Page 12 of The Romance Rivalry

“We don’t talk online. Except for when you’re disagreeing with my reviews and bringing your abusive followers along with you to troll me in the comments.”

He pulls back as if I’m the one who’s slapped him. At least he’s a good actor. I almost believe that he feels bad about it.

“Now, now, let’s not get aggressive,” he says, which only fuels my rage. My nostrils flare and my eyes feel like they’re going to pop out of their sockets. But Aiden? He gently pushes his glasses up his nose as a smile slowly blooms across his face, unleashing those damn dimples again. “This is exactly how I imagined you’d look when you get angry about a book. Not the perma-smile you have on-screen, but this...” He juts his chin out at me.

I don’t appreciate whatever it is he’s trying to say. I do not have a perma-smile on-screen! I open my mouth to defend myself. To argue with him. To demand he leave this school immediately.

“Look, we have all year to talk about our online history with each other. But for now, we have an assignment. So tell me, Irene, what’s the opening line to your story?”

I stare at him, unbelieving that he can just act like we’re two people who can get along. Like he isn’t my biggest rival. Like we aren’t basically enemies.

But he stares back, unfazed by my wrath. His eyebrows are lifted, waiting for my answer.

“It’s a glorious day for a murder,” I respond without thinking. This is absolutely not how I want to present the story of my life. I’m a pacifist. But it’s the only first line I can think of with Aiden sitting next to me egging me on.

He throws his head back and laughs and I try not to notice the vein that runs down his long neck as he does so. Why does a mere human have so many veins, and why am I staring? I blame years of reading Twilight fic.

“Nice. You’ve got me hooked already. I’m excited to read more,” he says. I hate the way he says it, all cocky-like, as if I need his approval. I hate even more that his positive reaction makes me feel like I’ve won some kind of prize or something. He’s so rarely impressed by anything I say or do. “And the intro?” He waves his hand at me, inviting me to continue. Like I need his permission.

“Oh, fine,” I grumble. “Irene Park from LA. And, well, I want to study literature to be an editor, okay?”

“Really? I don’t know why I just assumed you wanted tobe a writer. That’s why I’m in the program. Writer,” he says, pointing to himself.

I drop my scowl and let out a groan, rolling my head back on my shoulders. Why does he have to be a writer? I love writers.

But I don’t love him.

“How do you feel about what the professor said about studying the classics? I wonder if we’ll cover any Austen books,” he asks.

I don’t want to make small talk with him. I don’t want to get to know him. I know all I need or want to know about him already. I most definitely do not want to read Austen.

And I really don’t want to be so aware of how his broad shoulders take up so much space and how soft and clear his skin looks. He’s probably obsessed with skincare and has a crush on my model sister.

He also smells good, darn him. Like a woodsy citrus scent. I can’t help myself. I lean in a little bit to get another whiff, pinning him to his chair like a rabid dog. He draws back, looking down his nose at me, and I turn my eyes up to look at him from under my lashes.

“Sorry,” I whisper, reaching for an invisible strand of hair on his shoulder. “You’ve got a hair here.” I pat him twice and start to pull back.

“Thanks,” he says. He reaches his hand out before I’ve completely pulled away, and with the gentlest touch, hecombs his fingers through my hair.

My breath catches. I swallow but let out a cough, almost choking on my own spit.

He draws his hand back. “I was just trying to tame this little frizzy part here in your hair. Luckily, you’ve got that hairbrush in your bag.”

That know-it-all smirk again. It’s going to be the death of me.

I glare at him as I pat down my hair with both hands. Frizzy. As if.

“I like the new look,” he says.

“I didn’t ask your opinion,” I say. That flutter in my chest has nothing to do with the fact that he noticed at all. “Just tell me, you go here for real? This isn’t some cruel prank?”

“Yes, I go here for real. Why would I prank you? That’s way too much effort.”

My posture collapses and I let out a sigh that sounds like a whine. I have plans to reinvent myself here in college. The last thing I need is Aiden Jeon breathing down my neck distracting me. I just have to stay away from him, avoid him. This is a small school, but it should be big enough to not have to run into him ever again. So we might be in the same classes—I can sit on the opposite side of the room, take a different exit, easy enough.

I may not be worth his effort to prank. But he’s worth my effort to avoid.

“So now that you’ve introduced yourself to someone new and gotten to know why they’re here, look at your new classmate once more...” Dr. Kingston says to the room.

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