There’s veiled anger now, joining the hurt, pushing the knife in deeper. “No, I’m free,” I say.
“That’s good.” She smiles, but it’s hollow, and I can tell she’s put up a wall between us.
Of course she would. I came on strong, gave her the full Aidan treatment, and then disappeared. She has a right to be hurt and angry.
While Amber flips through her notes, I try to figure out what I might say to make things right. When my phone buzzes, she glances at it sideways. “Sorry,” I say. “Let me just see what this is.”
It’s from Justin at the front desk. “Sorry,” I say again. “I’ll be right back.”
Justin’s got a call holding from the student from my previous session, who suspects he’s left his calculator behind. I go to check in the study room where we’d been sitting. There’s a group in there, and the calculator is nowhere to be seen, but when I ask, one of the students admits to finding it. He was going to turn it in, he says. I don’t argue with him, just take the calculator and deliver it to Justin so the student can retrieve it.
When I turn back to where Amber’s sitting, I see a guy standing there talking to her. From the look on her face, she’s a lot happier with him than me right now.
Something vicious twists in my gut, and it takes me a moment to recognize it. I haven’t been jealous about a girl since I was in third grade. She’s looking up at him, eyes bright, and he’s smiling down at her — and I want to punch his lights out.
No matter how big an asshole it makes me, I am so not okay with watching another guy hit on Amber. I reach the table in time to hear him say, “Can I get your number?”
My fists clench at my sides. “Hey, Amber,” I say a little too loudly, cutting off any potential response. “Sorry about that. Are you ready to get started?”
I stare the other guy down, and it doesn’t take him long to get the picture. “I’ll see you around,” he says, backing away from the table.
The fuck he will.
Amber watches him go, and I watch her watching him. Those few seconds don’t cool my anger, but they’re enough for a strange clarity to overtake me.
When she finally looks back at me, I say, “I need to talk to you.”
Chapter 25
Amber
Aidan’s voice is heavy and deep, and it lights me up at the same time it sends a chill through me.
His words sound like the start of a breakup conversation, but we can’t be breaking up when we were never together. And anyway, our “non-breakup” already happened when he stopped contacting me, stopped flirting with me.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “We’re still studying, right?”
“Yeah, just not here,” he says. “Let’s go somewhere else.” I’m completely off balance and have no idea what he has in mind. Turning numb, I nod and follow him as he leads us out of the center.
Aidan walks briskly, like he has somewhere to go. When we’re a good distance from the building, he stops abruptly and turns to me. “I can’t do this,” he says.
My stomach, which had already been knotted into a tight ball since I arrived at the tutoring center, twists again. Aidan looks agitated, almost angry.
“You can’t do what?” I say.
He stares at me, looking deep into my eyes, and I can’t look away, even though I desperately want to. “I can’t stay away from you.”
At first I can’t even process what he’s said. He doesn’t touch me, but his eyes continue to pierce mine, like he’s searching for my reaction.
The ball in my stomach unfurls and warmth floods through me. He feels it too. It’s not just me. I can see in his eyes that he feels the pull, that something-deeper that draws me to him like an undertow, like I felt outside his house that night.
When he reaches up to claim a strand of my hair, I completely melt. I drop my bag, go into his arms, and just hold on. His arms come around me and hold me tight, and for a long moment we just stand there, not speaking, but communicating so much in our embrace.
Everything, for those few moments, feels incredibly right.
“I missed you,” I say, and his grip tightens around me, his hand warm at the back of my neck.
“I missed you too.” He touches his forehead to mine, then draws back to look at me. “Want to go to BFOC? I could use some food, and we can study there.”
Food is the absolute farthest thing from my mind, especially with how my stomach feels, but right now I’d agree to study at the top of Mount Everest so long as he was there.
We set off across campus again. Aidan doesn’t take my hand, and I realize he hasn’t even kissed me. His words and his embrace were intense, but I still feel off balance somehow.
