Page 83 of The Romance Rivalry

—Aiden

Twenty

the chosen one

Aiden

“Okay, okay, it’s the moment we’ve been waiting all semester for, get those score sheets out and let’s tally ’em up,” Charles says.

“How many additional side bets do the two of you have on this?” Irene asks.

“Only a few,” Jeannette says.

“...dozen,” Charles finishes.

I grab cans of Coke out of my fridge and hand them out to each of my friends, giving the one Coke Zero to my girl. I make sure to have some at all times just for her. It’s her new obsession. I ripped one of my dormmates a new one for snagging my last can a few days ago. I don’t care if he takes any other shit from my room. But the Coke Zero isfor Irene, and Irene only. Just like the sign now taped on my fridge door says.

I sit down next to her on the floor of my single dorm room where we’re all gathered to finally put an end to the dating challenge we started months ago. Well, this whole thing started a lot earlier than that for me.

I don’t need to see the final scores. I already know I won. Hell, I knew I was gonna win the moment I entered the race.

“Aren’t the final scores a moot point by now? Aiden and I are together, what else matters?” Irene asks. Though I see her eyeing the calculator as Charles enters the numbers from all the dates we went on earlier in the year. My fiercely competitive, fucking adorable girlfriend.

But she’s right, it is a moot point. Irene already gave up the brand sponsorship. She has to put a lot of extra time into her studies and catching up with her grades so she has no time to focus on anything additional on top of her regularly scheduled content.

And me? Well, I’d gladly take the extra cash. But I turned it down as well. I’m also planning to move away from my review accounts sometime soon, anyways. Turns out that email Dr. Kingston wanted me to read was a link to an entry form for a creative writing contest put on by the Literature Department Alumni Association. That comes not only with some pretty hefty prize money, it also includes meetings witha handful of literary agents. I don’t know where all this will take me. I know publishing a book isn’t easy by any means. But if not this one, then I’ll write the next one.

I’ve got a source of inspiration, who also happens to be a wealth of information about the genre, by my side.

“Holy shit,” Charles exclaims.

“No way,” Jeannette yells, looking over his shoulder.

“What?” Irene and I ask at the same time. She grabs my hand and holds tight. It’s the thing she does when she’s nervous or afraid or... well... I guess she reaches for my hand all the time these days, no reason needed. I love these small changes in her. More affectionate, more open, more honest, asks for help if needed. She’s incredible.

“It’s... a tie,” Charles and Jeannette say. The two of them are also going strong. It’s funny. Where Irene and I are really different and we come together and make something amazing, Charles and Jeannette are basically the same person and they come together and make something amazing, too. Funny how love works. There’s no set formula or recipe. Tropes and HEAs can be expected... but the truest thing I’m learning about romance is to expect the unexpected.

“No way, it can’t be,” Irene says, grabbing for the score sheets.

“Well, we added up all the scores from each date, and Aiden actually came out on top with that. But then we give ten points for each trope that was checked off your lists,and Irene came out on top there. So that gave you the same score,” Jeannette explains.

“And, funny, but you each only had one trope left unchecked on your lists. Irene’s was the abduction slash fall-in-love-with-your-kidnapper trope.”

I turn to stare at my girlfriend. Few things ever surprise me about her. I’ve learned not to ask questions about the things that do. She just shrugs and looks slightly disappointed she wasn’t able to check that box.

I see her scribble something down on a piece of paper and push it over toward Jeannette, trying to do it unnoticed. Jeannette opens it up and barks out a laugh. She turns the paper over for us all to see.

Help me. This guy has kidnapped me and wants me to act like I’m his girlfriend. Call the police.

This girl. Fucking nut.

“Now, honey, no need to tell our friends how much you like being tied up,” I say casually.

She backhands me on the arm. “Private business stays private,” she says through clenched teeth.

As I said. Fucking nut.

I smile and her eyes home in, as they so often do, on my dimples. I have to thank my parents at some point for these, since I have a sneaking suspicion they’re Irene’s favorite part about me.

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