cheater; tradley

one

Cheater ((1))

Tristan blinks, a sigh escaping his mouth. He stares out the window of the cafe, just barely listening to his girlfriends story.

"I can't stand him," she complains. She reaches across the table to place her hand over his, pouting out her bottom lip. "Can you?"

Tristan sighs again to himself, shaking his head and facing her again. "Sorry, Jules, what did you say?"

Jules shakes her head, and with a roll of her eyes, she retracts her hand. "Tris, why have you been so distant lately? I mean, I get you have a lot going on, but I feel like you're never listening to me."

"I'm sorry, babe," he says softly. "I've just been tired. I'm listening. What'd you say? Who can't you stand?"

She breathes deeply, loudly, and then repeats herself. "Connor Ball. He's my cousins boyfriend. I think she could do better."

"I don't know," Tristan shrugs a little. "I don't mind him. He's pretty nice – at least to me. He's not bad or anything."

"Ugh," Jules groans, irritated. "I don't see how you like him. He's – he's so goofy and annoying."

"Don't be so mean, Jules. You've never really talked to him. If you did, I'm sure you'd grow to love him. He's a pretty good guy."

"Whatever," she rolls her eyes, quite obviously upset at Tristan's lack of gossip participation. "Let's just go."

"Look, Jules, I'm sorry." Tristan murmurs, standing up after his angry girlfriend and following her out of the small shop. "I've just been really tired and out of it lately. I'm sorry."

Jules sighs, a smile breaking out on her face. "Yeah, it's fine. Now," she smiles, raising her eyebrows suggestively. "Wanna head back to my place? My roommate will be at work 'til eleven tonight."

Tristan forces a smile, kind of feeling sick. He slings his arm around her shoulder easily. "I'm sorry, babe, but I can't. I have this audition. Remember? For the band?"

"Yes, I remember," she answers, rolling her eyes. "But first, that's not for another two hours. And second, I don't get why you're doing it anyways. It's kinda stupid, if you ask me."

Tristan grits his teeth, looking down and taking his arm off of her. "Well first of all, if you really cared, you'd know it was actually in forty minutes. And second, I didn't ask you, did I?"

"Whoa," Jules mutters, holding up her hands in defeat. "Calm down. What's the big deal? I was just saying."

"Yeah, but I've had enough of you just saying. Just telling me you think following my dreams is stupid. Drumming is what I want to do, and if you can't support me on it, that's your problem."

"Whoa, wow, okay. Fine. Call me when you're off your period. I gotta go." Jules says, pushing away from her angry boyfriend and flinging open her car door. Tristan can see the glare on Jules' face as she pulls out of the parking spot and drives away.

He sighs, rubbing his hands across his face. He should probably go after her. He knows this, yet he doesn't really want to. If she wants to act how she is, that's not his problem, now is it?

Tristan shakes his head, sliding into the drivers seat of his own car and pulling out of the parking lot. He prepares to go left – to follow his girlfriend, apologize for freaking out on her. But was he really freaking out? She constantly tells him that he's stupid for trying to follow his dreams as a drummer. At the last minute, he drives right instead, accidentally cutting someone off in the process, which results in a loud honk. He just groans.

He doesn't want to go home right now. He looks at the clock, bright, red, flashing numbers reading 1:03P.M. His audition is in thirty minutes. Twenty seven, to be exact.

Last week, Tristan had been searching on the Internet for auditions, band openings; anything, anywhere he could display his drumming skills. He came across one – James and Bradley, he thinks. They're looking for a talented drummer to join their new band. Tristan had jumped when he read the ad, and jumped even higher when they had emailed him back, saying that they would love to hear his sound and to come by this Thursday at 1:30.

Traffic is bad, and it's making the blond boy mad. As the time grows closer to one thirty, and he isn't moving any closer to the address that the James guy had sent to him, he starts to get worried. Tristan let's out a small shout of relief as the cars in front of his start moving and, at 1:28P.M., he pulls onto what he assumes is the correct street. The house he arrives at is big and white, and has a huge garage, painted a dark brown that matches the front door. He puts the car into park and pushes out of the vehicle, slamming the door behind him and hopping up the porch steps.

Nervously, Tristan runs his long fingers through his blond hair, over and over and over before hesitantly knocking on the door. He hears loud footsteps, and when the door opens, a tall boy is revealed, light brown hair spiked up in many directions.

"Tristan Evans, right?" he asks, smiling slightly.

Tristan nods. "Yeah, that's me."

"Hi! I'm James, Bradley is just in the garage," the boy, James, shakes his head, realizing something and holding open the door. "Oh, come in. Come in."

Tristan laughs awkwardly, stepping in. James assures him not to worry about taking off his shoes, and instead just leads him through the house and to an open door. Motioning for Tristan to enter first, James shuts the door behind him and follows him down a few stairs to where a few guitars, a drum set, and a bunch of chairs are set up.

Tristan barely notices the smaller boy sprawled out across a bean bag chair in front of the drum set. But the second Tristan bounds down the stairs behind the James, he presses pause on a remote and the loud music coming through the speakers turns off. He looks up, and a hesitant, wide grin spreads across his face as his brown eyes meet Tristan's blue ones.

"Tristan, I assume." the boy says with a cheeky smile.

"You assume right," Tristan closes his eyes, mentally slapping himself because of how stupid he had sounded. He shakes his head slightly. "Bradley, right?"

"Mhmm," Bradley nods, standing up and walking over to the drum set. "Well, you're here to audition for the position of our drummer, correct?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Take it away. Whenever you're ready." James adds, startling Tristan out of his daze.

Tristan nods nervously, moving towards the set and taking a seat on the stool. He picks up the drumsticks, biting his lip and trying to calm his breathing.

He begins the solo he's been working on for weeks. The only thing on his mind is that this has to go perfectly. Well, that amongst other things. Like James' welcoming atmosphere. The proper beat he's supposed to be doing. Bradley's cute smile. How good it would be if he got into this band.

Before he realizes it, he's stopped drumming, and there are two different pairs of clapping, and he's staring forward cluelessly. When James pats his back, Tristan is jolted back into reality, and a smile breaks out on his face as he takes in the laughter and happiness around him.

"Dude," James says loudly, nudging him. "That was sick."

"Thanks," the blond replies, stunned, standing up and walking over to the bean bag chairs.

Bradley doesn't speak. He just smiles, standing up and walking over to a mini fridge to grab three water bottles. He throws one to each of the boys, keeping one to himself, before going back to sit down next to Tristan.

He sits there for a moment, drinking his water, admiring Tristan. Then, he drags his tongue across his lips, running a hand through his curly brown hair. "You're really talented, Tristan."

"Um...uh," Tristan smiles. "Thank you."

"Yeah, I agree," James murmurs with a small nod. "Yeah. Okay. Well thank you, Tristan. I'm sorry that you couldn't stay longer, but our next audition is in half an hour. We'll email you."

"Okay," Tristan nods, heading towards the door. "Okay. Thank you guys. I guess I'll talk to you guys later?"

"Of course." Bradley smiles, tilting his head. "Definitely."