Page 45 of Not in My Book

Surprisingly, he asked, “Is it fun?”

I blinked at him. I looked to Aiden for help, but his face remained stoic. “I mean, sure. It’s still class, but I think whenever you do something you love, it’s fun.”

“Ah.” His father leaned back in his chair. “So, it’s not about forming a career?” He looked eerily similar to Aiden as he did this. That coldness Aiden presented was obviously inherited from this man. Every word seemed to be calculated to drive home some point.

“Writing is a career,” I said tersely.

“Please.” His father’s laugh was humorless. It was more like a cough than anything. “Even if you get published—and that’s a big if—do you really think you’ll make enough money and be successful enough to write day in and day out?”

This thought had always lingered in the back of my mind. Of course Iwantedto be able to write full time, but it was rarer these days. But there was no way I would admit that tohim.“Yes. I do.”

“You write novels, you said. What kind?”

“Dad—”

“I write romance.” I lifted my chin. Maybe a few months ago I would’ve mumbled it or just said fiction. But I’d had enough tonight.I was tired of every needy customer and the Huntington men’s judgment.

“Oh.” His father sat back in his chair, waving his hand at me dismissively. “Well, then, never mind. That’s different.”

“Dad,” Aiden warned.

“I don’t want Aiden to be a writer, but at least there’s a bit of a challenge to what he writes. You’ll have no trouble getting published. I’ll buy your book next time I’m at CVS.” He sniffed.

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Aiden snapped. He narrowed his eyes dangerously at his father, but Mr. Huntington ignored him. I had seen Aiden mad plenty of times over the past year, but never quite like this.

My lips parted in shock, fire igniting in me. “Listen, just because—”

“Oh, c’mon,” Mr. Huntington said. “Write those bodice rippers, make your quick buck, and slip your change into my kid’s cup when he’s living out of a box.”

Aiden’s been rude but he’s never quite dismissed me likethis.If Mr. Huntington was rude to a total stranger, what was he saying to his own son?

“Aiden is extremely talented,” I started, placing my hands on my hips.

“Rosie, you don’t have to,” Aiden said pleadingly, looking down at the table and shaking his head.

“No, Aiden. He doesn’t know—”

“Really.” Aiden finally looked at me, and I saw what he was hiding in those eyes. Annoyance. Anger. Fatigue. “It’s okay.”

Taking the hint, I nodded and turned on my foot away from them. I curled my hands into fists, digging the nails into my palm. I’d known what Aiden’s father was doing, and I played right into his hand. Now I’d probably made things worse for Aiden.

“Woah, who pissed you off?” Alexa came up behind me. She followed my gaze to Aiden and his father. “Who’s that?”

“Aiden.”

“Your Aiden?PeacoatAiden?” she asked, craning her head to get a better look at him.

“Yes.”

“A su madre, Rosie. He’shot. Tell me again why you haven’t hit that?”

“Shut up.” I shook my head. “His dad’s being a dick.”

She arched an eyebrow. “To you or to Aiden?”

“Me. Him. Both.” I stretched out my fingers, watching Aiden and his father. His dad was cutting his steak in sharp movements, angrily piercing it with his fork. But Aiden only sat in front of his untouched chicken and pasta. It didn’t matter that Aiden was my worst enemy; no one got to talk to him like that.

Except me, obviously.

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