third and fourth grade, none of my friends had. Who can throw a pass to a midget when the guy guarding him has an easy three inches on him?

I was standing on the blacktop, ball in my hand, scanning the crowd of people and looking for someone that was going to be able to see the ball
and
catch it when I heard someone yelling at the top of her lungs. My eyes tracked the sound and landed on a petite blonde head—Crazy Katie Bowers was screaming. I scanned over her; cute as she was, she was always screaming about something—and quite honestly, she terrified me. My eyes lighted on the dark, lean, and oh so tall girl next to her.

Rachel Reynolds, another pretty girl, but also one that had a reputation for being kind of a badass, in athletics and everything else. Boys didn’t mess with her, which was why she and I had never really spoken before. I didn’t like wasting my time, and a girl who wore “don’t touch me” as a shield was pretty much a guarantee of that. Although we’d never met, I knew who she was. Corvallis isn’t a big town. Even if it was, we lived a block from each other. I saw her when she was running, and when she played in the pickup games at the park.

Those memories had me calling out to her.

“Hey, Reynolds, come be on my football team.”

Crazy Katie turned her eyes on me, but I ignored her. I had my target in sight. Something told me Rachel was the girl who was going to save my nine-year-old pride.

Rachel stared at me for a second, and though she finally relented and walked over, her face was not what I was expecting. Even at nine, I was used to girls responding with smiles and laughter—shy praise followed by the occasional hair flip before they ran away—but Rachel gave me none of those things. Instead, she stared at me—damn near eye level in fact—and her light-gray eyes gave away no sign of shyness or intimidation.

I stood there staring right back, with a mouth that had gone suddenly dry, working to ignore the tickle of recognition at the back of my neck.

Katie rolled her eyes and spoke first, giving me the reaction I was used to. “Tripp Jones, you rang?” She giggled and nudged Rachel, causing her much-taller friend to frown down at her.

I ignored Katie, though her comment had eased that dryness in my mouth and given me a little of my confidence back. Rachel’d eyes bore into me, as steady and unreadable as they were before.

Neither of us said anything, and I had to hand it to her, she was amazing at the silent-intimidation game. Her face showed nothing—no interest, no question, no annoyance. It was straight. I was starting to sweat because as much as I wanted to prove to this girl that I was boss, I also really wanted her to be on my team.

Unable to take the silence any longer, I cracked first.

“So, you’re athletic,” I’m an idiot, “and big.”

I might have been young, but I knew these were
not
the things to say to a girl. I mean, when Tanner and Griff talked to girls, things like tall and big were absolutely
not
what came out of their mouths. Crap, even when I talked to girls these things didn’t usually come out of my mouth. What was wrong with me?

Oddly, though, Rachel’s expression didn’t turn offended. Instead, she almost looked like she might be smiling. “Did you have a question to ask me?”

Her voice was low and direct, and though relief rushed through me that she wasn’t punching me in the face—something I instinctively knew she’d be able to do well and without hesitation—I tried to play it cool with a little head nod. “I need someone tall. You’re a girl, but you’re taller than anyone on my team, and I need someone who can catch.”

It took what felt like forever before she nodded. “Okay. But you better be able to throw. I’m not only tall, I’m a winner.”

I may have fallen a little in love right there.

Just like that, we were friends. It didn’t take long before word got out, and by fifth grade she was on my actual flag-football team and we were doing everything together, even fighting. I think the reason we became so close so quickly was because Rachel was a lot like my brothers—unafraid to throw a punch or take a hit if she thought the situation called for it. She was tougher than almost all of my friends, and smart, too—a better athlete who also happened to be a hell of a gamer.

By middle school, she was my closest ally, the person I confided in and the only person whose opinion mattered. We fought, because Rachel could pretty much find idiocy in anything I did, but we never stayed apart. We had our own lives, but we were always there, just within reach whenever the other needed us. People used to question us constantly, sure that we were dating, but I would just laugh. Date Rachel? No, because I dated girls I could lose and I couldn’t lose Rachel.

Even when I hit my stride in the seventh grade and figured out just how great girls could be—
hello French kissing and second base
—I never touched Rachel. Yes, I’d noticed just how gorgeous she was, with her near-black hair, olive skin, and ever-changing sea-green to gray eyes, but I didn’t let myself think beyond that because she was off limits. She wasn’t someone I just wanted to be with when we were at the movies or a dance, I wanted to be with her all the time, and that meant I couldn’t kiss her.

Being the youngest of three boys put me ahead in the social game. I understood there were girls you dated, girls you flirted with, and girls you didn’t give the time of day to because they weren’t worth the headache—
thank you, Crazy Katie, for teaching me that in one hard lesson our first day of seventh grade
. I understood Rachel fell into none of these categories.

Rachel was my best friend—beyond that, outside of family, she was the person I cared for most in the world. I made a pact with myself never to touch or look at her as anything but a friend. I understood it wasn’t about what I wanted; it was about what I
neede
d, and for whatever reason, I needed her in my life more than I needed any other person.

Maybe that’s why my story is as much about her as it is about me; Rachel’s that girl who—no matter how I tried not to—I fell in love with. Maybe on that first day in fourth grade, maybe a different day when we were together, it doesn’t matter when I fell, as much as it matters that I did.

I fell for Rachel Reynolds, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fall back out.

1

Past

“You did not just say that.”

“The hell I didn’t. Hey, eat another one of my Sour Patch Kids and you’ll be learning to shoot a ball left-handed.”

I’m sitting on Rachel’s bed, shoveling in candy and seriously questioning her taste in movies. Because I’m fifteen and
always
freaking hungry, I think about reaching for the candy again despite her threat of pain, but then I look at her. If there’s one thing she’s serious about other than volleyball and being the best at everything, it’s her candy. Stronger men than I have paid the price for testing her. Still, I study her a moment to judge the sincerity in her words.

Her gaze is steady and her brow is raised as if challenging me. A part of me is tempted to battle her, to go for it and make her fight me, because as scary as she is, I’ve always been that much bigger and stronger. Since I know I’m as likely to get a knee in the balls as I am to get her candy, I settle for my water and the memory of my Skittles, which are long gone.

“How can you even think that
Friends with Benefits
is better than
Failure to Launch
? One’s J.T. and the other’s McConaughey. It’s like comparing apples and oranges.”

She snorts in her ever-so-ladylike fashion. “Don’t you think it’s weird how much you like McConaughey?”

“Um, you see how B.A. he is, right?”

“Still, it’s not like he’s James Bond,” she says and shoves another Sour Patch Kid in her mouth. For a second, I’m distracted by the small white grains of sugar that get stuck to her lip. I stare at them, mesmerized by the way they cling to that perfect mouth. She sweeps her tongue out and collects them; everything inside of me tightens and coils. Sweat pops out on the back of my neck and when I hear her voice, it sounds distant and far away.

Suddenly, the hunger inside of me is for far more than candy.

Jesus Christ, this is
Rachel
. She’s my best friend. Am I seriously turned on by her right now?

My answer comes when she shifts, leaning over me to grab the remote hanging limply from my fingertips; my body stands at attention, each hair on my arm prickling as her warm brown skin slides across mine, my mouth going dry when I inhale her scent. Then she’s gone, and I’m left sitting here, wound tighter than a string.

“Hey, Earth to Tripp. What’s wrong with you?”

I jerk and spill water all over myself, causing her to cuss me out as it splashes on her and then her covers.