The Babysitters

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The Blushing Problem

“New blankets, bathing toys, baby food, and...”

I took a yawn as Dylan finally stopped with his list.

“Why can’t you go, instead of us?” Trystan frowned.

“Oh! And some socks that fit her legs,” Dylan grinned, finally remembering the last item for shopping.

I took Tiffany from Dylan and laid her down in her go-cart.

“Fine, we will buy it all,” I said, “You can leave now. Else you’ll be late for your job.”

“Awe, you are the best decision of my life, Sam,” Dylan held my hands. I heard Trystan snorting beside me.

I don’t even know what Dylan meant by that. But those words were enough to make my cheeks flush.

“Wow! I feel left out here,” Trystan made a sad face, “Nobody loves me.”

Dylan chuckled in response, whereas I gave him a stink eye for breaking our moment. The way he smirked at me was enough for me to realize that he did it intentionally.

“OK now,” Dylan smiled, “I am leaving. Make sure you take good care of my sweetheart.”

Trystan and I nodded our head in unison. Dylan gave one last kiss to his daughter, before walking out of his house.

Once he was gone, I picked up my backpack from the couch and took out my english homework. It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon. Dylan had an extra shift to do. So, Trystan and I were on our job today as well.

“You know what sucks?” Trystan asked, sinking on the couch beside me.

“Spending a Sunday doing your homework?” I asked, my eyebrows raised.

“Exactly!” he exclaimed, taking away my papers and throwing them on the other side. I kicked his shin in annoyance.

“Never do that again,” I spat, picking up my homework. Trystan, once again, took it from my hand and threw it away.

“Are you trying to plan your grave?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“Not before I take you on a date with me,” he blinked his eyes like a baby.

I gave out a snort, “I already tolerate you in a four hour job. I think that’s enough for me.”

“Are you implying you won’t go on a date with me?” he asked, his hand on his heart in fake hurt.

“Take it the way you want to, Ryder,” I rolled my eyes.

“You mean, you are ready to lose this once in a life time opportunity just because you are too coward to express your feelings?” he asked, his smirk growing wider with every word.

“Feelings?” I laughed, “I’d rather have feelings for Gabby’s dead fish, than for you.”

Trystan bent his head low, an expression of sadness on his face. More like, a FAKE expression of sadness. I was about to tell him to join the drama club when, suddenly, he leaped upon me and took my speech - my homework.

“Will you still not go on a date with me, sunshine?” he asked, raising my homework high in the air.

“You muggle, give it back to me,” I screeched, jumping to catch it from his hand.

Ugh, curse this small height.

“A yes for a date gives your homework back. A no for a date turns it into trash,” he started singing, as if it was a nursery rhyme.

“You don’t blackmail a girl to say yes for a date,” I whined.

“A girl? I don’t see her anywhere,” he gawked, looking around.

“Give my homework back,” I gave him a last warning-look.

“Come on a date with me,” he asked with a goofy smile.

I looked at him and then at my precious homework. It took me three hours to write that speech on what I learnt from Hamlet. I can’t waste that much time again!

“Fine,” I glared at him.

Trystan gave me a wide-eyed look, “Fine?”

“Yes duh,” I rolled my eyes, “I’ll go on a date with you.”

He threw his fist in air, as if he just won a lottery ticket. Then, after composing himself, he folded my paper and kept it in his jeans pocket.

“I’ll return it to you after the date,” he gave me a devious smile.

Before I could protest or fight, he took Tiffany’s go-cart and walked outside.

“C’mon sunshine, we have to take our mollycoddle for shopping,” he shouted from outside.

I looked at the entrance, with mouth wide open. Trystan is such a devil!

“That’s what happens when you write your homework on a piece of paper,” I muttered, following him behind.

We took my car. I wanted to drive but Trystan did not trust my driving skills after my accident with Cady. So, he took the responsibility, instead.

“You know what sucks?” I repeated the question he asked me before.

“Spending a Sunday with me?” he replied. His face held a devious smirk as if he already knew the answer. Well, he did.

“Exactly!” I said with a blank face.

Within a second, we both started laughing at the deja vu situation.

The whole ride went with both of us joking and laughing around. We talked about school, our friends, how Chase inwardly likes Gabby, and how Evan has a thing for Jenny.

All this while, Tiffany also accompanied us with her clapping of hands and giggling. I think she likes our company. Sometimes I feel she likes Trystan more. She always wants to be in his arms and keeps talking to him in her own language - giggling, making weird sounds, and hitting him with her tiny hands.

“Tiffany loves you,” I said with a smile, “You’ll make a great father one day.”

OK, I understand what I said was very cheesy. But the way Trystan’s cheeks turned the darkest shade of pink made me look at him awkwardly.

“Shut up,” he muttered, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

Something crossed my mind, and to examine my theory, I gave him another compliment.

“I mean it. And we cannot deny, you have the capability to make great babies,” I complimented him, my jaw hurting from the laugh I was suppressing.

I carefully analyzed his cheeks. To my very obvious guess, they turned even darker, if possible. My mind went back to the time I first saw him blushing. When we were handling Tiffany together.

“Yeah, whatever,” he whispered, trying his level best to hide his blush.

But, oh my devils out there, it had to go in vain. After all, at that exact moment, I knew the weakness of the bad boy sitting beside me.

First a chuckle escaped my mouth, then another one. Finally, when everything went out of control, I gave up my attempt to suppress my laugh. Instead, I started laughing so hard that there were tears at the brim of my eyes because of it.

“O-Oh goodness!,” I exclaimed, in the middle of my laughter.

“I hate you,” Trystan spat, giving me his best death glare.

It did not stop me from laughing. In lieu, I started poking his pink cheeks.

“Y-You blush,” I laughed, “You have no control on it!”

Trystan’s foul expression and the way he avoided me during the whole ride was enough to tell me that what I guessed was, indeed, correct.

But I did not mind it. I finally decoded his secret.

Trystan Ryder, the heartthrob of Westport High, had no control when it came to blushing.

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