Page 37 of I Don't Need Your Romance

Addie looks at Carly, then at Raven, then at me. She’s about to say something, but I cut her off.

“Don’t even start.”

“Helikesyou,” she insists.

“Oh my gosh! No, he doesn’t. He probably felt bad for me because I looked like I just cried. Nothing else.”

Carly lifts a brow. “I’m not so sure. If he didn’t like you, why would he care if you were upset?”

“Because he felt bad for me.”

Addie shakes her head.

Raven thinks for a second. “I think I’m with Sophie on this one. Just because a guy is nice to you, doesn’t mean he likes you.”

“Yes it does!” Carly and Addie say.

We turn our attention to the two guys sitting at our table. Caleb and Ryder exchange a glance. Caleb gestures for Ryder to take this one.

Ryder sits forward. “I mean, in most cases a guy only cares about a girl when he likes her. But there are always exceptions. Damian might just be nice.”

“Or he saw you were upset and he wanted to try to make you feel better,” Caleb adds.

Addie turns to him. “Whose side are you on?”

He nuzzles her nose. “I love how much you want your friend to be happy, but I’m sorry. I don’t think Damian is interested in Sophie and we shouldn’t give her false hope.”

Addie frowns. “Maybe you’re right. But I’m still holding on to the hope that he does.”

I wave my hand as I take out my book. With all the commotion about the competition, I forgot to finish up my chapter. “What does it matter, anyway? I have my books and I’m good.”

As we talk about other things, I make sure to keep Damian, far, far away from my thoughts and the conversation.

Chapter Fourteen

Sophie

Let me just say that currently, I want to jump on top of a table and dance.

Dying to Kiss Youdid not disappoint even foronesecond. The characters were real and relatable, the plot kept growing more intense and intriguing with every page that I turned, and the romance? Mwa! Chef’s kiss.

No, it was more than a chef’s kiss. It was more than the most epic romance in the history of romances. It was perfect. Legendary. The kind of romance that people write songs about. The kind of romance that can never be replicated. And because of all that, this book is now my number one favorite.

I’m sitting in an empty classroom after school and am rereading my favorite scenes from the book. I know I need to meet with Damian soon for our lesson, but I want to squeeze in as much reading as possible. I’ve been addicted and obsessed with books before, but never like this. There’s nothing I hate about the book (well, other than the fact that it’s over), and if people would let me, I would spend every second of every day gushing about it and telling them exactlywhythey need to pick up their buttsthis secondand read it.

I wish my friends loved to read as much as I do. It kind of sucks not to have a person in my life I could squeal and swoon with. Gina could have been that person. I imagine us recommending books to each other and gushing about them and waking each other up at odd hours of the night to discuss a scene or dissect the perfect kisses. I bet she would have put up with me even if she had a busy life of her own. I know that she would always make time for me.

Taking a break from reading to check the time, I almost drop the book. Holy heck, is that really the time? I’m twenty minutes late to the lesson!

I carefully stash my book into my backpack and zip it shut, throwing it over my shoulder and racing out of the classroom. There are some students still in the hallway and I weave my way through them as quickly as possible without running anyone over. I can feel some giving me strange looks—like where the heck am I running to like a madwoman?—but I pay no attention to them. As a tutor, I’mneverlate to a session. This would be the first time.

I burst through the library door with such a force that the librarian and the people inside stop what they’re doing and gawk at me. Not having time to apologize, I scan the inhabitants inside, praying that Damian didn’t get bored or fed up and leave. I would kick myself if he lost patience and left.

But nope, he didn’t leave. He sits at our usual table with his textbook and notebook laid out before him, a relieved expression on his face when he takes notice of me. I halt for a second as my eyes focus on the textbook and notebook. Was he doing homework as he waited for me?

Why does that cause this weird feeling to pass through me?

Ignoring it, I march over to our table and say with a huff, “Sorry I’m late! It was so irresponsible of me. It won’t happen again.” I dump my backpack on the chair next to mine and drop down in my seat. “I’m really sorry, Damian.”