Page 11 of Win You Over

Remington

“ A re you mad at me?” I lean over Holden’s shoulder as he bends his head, sipping from the water fountain. He tenses and I step back to give him space when he spins around, his eyes narrowed, his brows drawn.

“You never replied to my message last night. Or the two this morning,” I say, pouting my bottom lip for effect.

After Holden turned down my offer to hang and then promptly left, I’d sent him a message about training together before the next fight.

I figured after our discussion about winning, or more accurately, him losing, that he’d be keen to practice.

Taking his phone out of his pocket, Holden types a message and holds it up for me to read.

Does it matter if I am?

My stomach twists. “Yeah, of course it matters,” I reply.

Around us, students hustle up and down the hallway, the sound of their chatter carrying in the air and along the spacious hallways.

There’s an air of trepidation throughout the buildings as students get ready to sit their final exams of the year.

The parties have slowed down, the common areas quieter and the library teeming with students, heads down, hands highlighting and scribbling notes as they try to take in as much of the year as they possibly can.

Holden types another message. His lips tipped up on one side into a sly smirk.

You can’t stand the thought of someone not liking you, can you?

Absolutely fucking not , I think, but tone down my reply and say, “Not really.” Then give a nonchalant shrug.

Holden smiles, the look so completely foreign on him that I have a hard time looking away. He’s so damn gorgeous. Has anyone ever told him that before?

He holds up his phone again. In that case, yes, I’m mad at you, and there is nothing you can do to change that.

“Nothing at all?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest, making my muscles bulge beneath my tee. He doesn’t so much as glance at my display.

His lips twist in thought and he hastily types out a reply.

Drop out of this weekend’s fight.

“So you can win? Not a chance,” I say with a chuckle.

His eyebrows pull together adorably. “You don’t actually want that.

Forever knowing you only won because I let you.

” I lean in a little, closing the space between us without overpowering him.

“You want to earn that prize and you want to earn it by taking me down. I know you do, leeutjie . So, in the interest of being a really fucking good friend, I politely decline.”

Straightening up, I flash him my best smile.

Asshole, he types. His lips are pulled tight, but it’s hard to miss the way they’re twitching, as though he’s fighting off a smile.

“Aww you have a pet name for me. I’ll wear it with pride,” I joke, tapping a hand over my heart.

He shakes his head, a hand covering his mouth. He’s definitely warming up to me.

“I’m going to win you over, Booker. It is inevitable.” I wave a hand between us. “This friendship? It’s happening.” He scoffs, his hand falling to reveal that fucking incredible smile. I wonder what it would feel like against my lips.

Now is the time to remind myself that hitting on my straight, not quite friend, is unadvisable. But fuck me sideways, he makes it really hard not to.

“Join me for lunch?” I ask, gesturing over my shoulder and towards the general direction of the cafeteria.

He types quickly on his phone, his eyes barely watching the screen as he does.

Even if I said yes, your actual friends would hate it.

I want to say he’s wrong, but there’s this really frustrating truth about our town and that is that the majority of people who live here believe that they are better than everyone else. My extended family included.

When I was six years old, my own grandmother told me I was a disappointment to our family.

An heir to a family name that I didn’t deserve because my mother was a ‘commoner’.

My bloodline, or more importantly, my unsatisfactory DNA became the cornerstone of her animosity towards me, Nadine and our mother.

That my father married a poor backpacker is an affront she could never live down.

Nadine says that’s why I work so hard to make everyone like me. I think she’s wrong. I just like the feeling of being adored.

“They’ll be fine,” I say, none too confident. Holden must hear it in my voice, because he raises one dark eyebrow.

If I’m honest, Finn won’t welcome Holden with open arms. While he is my best friend, we don’t share the same ideals.

We’re both products of our upbringing. Me, surrounded by loving, accepting parents.

Him, raised by a wealthy, power hungry, homophobic, single father who had very little time for him except for when he needed Finn as a prop.

I don’t blame my best friend for being the way he is.

Even when he rebels against the things his father instilled in him – like letting me fuck him knowing full well he’d be disowned – he has a tendency to fall back into the ways that were beaten into him.

I hesitate a moment too long, but it’s all the time Holden needs to start typing again. My phone pings and I take it out to see that this time he’s sent me the message.

I think it’s better we keep things between us limited to our assignment. You’ll survive with one less friend.

When I look up from my screen, it’s at his retreating form blending into a sea of students.

Mom places a glass dish in the middle of the table and my mouth waters as the rich aroma wafts through the dining room.

Tonight, she’s made a bobotie – a dish of curried mince and raisins, topped with a golden baked egg custard.

It’s one of my favourites, and I waste no time digging in, piling my plate high.

“Jesus, Rem, leave some for the rest of us,” my sister Nadine remarks.

“Bite me sister-critter,” I retort around a mouthful of food.

She hits me with the back of her fork. “You look like a goat when you eat.”

I flick her on the forehead. “And you look like a racoon that’s been carefully crafted out of carpet fibers.”

“What does that even mean?” She throws her head back and laughs.

Next to Nadine, her fiancé, Rupert sits, his hands poised on the table while he shakes his head. “I will never understand your dynamic.”

I flick a raisin at him, which earns me a backhand to the chest from Nadine. “Nope, partners are off limits, remember, Gremlin?”

“If the two of you are done with your sibling bonding, maybe we could eat?” My dad suggests. He gives my mom’s hand a squeeze before picking up his knife and fork.

“Rem, please tell me you’ve finally chosen a plus one for the wedding? We fly out in less than four weeks,” Nadine asks as she tops up her glass of wine. Their wedding is this summer – in Sardinia, Italy – and she’s been on me about who I’m bringing for months now.