He said he missed me, but what does that mean? Why has he been ignoring me these past two weeks? I don’t want to be some demanding, clingy girl, but I honestly don’t understand what’s going on between us. Are we somehow “together” now, or is he just circling back to me because he’s still attracted to me? Is he still getting laid every time he turns around while he keeps this, whatever “this” is, going with me?
I want to be able to voice my questions and find some clarity, but I can’t work out how to say these things without it sounding bad, and without ruining whatever’s going on between us.
At the café, Aidan pulls a sandwich out of the case while I hang back. “What would you like?” he asks.
“I can get it,” I say.
Arching a brow, he gives me a look. “Just let me,” he says.
His words strike me as a metaphor for our entire relationship. I’m on his time, on his terms, at his will.
I look back at him for a second and then pick a small salad out of the case, not really sure I can eat anything. Aidan pays for the food, and leads us to a quiet booth. While he tears into his sandwich, I poke at my food but can’t bring myself to eat. My confusion and frustration seem to be stuck in my throat.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I blurt out the thought at the forefront of my mind before I have a chance to second guess myself. “Why did you want to stay away from me?”
He hesitates for a moment, puts his sandwich down, and seems to be gathering his thoughts. Finally he says, “I don’t have … neither of us really has time for something serious, you know? We’ve got classes, and work, and I’ve got the band.”
My heart is beating fast. I want to continue to question him, to try to pin him down and know exactly what there is between us, but this doesn’t seem like the time for that kind of discussion. Aidan’s watching me, waiting for my reaction, and I decide to keep things light.
“Yeah,” I say. “That makes sense. We’re both really busy.”
“Right,” he says, his mouth curving into a smile. “So I thought it would be better to just … keep our distance.” The smile fades, and he puts a hand over mine. “But I don’t want to keep my distance from you.”
Heat races up my arm from his touch. I meet his eyes — those dark, devastating eyes — and I manage to answer in a whisper, “I don’t want that either.”
We hold each other’s gaze for a long moment, his hand still on mine, his eyes seeming to see deep inside me. I wonder if he can see the line I’ve just crossed in my head ... and my heart.
I don’t want to keep any distance from him. I want to be all in with him, come what may. I’ve felt the heartbreak of thinking he’s done with me, and I can deal with that again if I have to. I want to be with Aidan fully. I want him to be my first.
Even if he could tell what I’m thinking, he probably wouldn’t realize what a big deal it is to me. He’s probably been through scenes like this with lots of girls before me.
My stomach tightens again, and I push away the unwelcome thought. Whatever Aidan’s done with other girls, it doesn’t matter anymore. I turn my hand beneath his so we’re palm to palm, curling my fingers around him. I don’t care if he’s a player, and I know this probably won’t be a long-term thing. I know he’s not the perfect choice for s
omeone like me, who always tries to make the right decision. I don’t care anymore; I just want him.
I squeeze his hand, he smiles at me, and then we return to our food. A weight feels like it’s been lifted, and I dig into my salad, while Aidan’s feet tangle with mine under the table.
After we eat, we go ahead with the tutoring session, and it all feels so different, and so right. Aidan isn’t being the cocky flirt he was at our first session, and he’s not being distant either. He seems like himself, like the real him is fully present with me, and I work through my chemistry with a warm glow lighting me from inside.
“I can tell you’ve been studying,” he says, after I balance an equation in record time.
“My final’s on Thursday. I think I’m almost ready.”
“I have rehearsal Wednesday afternoon for our show Thursday, but how about if you come by practice and then we can go to my house and study? A final review before your test?”
His question warms me. He’s inviting me into his life, asking me to come by and hang out with him and the band, with people who matter to him. But I know I wouldn’t be able to concentrate. The thought of meeting the other guys is slightly intimidating. It might be best if I postpone that until sometime after the test, when I don’t need to be so focused.