Page 17 of The Romance Rivalry

Eight forced proximity

My palms are clammy as I get into the elevator. I press the button for the third floor and then lean my back against the wall

of the small carriage. I’m not ready for this meeting.

My lit professor, in lieu of midterms, is having individual check-ins with each of his students. Just me and him. No Aiden

to hide behind.

I’ve managed to stay pretty under the radar in this class, I think. I never raise my hand or do anything to be perceived.

I just turn in my weekly assignment in the form of journal entries about what we’re reading. Okay, so I’ve missed a few weeks,

but I can make up for it with our end-of-semester project score. Maybe Dr. Kingston just wants to talk about the latest Christina

Lauren book?

The elevator doors finally close slowly and I let out a deep breath. The whole metal box jerks slightly and I freeze, wondering if I’m about to drop the six feet this slow thing has puttered upward thus far and fall to my death. When the panic starts to build just enough that I contemplate if I have time to text a goodbye message to my parents, the elevator stabilizes itself and resumes its slow climb.

My professor’s office door is open when I arrive, and I peek in to find him laughing with a student, the back of whom I have

become very familiar with.

Aiden.

Great, he’s charmed the socks off our professor, and when it’s my turn, my awkward self will obliterate any remnant of good

feelings. Books are fun. Why are they not fun in the context of this class for me, I wonder. Dr. Kingston is probably wondering

this, too. I hope he doesn’t ask me.

“Irene, hello, come in, come in. Aiden and I were just finishing up here.”

Aiden turns around, and the cocky smile and solo eyebrow lift on his face make me want to beat him. We’re not in competition

in this class—technically, we’re in partnership—but I still have the overwhelming sense that I have to outdo him. I need to

make our professor like me more, to think I’m a greater literary mind, see me as the expert on all things about the romance

genre especially.

I’m used to fighting for scraps of attention at home. Do I have to do it here with my professor, too?

“Aiden, it was a pleasure. And I’m definitely going to pick up that book you recommended and see what this ‘romantasy’ is all about,” he says as he shakes Aiden’s hand.

“I’m looking forward to hearing your thoughts, Dr. Kingston. I hope you’re not prone to blushing or pearl-clutching. That

one’s at least three chili peppers.”

“Chili peppers.” Dr. Kingston laughs as if he’s just been told the most wonderfully charming piece of information. “I’m quite

confident I can handle the”—he leans in toward Aiden as if to tell him a deep secret—“spice.” And then pulls back.

What. The. Hell.

Aiden walks past me to leave with one last chin lift as he goes.

Sure, see you later, bro.

“Irene, close the door and come sit,” Dr. Kingston invites me.

Close the door? How come Aiden didn’t have to meet with the door closed?

The dark cloud of dread makes its way over my head and settles there. This can’t be good.

I do as I’m told and then take a seat across the desk from Dr. Kingston. I would guess he’s in his mid-fifties, with some grays along his hairline and wire-rimmed glasses framing his face. He’s what I imagined every college professor to look like. I don’t know how to impress someone like this. He likely has no idea who my sister or my brother are, so I can’t name-drop my siblings. I could just take the route I do with my parents and simply agree with everything he says.

“Hello, Irene. Are you enjoying your time in this class?”

“Yes, I am, thank you.”

“I hear you’re quite the accomplished and prolific reader.”

“Yes, I really enjoy reading.”

“And I recall in one of your weekly assignments you mentioned wanting to be an editor?”

“Yes, I’m studying to be an editor.”

“And you said the one genre you absolutely will not read is romance?”

“Yes, I don’t read... wait... I’m sorry... what did you ask me?”

He clasps his hands in front of him on the desk and I clasp mine in my lap. My heart pounds faster and faster and I know,

I just know, I’m about to get in trouble. He caught me in agreeable robot mode and I’m busted. I’ve never been in trouble

a day in my life.

