Page 23 of The Romance Rivalry

Eleven fake dating

Okay, so maybe I should have gotten some more details on Aiden’s plan before blindly agreeing to jump into it with him last

night.

Because when he shows up outside my dorm today to walk me to our 8 a.m. class, I’m flustered.

When he offers to carry my backpack, I’m caught off guard.

When he takes my hand and tucks it into the crook of his elbow as we walk, I’m taken aback.

And when he leans down and whispers in my ear that I look pretty today, I come this close to passing out.

I stop just outside the English building, stepping back and pulling my arm out of Aiden’s. I need space.

“C’mon, we don’t wanna be late,” he says.

“I think maybe I very much am willing to be late in order to find out what the heck it is you’re up to.”

“What do you mean?” He takes a step forward toward me.

I hold my hand out to stop him from coming any closer. I briefly wonder if his internal temperature runs warm, because any

time I come in contact with his body, I seem to heat up. And right now, my hand, currently touching his chest, is on fire.

“What’s with all of this?” I ask, flailing my other hand around in his general vicinity.

“I mean, if we’re gonna do it, we should try and at least be convincing, don’t you think?”

“Do what?” I ask.

“Fake date,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

I try to quickly rewind the events and conversations of the night before to make sure there isn’t something I missed that

would enlighten me on what he’s talking about.

Nothing.

I stare at him.

He stares back, but his eyes are dancing.

“Wait, this is your big plan that will get everyone off our backs?” I ask.

Like clockwork, those damn dimples appear. I know he uses them whenever he thinks he’s about to get his way. Or needs to convince

me to let him.

“Yup. Look, you had this plan to find a boyfriend so you could get the haters off your back and convince SKCupid that you’re the romance expert, right? Well, why go through all the trouble of dating a bunch of randoms when you can just date me? It’s quicker, and you like me.”

I guffaw. As if.

“One, fake dating is not the same as dating. And two, the plan is to fall in love. Period. Everything else is just icing on

the cake.”

Aiden stares at me as if he doesn’t see the problem.

Why doesn’t he see the problem?

“You said you trusted me,” he says. “We’ll go on our Live, show everyone we’re dating, and get them off our backs. You get

your online peace of mind back and SKCupid makes a decision based on who’s best suited for the role, not based on assumptions

from random comments.”

“Okay, I can see what you’re saying, but then explain to me what we’re doing here, now, not in front of our computer on a

live stream.”

“This is practice.” He rubs his hands together, the cocky smirk lifting the right side of his mouth.

“I didn’t agree to practice,” I say.

“You want to be convincing, don’t you? We can’t just go online and wing it,” he says.

I mean, I guess it makes sense. But this all feels like a lot. Over the top.

“Look, it’s only a week until our Live. Might as well spend it preparing, getting used to being around each other a lot, practicing now so we can really put on a good show later.”

He looks suspiciously like he’s enjoying this.

“Okay, fine,” I cave. “But don’t be annoying about it.”

He slings his arm around my shoulders and directs me toward the door to class. “Now, when have I ever been annoying?”

And as we make our way down the center aisle to our seats, Aiden says, loudly, “Thank god we made it to class on time, baby.

Almost missed it being distracted by you.”

My jaw is on the ground.

I’m going to kill him.

Later that night, Aiden talks me into meeting him across campus. “What are we doing over here?” I ask.

He grabs my hand, and before I can fully and convincingly object, he pulls me into a place I’ve avoided since orientation:

the campus coffee house. I tug, trying to pull him back, but he’s freaking strong!

We get to the counter and I suspect to see my face taped to the wall as someone unwelcome here. I anticipate the barista’s

eyes to widen and whisper, “it’s you!” I wait for whispers and snickers to flood my ears from those sitting at various tables.

But none of that happens.

“I’ll have a large iced Americano, and a large iced caramel macchiato for her.”

“How did you know my order?” I ask.

He looks at me like I’ve grown five horns.

“I have coffee with you at least three times a week, sometimes more, depending on how cranky you are. You think I don’t know

your order by now?”

“When have I ever been cranky?” I mumble under my breath.

“Plus, boyfriends should always know their girlfriend’s coffee order,” he says over his shoulder as he whips out his dining

card to pay.

We grab a table by the window and sip our coffees while discussing the latest discourse about mandatory HEAs in romance.

“It’s such a tired argument at this point. Those who get it get it...” he says.

