Page 23 of The Underachiever’s Guide to Love and Saving the World

COURTNEY

The two-mile walk back to the castle was a tense one. I’d almost been roasted and slurped like a cappuccino by a giant spider, and yet all I could think about was Bryce. I accused him of having feelings, and somehow, he said exactly what I needed him to. You’re like a damp sock.

Nothing had ever been more comforting.

It was also disconcerting because no matter what he said, he still came to make sure I was okay. I didn’t understand why he kept bothering .

I needed to focus. I could only pretend to be a hero for so long before I actually had to do something heroic.

I had to stop failing, and this time, I couldn’t do that by quitting.

I was going to need magic to fix this, which meant I was going to have to play the part of the perfect savior.

I would suffocate under the layers of capes I’d have to wear.

A stray, hot tear rolled over my nose. Rage crying was inconvenient. It was hard to be convincing with tears streaming down my face. I stood in the middle of the darkening woods, sniffing miserably.

Up ahead, Bryce looked over his shoulder, noticing me several yards back. The next thing I knew, he stood before me. His eyes were still frantic and darting, movements jerky. “What’s wrong?” he asked sharply. “You hurt?”

I shook my head.

He reached for me, hesitated, then placed his fingers under my jaw as he scanned my face. He tilted my chin and brushed the tear from my nose with his thumb.

My chest lurched. My head filled with dangerous what if s. I wanted to hold on to this Bryce forever, this strange in-between Bryce who was my friend enough to not be my enemy, but still my enemy enough that he was safe.

“You saved me,” I whispered.

“I guess I’d die for you now.” Bryce sighed heavily. “Hate that for me.” His usual bite was absent from his voice, like he truly did hate that for himself. “We really need to work on your fight-or-flight response.”

He looked like a fairy-tale prince standing here, surrounded by golden twilight, fog swirling around his body, red hair curling in the humidity and falling over his bright eyes.

“Why are you crying?” He released my jaw, tucking his hands under his armpits.

“And don’t say it’s the dragon, because I already know it’s not.

I don’t think you’ve ever known what fear is.

I bet you were one of those horrible, adventurous children who thought everything was better in the dark.

Hide-and-seek in the dark. Tag in the dark. Blanket forts in the dark.”

I blinked through my tears. “Games are better in the dark. Where’s the fun in the expected?”

“You need the light so you can see what’s coming. So you know when to run.” Shaking his head, he took a few steps away. “Fuck, Courtney. A dragon? A spider dragon? How was that a good idea? We could have died. Actually died. Fuck!”

I realized then how hard he’d been fighting to keep his cool, to soften his words.

He’d shown me considerable kindness, considering my massive screwup, but finally his fear had broken through.

The fear that was my fault. He was right.

We could have died. At once, the world felt very large, and I felt very small.

I closed the distance between us, wrapping my arms around Bryce’s waist and resting my cheek against his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

He went rigid in my arms, his heart thumping against my ear. I squeezed him tighter, willing his pulse to calm. I was suddenly aware of every inch of his body pressed against mine, the firm contour of his chest, the slope of his stomach, the dip of his spine under my palm.

As nice as it felt, he and I could never work. I was a quitter. The only reason I hadn’t quit being a hero by now was because I couldn’t. Once Bryce saw my true colors again, he’d stop his bothering . This in-between moment was all we could ever have.

I placed my palms on his chest to push away but hesitated.

His hands shot to mine, peeling them away from him. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “Your hands are cold. They’re making my nipples pebbly.”

I arched my brows, shoulders easing because I’d been handed A Gift, and I mustn’t squander it. There was a lot to dissect. A lot to ridicule. I settled on “Pebbly?” as I held back a laugh and tried not to look at our entwined fingers.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, voice soft now. His eyelids fluttered as he glanced at our hands. “Pebbly. Like, all prickly and hard. Like I’m a heaving-bosomed countess being seduced by a wealthy rake or something. It’s a well-known word. Stop acting like I’m the weird one for knowing a normal word.”

“So, wait, I’m the rake in this scenario, and you and your nips are helpless to my charms?” I couldn’t fight it anymore. I snorted, helpless laughter gurgling forth.

He detached his fingers from mine. “Is everything a joke to you?”