“Irene, I have had the immense pleasure of watching some of your book review content online. You are wonderfully knowledgeable about stories, romance novels especially, and incredibly articulate and witty in delivering your thoughts. I very much was looking forward to growing with you in class this semester. But so far, your weekly assignments have been woefully surface-level, as if you’re doing the bare minimum by writing what you think I want to read. And I’m wondering if you’re not enjoying this class. What can I do as your instructor to help you enjoy this class?”

I immediately want to run away and hide.

Do not cry. Do not let shame overcome you.

“The class is a bit... overwhelming,” I admit.

“Tell me more,” he encourages me.

“Well, I’m not quite understanding all the concepts, and it makes me question if I’m fit to be talking about books at all,

to be honest.”

“Irene, I promise you that I am of the mindset that books and reading are meant to be fun. And understanding the general format

of literature and story is meant to increase that enjoyment. I’d love for you to give this class a chance. Maybe let yourself

step out of your comfort zone, not only in what you read, but how you think about what you’re reading. Romance novels are

wonderful. Romance in the context of the world through the eyes of so many other books is even more satisfying.”

I nod as he waxes poetic, bracing myself for when he finally gets to the part where he says I’m failing and need to drop the

class.

“What’s your favorite romance trope?” he asks me.

“I’m sorry, what?” I shake my head, uncertain I heard him correctly.

“Which trope would you reach for right now if you had a full bookshelf in front of you?”

I think it over. What trope would someone like my professor want to read? What would someone of his age and background enjoy? I don’t want to recommend a book he won’t like and have him hold it against me.

“Please don’t worry about if I would like it or not. I want to know what you like.”

“Um...” Well, that makes it tough. Just any trope that I personally enjoy? “Well, forced proximity, I guess?” I say, my

voice laced with uncertainty. What will he think about this?

“Oooh, I’m intrigued—tell me more. What about it do you enjoy?”

I can usually do this with my eyes closed. I do this every single night in front of my computer. But right here, with the

pressure to produce an answer and impress an important person sitting right in front of me, I can’t come up with one reason.

I’m paralyzed. My breath shortens and my eyes widen in panic. I can’t form words.

He gives me a sympathetic smile. “Think it over, Irene. If you would feel more comfortable, maybe you can record a short video

for me of what you like about it. That seems to be the format in which you flourish. Can you have it in my inbox by Friday?”

I breathe out through my nose and nod. Maybe I can just look back through my old reviews and repurpose that content.

“Good, good. Well, thank you for coming by. I look forward to hearing more about the forced-proximity trope. Sounds like it’s prime for some juiciness.” He throws his head back and laughs at his own comment.

I give a perfunctory smile, grab my bag, and get the hell out of Dodge. Then, I rush to the elevator, turn the corner, and

run right into the best-smelling wall of human ever.

“Oof. Sorry,” I say, forcing myself to raise my eyes to confirm what I already know.

“How’d it go?” Aiden asks. Did he wait for me? Was he eavesdropping? Could he hear anything through the closed door?

“Fine, it was... fine,” I say. I push the elevator down button five or six times, hoping this will miraculously speed up

its arrival. It finally arrives, taking a painfully long time to click into place before the doors slowly slide open. I rush

in and repeat the process, jamming the button for the first floor even though it’s already lit up.

Aiden makes his way into the small steel box and sucks out ninety percent of the air, leaving an unequal ten percent for me.

That’s the only reason I can’t breathe, I’m sure of it.

The doors squeak their way closed and the elevator, just as it had on the way up, moves a few inches and stalls. I know the

drill this time.

I feel Aiden shuffle next to me. I wonder if he’s the type who can’t handle small spaces. What if he has a panic attack? What

if I’m the one to be relied on to keep my cool in this situation? That would be tragic.

The elevator is so small that I’m suddenly very aware of how close we’re standing to one another. Our arms are touching, and if I turn to look at him...