The thing is, I like people. No, I love people.

I like kissing and touching and I love sex.

But I don’t particularly want a committed relationship.

Which makes picking a plus one for a family wedding, in another country , rather difficult.

Anyone I ask to come as my date is bound to get the wrong idea.

Although…

“I was thinking I might ask Finn.” Yeah, that would work. He understands no-strings attached better than anyone.

“Definitely not.” Nadine shuts down my idea immediately. “None of your money hungry ho-bags are invited.”

“Nadine!” our mother admonishes. “We don’t speak about people like that. Finn is a lovely young man.”

“Mom,” Nadine deadpans. “If we’re not allowed to speak about people like that, ” she puts emphasis on repeating Mom’s words, “then we are also not allowed to lie. Finn is not a nice young man. I don’t care how long he’s been hanging around here, he is certainly not invited to our wedding.

” Nadine looks at Rupert, who nods in agreement because he wouldn’t dare argue with Bridezilla.

“So like I was saying, please do not bring any of your money hungry,” she shoots Mom a look, “fuck buddies to my wedding.”

Mom rolls her eyes. “The two of you are going to make me old before my time.”

“You’re getting older, Remington. Don’t you think it’s time to find someone who’s more than a fling?” Dad asks, not at all helping my situation.

“Dad, I’m twenty. I have plenty of time.”

He lifts his glass of wine to his lips and takes a sip before speaking.

“When I was twenty, I was madly in love with your mother.” His voice is light and wispy and he looks at Mom with cartoon hearts in his eyes.

It is sweet how enamoured they are with each other and I catch myself – albeit briefly – wondering if I'd like someone to look at me that way.

“I fell in love with Rupert when I was eighteen,” Nadine adds. “By our family standards, you’re lagging behind. Then again, you are allergic to commitment, so it hardly surprises me you’ve never had a serious relationship.”

“I’m not allergic to commitment,” I say, aghast.

“Okay, so when did you last date someone?” Nadine challenges. I open my mouth to respond and she holds a hand up. “If you tell me the last time you had sex, I will throw my wine at you. When was the last time you had actual, non sexual, beyond friendship, feelings for someone?”

My lips lock and I squint, thinking over her question.

I’ve never dated anyone, not in the conventional way.

I’ve been to clubs and bars and restaurants with a group and then taken someone home with me, but I’m pretty sure that doesn’t count.

Plenty of people have wanted to date me, but I can never trust that they want to date me and not my money or my surname.

Sure, most of the people in my social circle are wealthy, but none are Langford level rich.

I may be well liked in this town, but I’m not na?ve enough to think my sparkling personality is the only reason for my popularity.

My silence is all the answer she needs. “See, told you. Allergic. Our sweet, playboy prince, with a big heart, but an even bigger….”

She looks at my mom, who scowls, giving a sharp nod of her head.

“Bed. That’s what I was going to say.”

“Sure you were, Nadine. You’re the literal worst,” I remark.

“Nadine has a point, Rem,” my dad adds, unhelpfully, again . “About dating, not about your…um…bed.”

Mom reaches her hand across the table and taps my arm. “It’s okay, Rem. Just ignore these two. You do things in your own time. Bring Finn if you’d like.” Mom gives Nadine a look that says do not start with me, and Nadine bites her bottom lip to keep from saying anything more.

Maybe it’s all the eyes on me. Or the comments about my lack of a love life. I am not allergic to relationships, thank you very much. Or maybe it's simply to please my sister, but the next words that fall out of my mouth do so without any consideration of their impact.

“I do actually have a boyfriend.”

Nadine’s eyes narrow as she shoots me a skeptical look.

“You do?” Both she and my mom ask at the same time.

“Yep.” The room suddenly feels very warm and my palms are sweaty, my one hand still gripping my fork.

Nadine raises an eyebrow. “Okay then Casanova. Who is he? Did he just happen to slip your mind just now? That doesn’t bode well.”

“You never gave me a chance to tell you,” I say, trying to pull off nonchalant but failing miserably.

“Sure, sure.” She one hundred percent does not believe me. “Why then did you suggest bringing your dude-bro Finn as a date?”

My sister misses nothing and I curse myself for the hole I’m digging. God, why didn’t I say girlfriend and then I could have invited Leann. She’s nice, they’d like her.

Think Remington, think.

And maybe it’s because he’s never very far from my mind, his brand of surly attitude, my kryptonite, but Holden’s name is the only one on my lips.

“His name’s Holden. It’s still new. I figured a family wedding would be too much, too soon. Because it’s new. This thing between us. Really new.”

“You said that already,” Nadine snarks before she opens her eyes wide, comically looking around the room.

“Is he here with us now?”

Rupert chuckles at my sister's ridiculous behaviour. I guess that's what happens when you're in love.

“Oh, fuck off, Nadine. He’s real. Mom met him.” I wave my fork in my mom’s direction.

All eyes turn to Mom, who is looking at me.

“I thought the two of you were just working on an assignment?” Mom asks, her eyebrows knitted together. “I didn’t realise there was more going on between you.”

Why is it so fucking hot in here? Lying. This is what lying does to me. It makes my body act up. I am the most honest person you’ll ever meet and now I’ve upset my own equilibrium.

“It’s still new,” I say again . “Can we eat now?” I shove a forkful of food into my mouth and circle the utensil in the air to signal they do the same. I need the conversation to be over before the hole I'm digging is deep enough to be my grave.

“Well boetie ,” Nadine starts, using the affectionate Afrikaans word for brother. “I look forward to meeting your new man.”

Great. Now all I have to do is convince the boy who hates me to pretend to be my boyfriend and fly across the world with me, to sit through days of family time and a lavish wedding.

Easy.