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“We do not have a spark,” I say through a mouthful of egg salad. Which probably looks as gross as it sounds.

“Irene, he’s got you totally bent out of shape. You know what this means. It means you care about what he thinks.”

“Actually, I think it means I find him utterly annoying,” I reply. And it’s not that special—I care about what everyone thinks. I’m a chronic people pleaser.

“But why, though? Is there a reason both of you can’t exist in the romance-reviewing space?”

It’s a totally fair question. I like and respect so many otherreviewers. And I have no problem with men being in the space, as long as they respect and enjoy the genre. I also don’t find it at all odd that Aiden and I are two of the very few Korean reviewers out there.

So why does he press every one of my buttons? Something about Aiden’s existence makes me feel very...

“He makes me nervous,” I admit.

“Hmmm,” she responds again, a knowing smile on her face.

I roll my eyes, shrug, and go back to work on my sandwich.

Whatarethe odds of me and Aiden being at the same school, in the same class, even? Forget odds. I just have really bad luck.

“Anyways, how were your classes this morning?” I ask.

Jeannette wipes her mouth with her napkin, and when her eyes meet mine, I suddenly feel sorry I asked. My full-of-light roommate looks very dark.

“I think I’m in over my head,” she says. Her downturned mouth, the droop of her shoulders, the tiny worry line forming between her eyes. This is all very bad. I’ve never—in the three days we’ve known each other—seen Jeannette like this.

I want to tell her that I kinda know how she feels. That I don’t know what I’m doing. That my Intro to Lit class, which I thought would be a dream, has me totally confused already. That I miss my family, even Cybil, kinda sorta. That I may have been fooling myself into thinking I’m ever gonna find a boyfriend, despite my foolproof plan.

But I don’t say any of that.

“It’s just the first day. It’ll totally get better,” I say instead.

Jeannette’s frown lifts into a smile, and I swear to god, it looks like she believes me. I hope life doesn’t make a liar of me.

“Hey, if you two are interested, we’re having our first meeting of the Brighton Book Club Thursday night at the Commons.”

I look up into the green eyes of a guy clearly in talks to star in some new CW show. He’s gorgeous, in the way that no one should have the right to be—tanned skin, long, straight nose, wearing the private-school-coed uniform of light blue cotton button-down and khaki pants.

My mouth goes dry.

My eyeballs have bazoonga’d out of their sockets.

Jeannette is equally and uncharacteristically quiet. When I sneak a peek in her direction, her eyes are rounded, mouth slack-jawed, and I think I hear an audible gulp.

I’m starting to think this school pays good-looking people to come on campus and recruit people into their...

“Wait, did you say book club?” I ask. I reach and take the flyer he’s been holding out toward us for what has probably been a minute or two too long for polite company.

I face my internal struggle of being curious about what’s listed about this book club on the paper but not wanting to pull my eyes away from this stunning man in front of me foreven one moment of my life.

I make the choice. I look away and read the flyer.

“I did,” he says, in what is of course a low, melodic voice saved for the angels. “Do you like to read?”

Talk dirty to me.

“I do,” I say back. Oh god, his beauty has limited me to a mere two words. But when I look up into his eyes, I see the sparkle... the kind I’ve only ever read about in, well, books. He thinks I’m flirting. I’m not flirting. I’m too mesmerized to flirt. I don’t flirt on my best days.

I’m certainly not flirting after having eaten an egg salad sandwich and now being faced with a deity offering me an invite to the promised land.