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It was all a game up until now. But his expression is no longer playful. It’s serious and gentle and asking permission as he looks down into my eyes.

And for once, I don’t worry about anything else except for what I want.

And before he even opens his mouth to ask, I give my consent. “Yes, Aiden, yes.”

Epigraph

I’ve seen the discourse and the growing trend to hate on miscommunication as a way to increase tension. But I’m all about it. Real life is full of miscommunication. Real relationships always face it. As long as the author leads us to getting it settled to reach our HEA, I’m good.

—@irene.loves.love.books

The amount of times I screamed at the book, “JUST TALK TO EACH OTHER!!!” I’m lucky I have any hair left.

—@aidentheguyreadsromance

Fifteen

miscommunication trope

“So...”

Jeannette and Charles share a glance before Charles continues whatever it is he wants to say.

The four of us are huddled around a small table in a very crowded new matcha café just off campus. Without planning or agreement, we somehow made it a weekly thing to meet up on Thursday afternoons as a group and try out some place new. Just like our lunches together on Mondays.

And today is a bit of a celebration. Last night’s Live was more successful than I could have imagined. I was shocked to see the number of people online with us. It was the first meaningful jump in my follower count I’ve had in a long time. And though we had Jeannette and Charles online to help moderate the comments, we really didn’t need it. People were genuinely happy that Aiden and I were “dating,” andthe topics quickly switched over from our personal life to exactly where we wanted them to... books.

Aiden was right.

And I guess I was right to trust him.

“So?” Aiden raises a brow and looks first at Charles, then at Jeannette, and then at me.

I hold up my hands and lean back, not taking any of the responsibility. “Don’t look at me, I have no idea what unspoken message is happening right now.”

I pull my head to the side, trying to stretch out my neck. Aiden takes the opportunity to gently knead and massage the kink. “You’re carrying a lot of stress here,” he says.

“School,” I say without any additional explanation. My friends don’t know all the details about how poorly I’m doing, and I prefer to keep it that way. I still have a few weeks left to get all my work done and then cram for finals. I can pull this off. I’ve been told that freshmen all handle the newness of college differently. I, apparently, handle it by putting off all studying until the very last minute.

I won’t fail. I have a lot of people believing in me. I don’t want to disappoint them.

“Well, Charles and I were just wondering if we’re laying the contest to rest,” Jeannette says.

I furrow my brow. I haven’t actually thought about the contest in days. My big college plan to fall in love thatconsumed my every thought early on has now been replaced with thoughts of the guy next to me. Aiden’s leg is touching mine from hip to knee as we sit. It feels warm and settling. Almost as warm as the way the arm laid across the back of my chair, hand resting on my shoulder, still massaging, makes me feel.

“You know, now that things have”—Charles waves his hand between Aiden and me—“progressed.”

I straighten my back. “What do you mean, ‘progressed’?” I don’t know who I’m trying to fool. Do I have feelings of the warm and gooey variety for Aiden? Yes. Am I still terrified to broach this topic with him for fear he might not be feeling these same things as deeply as I am? Absolutely.

It could be that he’s still thinking we’re fake dating and is just enjoying reaping all the benefits of that. I know he’s told me otherwise. He’s advised me to believe his words. He’s borderline begged me to trust him.

Nothing about last night felt fake. It was all incredibly real. Maybe it’s time for me to stop second-guessing everyone. Like Jeannette said, just believe that I’m worthy of affection and love from people, too.

“I mean, progressed in the sneaking-out-of-Aiden’s-room-with-bedhead sort of way,” Charles says.

“Or the using-up-all-your-concealer-to-hide-that-hickey type of escalation,” Jeannette adds.

My jaw drops. I sputter. “I wasn’t, I didn’t, I haven’t...”