Kristie Cook - Promise

"Not a math geek, huh?"

"Not even close." It was the only freshman core class I hadn't tested out of. But that was more than he needed to know.

"Well, you have fun with that. See you later. And thanks for making class interesting."

I cocked an eyebrow. I should have been thanking him. I had practically fallen out of my seat with silent giggles.

"Seriously. It's no fun writing notes to myself. I don't play along nearly as well as you do." He grinned. Then he did it again: he winked at me. My insides softened as I gawked at him. I'm such a fool .

"I'll see you later," I finally muttered when my head cleared. I made a beeline for the door before I made a bigger idiot of myself.

After calculus, I grabbed a soda and a bag of trail mix at the student union and headed for the seating area where our team would be meeting. I had just spread out my calculus text and notebook on the table when the familiar voice murmured close behind me.

"I've been waiting for you for a very long time."

It's like he keeps finding me…but why would he want to? Not that it bothered me. It should have, but it didn't. He made me feel…good. Despite the mind-nudge.

"If that's the case, then I should turn you in for stalking me," I replied drily as Tristan dropped his bag on the table and took the seat next to me.

"Hmm, let's consider this. You show up in my communications class, then in my women's studies class that I decide to pick up and have no idea which one you're taking, and now you're right here where I need to be in thirty minutes. I could turn you in for stalking."

I could tell he was just teasing, but my face reddened anyway.

"I wouldn't, though, turn you in, I mean. You can stalk me anytime." He grinned. I blushed. Mr. Beautiful is flirting with me .

"Yeah, well, I don't have time right now. First, I need to get this homework done."

"Ah, right, your own personal torture. Need some help? I am a math geek."

I laughed. "Geek" was the last word anyone would use to describe Tristan.

That's how it all started. With two classes together and team projects to work on, I saw him every other day during the week. He helped me with my calculus, I helped him perfect his essays and we kept each other company in our classes. Each time we were together, I felt another click in my heart and that was probably not good.

I honestly couldn't explain my behavior. I should have pulled away, if I knew what was good for me. Instead, I was drawn toward him. He brought something out in me I never knew was there. I couldn't pinpoint what it was, but it felt good. Emotionally good. Well, physically good, too. But also emotionally. Really.

Even more than my own behavior, I certainly didn't understand his—he could easily take his pick of girls. I didn't complain, of course. Our conversations centered on homework, college and the weather—pretty boring, yet safe, topics. The more time we spent together, the better I felt around him. The mind-nudge had all but disappeared.

Spending time with Tristan on campus left little time for my research. But there wasn't much to do, anyway. The deeper I sunk into it, the more outlandish it became. All I found were myths—telepaths, witches, werewolves, vampires—and even then, each had only one or two of our characteristics. Nothing matched, not even fantasy. I came to a dead-end with no idea where to go next.

On a late September Saturday, Mom finally held the Grand Opening of the bookstore. She'd been working long hours cleaning, painting and setting up. I helped her some, but she insisted I spend more time writing. So she hired Owen, who looked like he should still be in college, but wasn't. I didn't ask, but I guessed he'd dropped out to enjoy the Florida lifestyle of sun and fun, although I thought he was on the wrong coast. He seemed to belong in California, hanging out with the surfers.

I volunteered to help with the Grand Opening. I thought they might need it, but it was also for selfish reasons, hoping it would assuage my guilt for sneaking around so much. Mom had very good reasons for protecting our secrets—promises to people she didn't like and hadn't seen since I was a baby, but good reasons nonetheless—but I also felt justified. I just wished it didn't have to be like this.

"Good morning, little dudette," Owen greeted when I entered the bookstore. I grunted. "Hmm…not a good morning?"

"It's nine-thirty on a Saturday and I'm not in bed. What could be good about it?" I muttered.

He nodded and laughed. "Yeah, know what ya mean."

I watched as he enthusiastically cleaned the counter, contradicting his words.

"You look like a morning person to me."

He threw me a disgusted look, though his sapphire-blue eyes gleamed with humor. "I take that as an insult."

"So you're not always like this?"

He scrubbed his hand through his blond hair as he seemed to think about it. "I have no idea. Don't see this time of day whenever I can help it."

He winked at me. It was cute, but it didn't have that mind-fogging effect Tristan's wink did. He wasn't ugly or even unattractive, but…well, not Mr. Beautiful. In fact, in the looks department, Owen compared to Tristan like I compared to Mom. She disagreed, saying Owen looked like a sweet James Dean, one of her favorite actors from the old movies she loved so much.

"You want some coffee?" I asked. "I could sure use some."

"Why don't you two go get some for all of us?" Mom called from somewhere between rows of bookshelves. "Take a five out of the drawer."

Mom didn't excite easily, but the way she gushed about Owen—how great he was, such a good worker, funny, yada, yada—you'd think he stepped right out of the pages of a book about Mr. Right. When I asked her why she didn't go out with him, she said she needed a man-break. Besides, she'd said, he was closer to my age than hers. Yep, she was trying to set us up. Hence, sending us both to do a one-person job.

"That's okay, Owen," I said. "I think I can manage."

Warmth and humidity already hung in the air, but a salty Gulf breeze awakened my senses as I crossed the main business street of Cape Heron, a sleepy little resort town—for now, anyway. It was a small town among many dotting the Gulf Coast between Sarasota and Fort Myers. The region would grow busier soon as the first snowbirds left their summer homes in the north and came south for the winter.

Though season hadn't started, I wasn't surprised to find a line at the coffee shop, since it was the only one on Fifth Street. It was actually an old-style diner with wood and vinyl booths and a row of peg-like stools pinned in front of the counter. The smells of smoky bacon, sweet pancakes and pungent coffee beans mixed in the air, reminding me of the many diners we stopped at during our moves. I also smelled old-lady night cream and Ben-Gay on the couple in front of me, light enough that I knew it was applied last night.

While I waited, I observed people, a habit I picked up as a writer. People-watching gave me something to do with my abundant alone time and gave me ideas for my characters. I was lost in thought while watching a man with gray, caterpillar eyebrows and a matching mustache sip his coffee at the counter, a newspaper in front of him. His mustache crawled as he silently moved his lips while reading. He'd be a great werewolf, perhaps a pack leader.

"Hello, sexy Lexi," a lovely voice murmured in my ear.

I spun around to find Tristan just behind me, leaning over, very close. Mmm…he smells so good.

"Sorry, you don't like Lexi, do you?" He smiled.

Actually, I love the way it sounds from you. Did he really call me sexy?

"It wasn't the Lexi part," I said pointedly.

His smile widened, his eyes sparkling brighter. "So, I can call you Lexi?"