Page 15 of The Romance Rivalry

“Irene is a famous book reviewer,” Jeannette says. I’ve not only gained a roommate, I’ve also gotten a new hype girl.

His emerald eyes widen in surprise. He tilts his head in a nod in my direction. I have been perceived by the Lord of Good Looks of the Book Club Realm. “Really? That is very impressive. I’m gonna have to look you up. Where can I find you?”

My back straightens and I lift my chin. My book channels are the one place I can be the impressive one. Where I get a sense of confidence I don’t usually have any other time in my life. You want to look me up, handsome? You’re gonna like what you find.

“I’m @irene.loves.love.books across all platforms,” I say,my voice strong. Iam the chosen one.

“Well, just to warn you, we’re not professional literary critics or anything. We just read and question and discuss. It’s a great exploration of stories. We’d love for you to join us. We don’t limit to a specific genre, which makes the conversations spirited and enlightened.”

“Sounds great,” I say, looking down at the flyer again. I make a mental note to add the meeting to my calendar to check it out. Though I wonder if they’d let me come only on the weeks we read romance. “I’ll be there.”

He leans his body slightly in toward me. “I really hope so, @irene.loves.love.books,” he says. He looks at Jeannette and smiles. Then one last glance at me. And, oh god, he does it. He winks.

Okay, so I cringe slightly, because it’s weird to wink at strangers. But I bury the ever-so-minor misstep so I don’t miss the chance to gawk at his ass as he walks away.

“Be right back,” Jeannette says to me. “Gotta go change my panties.”

A couple nights later, when I should be back in my dorm room unburying myself from the already massive load of studying I’ve been assigned in only the first week of classes, I head out, instead, to the Brighton Book Club. The Commons is on the other side of campus from my dorm room, and I leave extra early to make sure I get a good seat. One neverknows how big a book club meeting can get. I’m hoping, since I’m at a liberal arts college, that it will be sufficiently attended, buzzing and spirited.

I hadn’t had the chance to read the book, a thriller, but I figure since this is my first meeting, I can just sit back and watch. Take it in.

After all, book people are the best people. It’s sure to be a good time.

I had trouble finding the right outfit to wear to the event. Jeannette, in her first sign of doubting my abilities, frowned when she saw me in myThe answer is always “just one bed”T-shirt and ripped jeans. I thought it gave off just the right vibe.

Jeannette thought I should rethink what vibe it gave off.

I ended up sticking with the jeans and going with a plain white T-shirt and gray cardigan. The outfit screams “fashionable literary mind.” Okay, so maybe it’s more of a loud whisper than a scream, but it’ll do.

It’s quiet as I walk through the greenway that runs down the center of campus. In what feels like the first time since I got here, I settle my mind. I take in the trees and the lushness of all that’s around me. Brighton is gorgeous. I’m in college. My future is mine to make...

“Where you headed?”

I jerk my head around to the voice that has been tormenting me in my mind and on my screen during the (many)times I’ve (re)watched his posts (for research). Best to know everything you can about the enemy.

“Are you following me?” I ask.

“Please.” I don’t have to even look at him to see his eye roll. It’s like I can actually hear it. “I’m heading in the same direction.”

I stop in my tracks. “No. You are not going to book club.” If I don’t ask the question, if I just make the statement, it will be true, right?

“I actually amgoing to book club. And I’m guessing so are you. This should be fun,” Aiden says.

“Fun like a root canal,” I say under my breath.

He throws his head back and laughs, again, like I’ve just said the most original comeback of all time. It’s an evil sound, his laugh. I don’t trust it one bit.

I also ignore the sense of satisfaction I feel for earning that laugh.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to talk to you about how it is that we never seem to agree on a book. At first, I thought it was odd. No way our tastes are that opposed. But now I actually think it’s kinda cool. We look at books from such different angles,” he muses.

“Itisodd. Almost like you’re doing it on purpose,” I say. I don’t mean it. I actually think it’s fine that we have different tastes in reading. But the comments from his followers sting; they feel personal. And with each new review, it feels likethey’re coming in more frequently.

“Why would I do something like that on purpose? Nope, we’re just built differently, I guess. But I totally respect your reviews. Sometimes, I consider changing my tune on a book based on what you’ve highlighted and the way you see it. You make me think.”

My feet stagger and I almost trip over air. I’m taken by surprise by this bit of news. He respects my reviews? He’s open to my point of view?

“It’s no wonder you have so many followers. You’re always so pleasant when you review books. You’d think you didn’t have a mean bone in your body to say anything bad,” he says.

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