“And those who don’t don’t,” I say back.

“And those who don’t should just go read a thriller,” he adds.

The barista comes by and gives us an apple fritter from their display case since it’s an hour before closing. “On the house,”

she says.

It’s still soft and fresh and the apples melt in my mouth.

I look around and remember how much I liked this place the one time I was here. I can barely remember why I never came back.

The next night, I get a text from Aiden.

Aiden: I’m hungry. Let’s eat.

He meets me just outside my dorm and we grab an Uber to Lupa Trattoria. I haven’t been here since my date with... what

was his name? The good-looking one? Oh yeah, Garrett.

“What did you eat here last time?” Aiden asks.

“I had the truffle gnocchi. It was good, but very rich,” I recall.

“Wanna pick a couple things and split them?” Aiden suggests.

“Sure, that’s a good idea,” I say. I order the puttanesca and Aiden picks the ragù. When the dishes come, Aiden helps scoop

some of each onto my plate.

“Have you had much luck with the Creator Fund?” he asks me as we’re finishing up dessert, a tiramisu and an affogato, both

of which we again agree to split.

“Some. It’s hit or miss, to be honest. So much is dependent on the algorithm, and there’s not always a rhyme or reason to

it,” I admit.

It’s nice being able to talk about these things with someone. I’m surprised I’m not more protective of my information like I have been in the past. I guess since we’re (fake) dating now, I shouldn’t think the worst of him every time we discuss our online stuff.

When the waitress comes, I quickly grab for the check. “This is on me,” I say.

He reaches over and tries to take it from me. “No, no, I invited you so it’s on me.”

The waitress looks from me to Aiden and back to me like she’s at a tennis match.

“Let me get it this time, okay?” I switch tactics by asking nicely.

“No, I invited you out. It’s on me,” he says.

I go for the big guns. “But I’m older,” I say.

“No, you’re not,” he argues.

“Yes, I am. My birthday is March and yours is May,” I remind him.

He stares at me, eyes wide. “How do you know that?”

“You told me that one time we were filling out waiver forms for broom hockey,” I remind him.

“You remembered,” he says. His smile is small, almost shy. I feel especially thankful and proud that I listened and remembered

this piece of information just to get this reaction from Aiden.

“Well, since you’re older, you can pay this time. But only if I can get it next time,” he says.

I agree. And since I feel especially good about winning the who’s-gonna-pay battle, I let Aiden hold my hand as we walk home without any resistance.

We want to be convincing, after all.

Over the course of the next three days, it becomes clear to me exactly what Aiden is doing. He’s taking me back to places

where I’ve had all my failed dates and giving me new experiences at each of them.

On each of our dates, Aiden is attentive and kind, funny and a great listener. We talk about romance books and we discuss

TV shows we like, and, in what probably comes as a surprise to no one, our fake dating is feeling all too real to me at this

point.

I was beginning to think I was doomed to never really know romance. But with Aiden, I don’t feel the icks when he holds my

hand or when he always stands super close or places his hand on my lower back as he’s letting me walk through a doorway before

he does. I don’t get bored with our conversations or feel like I have to fill awkward silences. I can look at him and find

all kinds of new and fascinating things about his facial expressions. He even winked at me when we shared an inside joke,

and I found it charming.

I like him. I think about him a lot. I feel safe with him. I enjoy his company. But he’s only ever asked me to be his fake girlfriend. And I’m too terrified of rejection to broach the subject of how he’s feeling about it all now that we’ve spent some time together.

“Hey, I have to stop by the health center to pick up my meds. Wanna come with me, or I can just text you later,” Aiden asks.

“I’ll come with you,” I say.

We walk in comfortable silence. I glance down at our feet to find that, yet again, our strides are matching.

“Hey, I like your new shoes,” I comment.

“Thanks, they’re comfortable,” he says.

“What size are you?” I don’t know why this question comes up, but it’s easy to ask and I like knowing random things about

Aiden.

“I’m an eleven. You know what they say about big feet, right?”

“Don’t do that,” I say.

“Okay,” he says back.

We both crack up.

See? Easy.

We turn the corner to the health center and a bike comes barreling down the sidewalk at breakneck speed. Aiden turns and shields me with his body, getting thrown off-balance by the runaway biker. We both tumble to the ground, but Aiden wraps his hand around the back of my head, trying to turn our bodies so he takes the brunt of the landing.