“Yes,” I said, wiping a new kind of tear from my eye. “It’s my working theory that, if life isn’t a joke, then it’s a tragedy.”

He shook his head, and the tension between us eased. We started walking again. It was odd how he seemed to grow more scared when I tried to comfort him. He only relaxed once I started teasing him again, distracting him from danger.

“When I think pebbles , I think fish tanks and gravel roads,” I mused, following him through the woods. “I can see how it’s an erotic word. Nothing gets me going like a gravel road.”

He kept his back to me as he ducked under a limb. “I’m so happy you took nothing our wise mentor said about kindness to heart today.”

“That’s some awfully pebbly dirt you’re standing on. Don’t get too excited.”

I kept stealing glances at his profile, at the way dying sunlight danced over the exquisite angles of his face. And a plan began to emerge.

Screw the universe. I’d save the world my way, quick and dirty, and get Bryce home safely, whatever it took.

Maybe I wasn’t a hero, but that meant I didn’t have to worry about things like honor or morals.

I’d fight dirty. I’d use all the tricks in the book.

My methods wouldn’t be pretty, but I’d get the job done.

I scooped a rock off the ground and sidled up to Bryce. “In case you ever get lonely,” I practically purred, pressing the stone into his palm.

Maybe I couldn’t be a hero, but I could be a hell of an antihero.

When we made it back to the castle, Amy updated us on the search for Winston. There were no new clues, which only made the urgency in my gut build. I had to get a handle on this Chosen One thing, and quickly.

I’d meant to lightly stalk the king, but he didn’t come to dinner. It seemed suspicious to me, but all his staff insisted he was in bed and would not leave his chambers until morning, so I supposed I’d have to continue my investigation tomorrow.

We met in Bryce’s room after dinner without addressing the fact we were about to sleep together for a second time. We were like the sheepdog and the wolf in that old cartoon, shaking hands after clocking out from a long day of fighting. I had my reasons, but I wasn’t sure what his were.

My plan was simple. If Amy wanted me to be nice, I’d be nice.

Very nice.

Forget pushing Bryce away when he repeatedly kept bothering .

Instead, latch on to it. Encourage it. Maybe I wasn’t allowed to make friends with the other people in this world, but if Bryce found me fascinating, hilarious, and irresistible, my Charisma tank would fill up.

I wouldn’t let it go too far, of course.

Nothing physical would happen. But if he grew attracted to me, I’d use the magic to defeat the dragon, find Winston and overthrow the Evil One, and deal with the fallout later.

A tiny crush never hurt anyone. I could almost smell sweet, sweet victory.

Oh. That was the smell of Bryce. I’d never noticed it until then, until I slid my legs between the sheets of his bed. It was some generic guy smell, like mint-leaf-chewing-bear-fighting-octopus-near-pine-forest or something, but it smelled good, clean, comforting—

“Courtney?” Bryce asked. “Hello? I made a hilarious joke, and you’re not appreciating it.”

“I’m sorry I’m missing all your greatest moments,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“I’ll have to start calling you dad.”

I paused. “Oh my god, Bryce.”

“Don’t ‘oh my god’ me. Tell me you’re my daddy or something. Come on, I thought going too far was our thing.”

“You’d like to go too far with me,” I said, but my mind drifted elsewhere, remembering how Bryce said, “They’re fine,” when I asked about his parents.

Remembering the way Bryce didn’t get any Christmas cards or packages in the mail.

The way I ate microwave spaghetti sitting against the shared wall of our duplex on December 25 because I heard him shuffling around over there.

Maybe he just didn’t celebrate Christmas, but I’d pretended he was as lonely as I was because then at least we could be alone together.

Guilt over what I was about to do trickled into my heart.

It was for Bryce’s own good, I reasoned.

I’d confess after we were safely home that I’d used his emotions for power.

He’d be irate and would probably hate me for real.

If that meant we were done being frenemies when we got home, that was a consequence I could live with, so long as we were both alive.

Maybe it was for the best. Bryce threatened the lifestyle I worked so hard for (or rather, did not work hard for), because suddenly I had all kinds of bothersome new goals like: protect Bryce at all costs.

What came next was simple. I pretended to have a sex dream. A loud one.