I steal a glance, which reveals he’s turned to look at me, mere inches away.

I swallow.

“What did Dr. Kingston say?” he asks, his voice soft and inviting, like he’s coaxing a scared cat out of the corner.

“In a nutshell, I think I’m gonna fail his class,” I admit. I tuck my lips between my teeth and try to hold back my abject

fear of the thought of telling my parents this news. God, the disappointment on their faces—I can already see it.

“Naw, we’re not gonna let that happen,” he says. His voice is light, confident, and determined. He’s my partner, after all.

He can’t let me fail if he wants to do well.

“What did he say to you?” I ask.

“Nothing earth-shattering. We just talked books. Writing. Shit like that.” His focus is on his feet, the nonchalance in his

voice triggering my curiosity.

“That’s it? What about class? Did you talk about...”

“So, have you heard from Pre-med Taejin?” he asks, cutting me off in my attempt to get more solid details out of him. That

was weird.

It takes me a second to even make sense of what he’s saying. My brain struggles to shift gears with the abrupt change of topic, and this past weekend is somewhat of a blur. “No, actually, I haven’t. In fact, I think you’re the one that made sure of it.”

“Dude was trying to score a date with a girl in the hospital. C’mon, that’s the stuff creeps are made of.” Aiden’s mouth is

twisted, his eyes narrowed. Let’s hope those pre-med classes are on the other side of campus, for Taejin’s sake and safety.

“Well, I can decide for myself who I see and when. I didn’t and don’t need you speaking for my availability. You’re probably

trying to sabotage my chance at marking off another trope from my list.” I pound on the button a few more times. Why won’t

this elevator move? Is it actually broken? Oh my god, are we stuck?

Aiden takes a step toward me, and in this tiny tin box, that puts his body almost directly in contact with mine. “We were

on a break from the contest for midterms, remember? And I don’t need to sabotage you to win,” he says, leaning in even closer.

“So have a blast with your childhood sweetheart as he tells you all about his exciting life in pre-med.” His voice is low,

even, quiet.

I open my mouth to make it clear to Aiden that I am in no way interested in Taejin. I don’t want him getting the wrong ideal.

But he’s so close, I have to lean my head back to look at him. And with him staring down into my eyes like that, my mind is

a jumbled mess. I swallow.

He’s somehow sucked all the air out of the elevator, and though on wobbly legs, I’m lucky I’m still standing.

“Um...” Some days I’m so eloquent.

The corner of Aiden’s mouth lifts in a cocky smirk.

“You should let loose a little, Irene. You act like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.” He takes a

step back, giving me space to breathe again, but suddenly making the elevator feel big... too big.

“I know you’re right. I guess I just thought college would be...” I pause, unsure what I thought. “...easier? I don’t

know. I hoped that I’d come to know and understand myself a little better and have fun in the process. Instead, I feel more

lost than ever.”

“Be kinder to yourself,” he says. The words feel like permission. I play them over in my head, liking the way they sound but

uncertain what it would look like to do so.

I lean forward and press the first floor button again, but the elevator hasn’t budged. I press the door-open button and nothing.

“Give it a second, this old thing has a mind of its own. It’ll move when it’s ready,” Aiden says. He reaches out and covers

my hand on the button, wrapping his fingers around mine, drawing my hand down away from the panel.

Both of us watch the movement. I wonder if he sees it in slow motion like I do.

I look up, examining his profile, wondering how it is that he never seems to let anything get to him. It’s infuriating and

also, sorta admirable.

He turns his head and looks at me, his eyes roaming over me, taking in every detail.

And maybe for the first time ever, I don’t worry about what someone sees this close up. I don’t fret about my enlarged pores

or the freckles I often try to cover. The small cluster of scars the summer’s acne left behind. The peach fuzz around my jawline.

Instead, I beg him in my heart to see me. To actually see me.

His eyes move to meet mine. I don’t look away.

“Forced proximity,” he whispers. “You know what happens next, don’t you?”

