Page 57 of Beautifully Conflicted

“No, it’s actual news. Not like a whole program, just little snippets of facts.” He clicks out of the video he’s watching and scrolls through his screen, pointing out dozens upon dozens of other videos.

This doesn’t track. Aiden’s the smartest guy I know, so the idea he’s getting his news from a cartoon character is just…no. “You’re not serious.”

“I know how it sounds. Trust me, I thought the same thing at first, but it’s surprisingly informative. And unbiased.”

“It’s a talking fish.” I blink at him.

“With no agenda. He just gives the facts, nothing else. It’s kind of refreshing.”

I watch a few clips with him, and while it pains me to agree, there’s no disputing the fish gives it to you pretty straight. Itissort of refreshing.

“How the hell does the smartest guy I know get started on this?” I ask, since it’s veryun-Aiden.

“Damien. He watches it while we’re waiting for class to start.”

I should’ve known.That’s so…Damien.

Getting his news in tiny little factoids—from a talking fish—would be both impartial and amusing, and that little piece of Damien’s puzzle fits the man so perfectly, it’s hard to keep the wistful smile off my face.

The more time I’ve been forced to spend with Damien, the more apparent it’s become that my training partner has an endearing simplicity about him. I used to think that was an act, something he did to appear innocent as he deliberately twisted my words to antagonize me. But as Aiden pointed out it’s more likely that I’m assigning a motive to his simplicity that isn’t there. Damien just exists in the moment, following the zigzagging thoughts in his mind wherever they take him.

And damn, do they take him to some weird places.

I’ve had more ridiculous conversations in the past two months than I’ve had in my lifetime, yet strangely, those conversations are just as easy to recall as some of the more meaningful ones I’ve had about football, school, even life in general. In the moment, I was so frustrated when he talked about zombies and dogs and all the other shit his mind conjures, but looking back… He made training interesting, that’s for sure.

The guy is definitely weird, but I think I sort of like it.

Oh shit.If that’s true, the pull I feel might be more than just physical, and if I like the man and not just his body… Nope. Not going there. I can find the guy amusing but notlike him, like him. And Idon’t have to like him to screw around with him. That’s like College Hookups 101.

Plus, I haven’t even decided if I’mgoingto hook up with him. Maybe he won’t make my dick hard the next time I see him. Maybe he’ll keep his in his pants. Maybe—

Aiden’s phone pings, and the reminder has him scrambling to buy his ticket, hands shaking like a teenage girl trying to get seats for Taylor Swift. When the purchase goes through, he pumps his fist triumphantly and flops against the back of the couch with a relieved exhale.

“I know lectures are right up your genius alley, but damn, you look like you just won the lottery,” I tell him.

“Well, yeah. There’s a lot of competition for these tickets so it wasn’t a guarantee I’d get one. Plus, look at him.” Aiden points to the book I’m still holding. “He’s smartandhot. I wouldn’t mind seeing him in person.” I look at the author picture again, and while he doesn’t make me feel anything in particular, I suppose he’s good looking for a slightly older guy.

“I didn’t realize professors were your type.” I nudge his arm with mine, amused by the way my teasing makes him go red.

“Not professors specifically, just… Tall, dark and handsome.” He snatches the book back and flips it so the cover is up and the author picture down.

“That’s so cliché.”

“Says the guy who goes for busty blondes.”

A few months ago, that would’ve been a great comeback, but I’m not sure that’s true anymore. I haven’t chased a busty blonde, or anyone, since Damien’s arrival. And wouldn’t you know it, that fucker is blonde, too.

“Touché.” I sigh, since objecting would only give him a reason to ask questions I’m still not ready to answer for myself, much less him.

Unfortunately, those questions stay with me all day, and are still lingering in the back of my mind as I knock on Damien’s door that afternoon to watch the film Coach gave us for homework.

Naturally, that means I’ve got a short fuse before we even get started. It only gets shorter when he opens the door looking way too good in a white T-shirt that hugs his broad chest, and gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips. Though he’s not revealing any skin, except for the bare feet that for some reason feel like a more intimate view than when he’s shirtless, he still manages to look downright sinful.

“Let’s get this over with,” I huff as I push past him.

He steps out of my way, muttering, “Angry Lucy in the house. This should be fun.”

“I’m supposed to be happy about this?” I stomp toward his couch and claim a seat in the corner, primed for verbal sparring. “Not only am I missing practice, but every time it’s just the two of us in a room your cock comes out, and I’m not exactly eager to be subjected to that shit.”

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