Clusterpuck (Vegas Crush #9)

9. I Can’t Win with You

9 /

i can’t win with you

Lila

Don’t kiss him.

Do. Not. Kiss. Him.

But, oh, how I want to.

I clear my throat and back away, suppressing the desperate urge to cover my lips with my fingers to prevent them from doing something stupid, like nailing them to Tripp’s. “Do you want to run the rest of the trail together?” I stupidly ask instead.

Tripp, damn him, looks completely unaffected by how close we just were. Impassive, like he just bumped up against a rock wall instead of me, and just dusting off a little dirt and dried leaves.

“Sure thing,” he answers before dragging a hand up and over his forehead, raking through his sandy hair so it stands up wildly. I want to go over and smooth it for him. Honestly, I’ve wanted to run my hands through his hair since forever. It’s good hair, nice and thick, with a tiny bit of wave to it. I bet it feels so?—

Dear God. This crush has been a weak point for me since I was a teenager. “You’re probably way faster than I am.” I try to shake off all thoughts of touching Tripp’s good hair. “Why don’t you take the lead?”

“Wow.” He’s grinning widely at me now. “She allows a man to take the lead. Miracles are real.”

I can’t help but give him the middle finger. It’s not mature, at all, but whatever. It beats kicking dirt into his eyes. I mean, I don’t want to hurt him. Well, most of the time I don’t.

We start down the path, and I can tell Tripp is holding back on his pace to stay with me. I like running—it’s a good, efficient way to exercise—but I know I’m not fast. Still, it’s nice of him not to leave me in his dust.

“How’s your family?” I ask, just trying to make conversation.

“I think they’re all fine.”

“You think they’re all fine?” I can’t help but laugh a little. This comment is so completely Tripp. He’s a total hermit, even with his own family.

“I only see them at family events a few times a year. And what’s there to talk about? Cameron and Lane are doing their hockey shit. Dad’s doing his hockey shit. Mom does her thing. Jenn plays football.”

“I’d think you’d all have plenty to talk about, since you’re all into sports.”

“Meh.”

“How about Chase?”

“He’s in finance, the weirdo. And not even finance for sports operations. It’s bizarre.”

This makes me giggle. The Blackburn clan is so about sports that it is kind of funny that his youngest brother went into finance as a career. “But they’re all well?”

“A-okay,” he says. “Your parents?”

“My mom has a new line premiering at New York Fashion Week this September. She designed a Met Gala dress for some A-list actress.”

“Ooh la la. Fancy. Is she designing something for the princess? You gonna go rub-elbows with the important folks?”

“At the Met Gala?” I shake my head. “Uh, no. I’m not important enough for that by a long shot.”

“What about her show? You going?”

“No, not that either.”

“She doesn’t do that weird shit, does she? Like stringing people upside down or making them wear metal masks or nylon bags or whatever other unrealistic crap fashion designers do lately?”

“No, she just makes clothes. And those others are all in the avant-garde world. Which is a thing, but I don’t get it either, and my mother is more about form and function.”

“Sounds like you could step right in and take the reins.”

I let out a huff of a laugh, my breathing heavy from the run. “Uh, no. Not my thing at all, much to my mother’s dismay.”

“Following in the father’s footsteps. I can get with that. High fashion is some high-falutin bullshit.”

Even though I’m not into fashion, I still bristle a bit. “What do you mean by that? My mother built her own business from the ground up. She’s a business woman. And she’s very creative.”

“I’m just saying I agree with your career choice. Chill. You chose not to go into a snobby, pretentious career. Good for you.”

I nearly hiss at him. “My mom isn’t snobby or pretentious. You’ve met her.”

If I could see Tripp’s face, I’m sure he’d be rolling his eyes at me right now.

But then he turns back toward me and says, “I can’t win with you, Lila. I’ll see you around.”

And he just takes off.

He picks up the pace as his powerful body carries him further down the trail. I’m left behind to run the remainder of the path on my own, stuck in my own thoughts about a man I should not be obsessing over.

When I get back to the parking lot, he’s long gone, and I’m feeling totally conflicted. My body is a traitor. Let’s just face the facts here. Something about the physical chemistry between us makes me feel bold and wild in a way I don’t usually feel. I’m a cautious person, a planner. I’ve long seen my path and I’ve never strayed from it. But when Tripp’s around? I want to throw caution to the wind. I want to kiss him. I want to let him take me and I very much want to let go of all this restraint.

And I know I’m not nice to him sometimes. Partially, because he’s a total chauvinist. He thinks women should be like his mom, all staying home to raise a gaggle of kids. Natalie Blackburn is a sweet, kind, and lovely woman. I like her a lot, but she has dedicated herself to raising her kids, and now that they’re grown, she focuses on her grandchildren, her garden, and her bridge group. That isn’t a life I would ever want.

Not that Tripp would ever want a life with me. I’m just some little kid in his eyes. An annoying, little kid who argues with everything he says. The same thirteen-year-old who stared at him like he was a god, blushing and smiling through her braces. Even if he does flirt with me a little, I know it means nothing to him. He’s always been a tiny bit flirtatious with me and I assumed it was just him being indulgent to someone with a little crush on him.

Back at my car, I’ve gotten myself so worked up that I feel like throwing up. Why do I get like this around him? It’s always been this way. He’s infuriating and sexy and totally unattainable. I shouldn’t want him. Not all these years later.

I’m physically exhausted from the run. Mentally exhausted from yet another fractious exchange with Tripp. And I know I need to just get him out of my head.

But how in the heck do I do it?