Page 66 of The Romance Rivalry

“The competition is on hold until Irene and I can have a real conversation of the she-finally-realizes-how-she-feels-about-me variety,” Aiden says, dimples all out and proud.

“First, why are you all talking like that? About me? When I’m right here? And second, I think I’m in the lead in this competition, so maybe I get a say in if it’s on hold or not. And THIRD”—I put extra stress on this one as I turn and look at Aiden—“maybe we need to discuss how YOU feel about ME first!” I close my mouth with a satisfied grunt.

“You’re supposed to do the hyphenated-description thing that the rest of us were doing, Irene,” Aiden says with a sparkle in his eyes. His free hand boops my nose like I’m the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

Whatever. None of this should be a conversation for public consumption, anyways. I narrow my eyes at him, making it clear that we will be having words privately later.

The side of his mouth raises in that cocky, knowing half smile of his, and my face heats immediately.

He looks as if he has other plans for us privately later.

Gulp.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I reach to see the new message just as I notice Aiden doing the same. Awww, even our phones have synced. Romantic. Nope, I’m really starting to lose it. Get a grip.

There’s a new text from Dr. Kingston. Odd. I’ve never received a text from any teacher or professor before. Shouldn’t my phone be a safe space, free from worry about school shit? Rude.

I lift my head, about to complain about this to my friends, but I notice Aiden, head down reading his phone message, brow furrowed, looking... irritated. His head slowly rises and his face turns to meet mine. He nods toward my phone and dread wraps its hands around my lungs, making it suddenly hard to get air. The last thing I want to do is read whatever message is waiting for me.

“What is it?” Jeannette asks, noticing the tension.

I open the text.

Dr. Kingston:I’d like to see the two of you in my office, today if possible. It’s important. Let me know if 3pm works.

I try to swallow at the same time bile wants to release itself from my throat, making me cough instead. Aiden hands me one of the small paper cups of water we have on the table and I nod appreciatively as I down its meager contents, then reach for another and do the same.

“Our lit professor wants to see us in his office today,” Aiden says, voice steady.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Charles asks.

Aiden shrugs a shoulder but I can feel the tension radiatingoff his body. He most certainly thinks this is not good.

And I can’t think of one reason to disagree with him.

“Well, good luck, you guys. I hope it’s nothing,” Charles says.

Aiden nods.

Jeannette reaches under the table and squeezes my knee. I look up with worried eyes and meet her own. She gives me a reassuring smile, but it does little to calm my panic. I got away with faking it, skating by, not doing the work, flailing, all semester. And now I have to face the music.

Aiden barely said a word to me on the walk over to our professor’s office. Which made the ride up in the tiny, cursed elevator very awkward.

I grab his wrist before we turn the corner and head in to our doom. I should do a big confession of how deep my love runs for him. I should promise to wait for him on the other side. I should announce that no matter what life throws our way, I WILL FIND YOU.

He looks over his shoulder and down where my hand holds his wrist, but he doesn’t turn around. He raises a brow in question.

I clear my throat.

“I’m sorry,” is the only thing I can think to say.

“Don’t worry,” he says back. But it lacks the confidence usually attached to those words when they come from his mouth.

My shoulders deflate. But before I fall and give up all hope, he takes my limp, vacant hand and fills it with his, interlacing our fingers, rubbing his thumb over mine. His hand engulfs mine, and the feeling of warmth and safety radiates throughout my entire body.

“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out, okay?” he says. Still no smile, but I want so badly to believe his words. I have to.

He gives my hand one last squeeze and then lets go. I immediately miss the steadying effect his contact gives me.

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