Page 7 of Not in My Book

“Don’t you two ever get tired of fighting with each other?”

Max and I shared a glance as if that was a ridiculous notion. “It’s my favorite pastime.”

— Excerpt fromUntitledby Rosie Maxwell and Aiden Huntington

CHAPTER THREE

I vowed revenge when it was Aiden’s turn to be workshopped. And all the stars aligned—this was his worst chapter yet. Like me, he was struggling to figure out what he wanted his book to be about. I felt a lot better knowing I wasn’t the only one trying to find their footing. He was trying to imitate some stream of consciousness, Faulkner-style writing, but it made no sense. As we discussed his work, everyone had their brows furrowed, but I was smiling.

I patiently waited as the class went around the room sharing their thoughts until it was my turn. Aiden’s dark ember eyes settled on me. I ignored how my stomach flipped, a wave of uneasiness flowing through me. But there was no way I would lose my nerve.

“I don’t know.” I sighed heavily, gently placing the pages on the table in front of me. I tried to look casual despite my hammering heart and shaking hands. Confrontation wasn’t really my thing, but I had to stand my ground. I refused to let Aiden shame me for being a genre writer and walking around with this stupid air of superiority. I looked up at him through my lashes and lifted a single shoulder. “It’s a bit …derivative.”

Shock rippled across Aiden’s face for a moment before he rearranged his features to appear impassive. I bit back my smile and continued.

“I mean, I get that you’re probably a Faulkner fan, right?” I drawled, looking to him for confirmation, but I didn’t need it. Once,last semester, he’d gone on for hours about him, explaining the inspiration behind a short story. Aiden gave a terse nod, the muscle in his cheek jumping. “I figured. I mean, it’s so obvious and, God, the way it drones on and on, no offense. It seems like it’s trying so hard to be meaningful that it’s … lackluster. This reads more like Faulkner fanfiction than anything else. Fanfiction is great, though! I just didn’t know it was your thing.” I gave him a sickly sweet smile from across the table.

He looked up at me, setting his pen down. Aiden sat back in his chair, watching me intensely as I tried my best to appear cavalier.

“Above all else, it falls flat.” I said, repeating his words to me from workshop a few weeks ago. To hell with dignity and maturity. I wantedrevenge. “This doesn’t seem like a feasible start to a novel, but instead feels like the ramblings of a guy on a blog from 2003. It’s nearly useless, I would say.” I folded my hands on top of the pages. The silence in the room was deadly as I turned to Ida, beaming. “That’s all from me.”

Aiden was glaring at me, his eyes hard, hatred seeping between us.

“Okay,” Ida said cautiously. “Any thoughts, Aiden?” She looked tentatively between the two of us, waiting for the bomb to go off. Honestly, I was waiting, too. I was longing to see Aiden lose his cool, to watch my words creep into his mind and stain it like his did to me.

Instead, Aiden sat up, cleared his throat. He looked at each of our classmates as he politely addressed their notes. I expected his voice to quiver, I cravedtears.

But he was so obviously unbothered by what I had said, his eyes looked almost bored. Irritation flared in my chest. He had a way of doinganythingand just making it seem like he was better than the rest of us. He was succinct, and I wanted to strangle him.

Finally, his eyes flicked over me for just a second before turning to Ida.

“I’ve responded to all the opinions that are worth acknowledging. Like I’ve said before, I’m not writing for lonely women who live out their fantasies through mass-produced paperbacks found in a Duane Reade. I’m writing for a deeper meaning.”

“Oh, c’mon,” I huffed.

Aiden barreled on. “I’m writing for an audience that cares about more than overdone tropes and unrealistic men.”

“Well, at least my book won’t be a coaster for some deadbeat forty-year-old who thinks Matt Rife is some sort of God,” I bit out.

“No, your book will be a coaster for a bored cat lady’s vibrator.”

I snorted. “Yourwife’svibrator because you couldn’t please a woman to save your life!”

“At least I’ll be married!”

“At least—”

“Enough,” Ida snapped. Half the class’s mouths were open in shock, the others were holding back laughter. “I don’t want to hear another word from you two for the rest of workshop.”

She shot us both a glare, and I shrank back in my seat as shame flashed through me. What was I doing? Trying to get back at a man whose opinion I didn’t even care about? I was in this class forme, not a petty, childish rivalry. I certainly wasn’t trying to disappoint Ida in the process. On our first day, Ida had emphasized the importance of respect during the workshop. Aiden and I had been toeing the line she’d drawn since day one of this class, but now we’d barreled past it.

For the rest of class, I kept my head down, too embarrassed to make eye contact with anyone. And I knew the moment I looked at Aiden, I’d feel nothing but the uncontrollable need to smother him to death.

When class ended, I beelined it toward the door, hoping to avoid any more confrontation with Aiden. I had plans to meet up with my friends at Peculiar Pub for drinks after class today, but the last thing I wanted to do was relive the past few hours.

We met at the edge of the block on the corner of Fifth and 10th. Jess and Logan were giggling as they walked toward me and when they saw me they laughed even harder. Tyler side eyed the two of them, his lips quirking up.

“It’s not funny,” I complained.

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