I shake my head the tiniest bit.

The side of his mouth lifts into a cocky grin as he leans in.

I hold my breath in anticipation.

The floor beneath me sways as an earthquake, the Big One, hits. Or, rather, as the rickety old elevator chooses that exact

moment to kick into gear. I have either the best luck or the worst luck ever, as the connection between Aiden and me is lost.

I lose my balance a tiny bit, placing my hand on his chest to right myself. His heart beats quickly beneath my palm. I push

him away just a bit. He steps away, back to the opposite corner.

I let out a long, steady breath, trying to calm the neurons that seem to be firing inside every part of me. This is a good thing. The last thing I want is my enemy, my rival romance reviewer, my challenger in the race to find love, my competition for a brand deal, in forced proximity to muddy the waters even more.

Aiden clears his throat, but I keep my eyes focused on the crack between the doors in front of me.

The elevator finally stops at the ground floor and the crack slowly widens.

“I gotta get going,” I say over my shoulder, shuffling my feet forward.

He doesn’t say anything in return.

I move quickly, stopping myself just short of running. Don’t look back, I tell myself. Don’t you dare.

But because I never listen, I do it. I sneak a peek over my shoulder.

Aiden Jeon stands there, hands stuffed in his pockets, watching me as I walk away.

And his dimples are on full display.

I head straight to the indie bookstore off-campus to meet Jeannette. We’re going to pick out some new books for her to read

now that she’s over her midterms hump. I’m a little early, but I’m happy to pass the time scanning the aisles of the store.

As I get closer, I see Jeannette, the tall regal redhead already there. I lift my hand, about to shout my greeting and wave, when Charles appears next to her. He wraps his arm around her neck and pulls her in close. She folds herself into him and they embrace.

As friends of friends do.

Except the entire front of her body is plastered to the entire front of his, and his other hand travels down her back to her...

oh...

I jump behind a bush and hide, not wanting to expose myself as a voyeur. And I have to get my bearings, because I’m pretty

sure my very best friend, who I tell everything to, is maybe sorta having some kind of romantic thing with the best friend

of my enemy. And I never even knew they’d caught feelings for each other.

She’s never mentioned even one bit of this to me.

And worst of all, the selfish, ugly bit that sits deep inside me wonders how it is that everyone can so easily find love but

I can’t even get close.

Do I play it cool? Do I act like I didn’t see anything? Do I come clean and ask her what’s up?

I take out my phone and type the text.

Me: I’m so sorry but I can’t make it to the bookstore. Meeting with prof ran long. Say hi to the romance section for me.

I watch as Jeannette looks at her screen and furrows her brow for one second. But then she looks back up at Charles and smiles, and the two of them walk away, hand in hand, as happy and clearly into each other as can be.

And I, per usual, turn and walk in the opposite direction, all alone.

I’m tempted to put my earbuds in and pretend I’m busy when Jeannette gets back. But I don’t want this to come between us.

So I wait patiently, and when she opens the door and I see the smile on her face, the vise on my heart releases a little bit

and I smile back.

“Hey there. I got you something,” she says. She walks over and drops next to me on my bed, opening up her bag. She pulls out

a book with a cute librarian type and a guy with tattoos on his arms illustrated on the cover. “The bookseller said this is

a new one by a debut author that just came out. She highly recommended it.”

I look down at the book and back up at Jeannette. “Thanks, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it today.”

“No worries, everything okay?”

I nod, but the look on Jeannette’s face says I’m not being convincing.

“I don’t want to lie to you,” I say, not able to hold it in any longer. “I showed up at the bookstore a little early and I

saw you, um, there, with, uh, Charles.”

“You did?” She pauses. “Oh, you saw us.” She starts to giggle. “Well, we were gonna actually tell you today when you came,

but...”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I can’t hide the hurt in my voice. I know I’m new to this friend thing, but I tell Jeannette everything, and realizing that it might be one-sided stings... a lot.