We’re sprawled out on the grass, half of my body covering his. There’s a slight twinge in my ankle, but otherwise, I’m unhurt.

“Are you okay?” he quickly asks, looking me over. I notice his elbow is scraped.

“Aiden, you’re bleeding,” I say, panicked.

“I’m okay, I’m okay. Don’t worry,” he comforts me.

The rider of the bike rushes over. “Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you guys. Everyone okay? Let me take a look.” I know

who it is before he even removes his helmet. “I’m pre-med,” he says.

“Motherfucker! Are you serious, Taejin? Watch where the fuck you’re going. Why are you riding your bike on the sidewalk, anyways?”

Aiden is fired up. I’ve never seen him this angry.

Taejin’s face is as red as a tomato. “I... I... I’m sorry, but I was rushing to...”

“Forget it. Just, please, get out of the way. And be more careful next time.” Aiden looks me over one more time before standing

up and offering me his hand.

“Wait, wait, I should make sure you both are okay. That no one got a concussion from the fall,” Taejin says.

“Neither of us hit our heads, genius. What are you learning over there in pre-med?” Aiden asks.

I almost feel sorry for Taejin at this point.

I squeeze Aiden’s hand to calm him down. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I just was scared shitless that you were hurt,” he says.

“I’m okay. I thought my ankle was twisted, but it doesn’t hurt. See? I can put my weight on it.”

Taejin’s immediate reaction is to bend down to inspect my foot.

“Don’t even think about it,” Aiden stops him.

“I’m fine, Taejin, thanks,” I say.

I place my hand on Aiden’s chest and step in closer so he can see and feel for himself that I’m okay. His heartbeat is racing.

“Hey,” I whisper. He looks down at me, brow furrowed. I take my finger and press it to the spot, softening the worry. “I’m

okay, I swear.”

He looks at me one second longer and then nods.

“Let’s go,” I say. I look back over my shoulder. “See you around, Taejin.”

“Yeah, um, okay, uh, I’m glad you guys are okay. Sorry, again. I’ll be more careful, I swear,” he says.

I smile and wave and grab Aiden’s hand.

We walk a few steps, but then Aiden pulls me aside, off the sidewalk and back toward a line of bushes and trees.

“I saw that bike coming and I freaked out. I thought for sure you were gonna get hit. I’m going to kick his ass...”

“Hey, I’m okay. Don’t think about it anymore,” I say. My voice is calm, soft, and my one focus is to ease Aiden’s mind of

what he thought was going to happen but, thankfully, didn’t.

He takes a step closer and leans into me as my back hits up against a tree. He bends until his forehead rests against mine and for a few seconds we remain there until his breath evens out.

“Thanks for saving me,” I whisper.

“We were lucky,” he whispers back. Our lips are so close that I think I feel the movement from his words against my own.

“I don’t ever want you getting hurt,” he says. “Not here...” He raises my hand and kisses it. I feel a slight sting and

realize my palm is scraped. I hadn’t even noticed earlier. “Not in here,” he says as he kisses my temple. “Not in here,” he

says as he bends a little to kiss right over my heart.

I gasp. The intensity of the moment, of his words, of the tenderness of his kisses is almost too much for me to bear.

He pulls back just a fraction and looks into my eyes. When I look back into his, I find layers of emotion to explore, volumes

of stories I want to read and know all about.

“Aiden,” I say, almost no sound coming from my mouth. I’m too afraid to say anything more.

“Irene,” he says back, just before he leans in and puts his lips to mine.

A small moan escapes me, and Aiden reads the invitation for more. He opens my lips with his tongue, and I invite him in. His arm moves to wrap around my waist as he pulls me closer to him. My hands grip both his shoulders and I hang on tight, not wanting any space to separate us.

“You smell so good,” I say, not letting myself overthink the things I share in this moment.

“And you fucking taste amazing,” he says just before he goes in for more.

I’m swimming in a lust-filled haze and I don’t want to think about anything except Aiden’s mouth, his tongue, his body all

invading my space. And how much I love it.

I pull back just a bit to get some air.

Aiden’s forehead comes back to meet mine. Like it’s his safe place.

Our breaths even out and we’re in sync, just like we were with our footsteps.

“You’re not as bad as I thought, Aiden Jeon,” I tease.

He smiles against my mouth.

“And you’re ten times better than I ever let myself dream, Irene Park.”

Now those are words I’m going to play over and over in my head for a very long time.