“Well, we were kinda flirting, but I didn’t think anything of it. And then it just kinda happened the other night. We went

out to dinner and whether it was the relief that midterms were over or the shared laugh over the romance competition, the

spark just ignited. I really was gonna tell you right away today. I don’t keep secrets from you, you know that.”

I look up at her and don’t see any sign of a lie or a cover-up.

I let out a deep sigh of relief. And then I fall back onto my bed, looking up at the ceiling.

“I like the two of you together. It’s a good match,” I say.

“Thanks. I mean, it’s new, so who knows. I wasn’t looking for anything, but I do like him.” She lies down next to me, both

of us eyes upward. She reaches for my hand. I place it in hers.

“Can I say something without sounding like a dick? I mean, I might sound like a dick because I think it’s gonna be a dick

thing to say. But I don’t want you to think I’m a dick.” My mind is a garbled mess that has made its way down to my mouth.

Jeannette laughs and squeezes my hand.

“Why does it feel like it’s so easy for everyone else and so impossible for me?”

“What do you mean? You’ve been going on a lot of dates recently,” she says.

“True. But I don’t feel anything for any of these dates. Not even a blip of attraction. There’s no longing, no chemistry, no...” A small elevator, the intoxicating smell, his body leaning into mine.

“It takes time. You haven’t given any of these dates even a second chance. It’s not a race,” Jeannette says.

“Well, it kinda is, now that Aiden’s involved,” I say.

“Speaking of... you’ve spent more time with Aiden than any other guy. Do you think...”

I was worried she might take the conversation there. I’m not ready to even think about this. There’s just no way. “Do I think

what?”

“It’s just that you two get each other. I swear you have these secret codes and a language that just the two of you understand.

It’s kinda sexy watching how you bicker, and it puts a sparkle in your eye I never see with anyone else. Forget the challenge.

The purpose of the plan was to fall in love, find your HEA. Maybe the plan is actually secondary to the person you’re doing

the plan with.”

“You mean you, right? The one I’m doing the plan with? I do love you, Jeannette,” I deflect.

“Okay, okay, I’ll let it go. And I love you, too,” she says.

“It’s just... I’m scared I’m too emotionally stunted to fall in love,” I admit. “I think this is why this plan felt like the right path in the beginning. If I see them as tropes, and not as real guys, then I’m not as afraid to try. I can play the part of the main character, just like in the books I read, and I know what to do. Like a love manual. I know these books inside and out.”

“But that’s not real life, Irene. Sounds like an easy way to avoid feelings or emotions. What are you afraid of, do you think?”

God, she’s gonna make a great therapist one day.

“I’m afraid of someone not choosing me. I’m afraid of being rejected. I’m afraid... I’m not worthy to be loved.” I look

up, eyes wide with surprise. I hadn’t expected to admit all of that to anyone.

But Jeannette’s smile is kind and understanding. “Is that why you love your online presence so much? Because these people

choose to press a button to follow you and to check in on you every time you post?”

“Yeah, I guess. They accept me for who I am.”

“But that’s not who you are completely. That’s just another role you’re playing. I’ve been getting to know all these colorful

and deep parts of you, and it’s better than I could have expected. Why won’t you let people see this?”

“Well... you’re my bestie, so you get special privileges,” I say, nudging her with my shoulder.

Her smile spreads across her entire face and the light of it threatens to blind me. “I’m not sure if you realized this or not, but you’ve shown some of these parts to Charles and Aiden, too. Aiden most of all.”

I blush, embarrassed that I’ve let my guard down so easily with so many people.

“Well, we’re all friends, right? And I know what you’re thinking, but Aiden and I aren’t like that. You know how I feel about

enemies-to-lovers. I’m not interested in reading it, and I’m not interested in living it.”

But even in my head, it doesn’t feel right calling Aiden my enemy anymore.