FOR THE FIRST time in a long time, someone’s proud of me, and I don’t know how to act.
Dr. Müller hands my paper back. “This is great work, Summer. If you complete these tests and get some literature to back this up, they will beg you to join the co-op.”
I sigh with relief. It’s been stressful trying to get my paper structured, and knowing I’ve finally nailed it means I’m one step closer to achieving my goal. Dr. Langston’s emails have given me only negative feedback. I stopped by to see her today, but Dr. Müller, one of my favorite psychology professors, stopped me to chat.
“Would it be too much if I ran my final draft by you too?”
“Not at all, email or stop by my office. I’ll be happy to help. But shouldn’t you be running this by Laura? She’s ultimately the one to sign off on your project, not me.”
For this program, you can’t submit an application unless it’s given approval from your advisor. So, I couldn’t go behind Langston’s back and toss my name in the hat if she hated it. “I know. I just want to have more than one opinion.”
Müller agrees, and I ask him a few more questions, enjoying not feeling patronized, before I head out. Langston being the chair and on the admissions board doesn’t give me an advantage. The only reason she can do both is because she’s proved countless times that she is unbiased. I have a few more weeks until my application is due, so I’m looking at every possible angle to guarantee acceptance.
Donny made me nervous with his talk about the low percentage for acceptance each year and how my life will look worse than a pile-up on the I-95 if I don’t get in. He’s clearly great at pep talks.
My phone pings with a text from another one of my headaches.
Aiden
Aiden: I found handcuffs in your room.
Aiden: *sent an image*
I halt in the middle of the sidewalk when I see the picture of him smiling wide, standing in my room, holding a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs. The mischievous glint in his eyes tells me he thinks they’re for something nefarious, not just last year’s Halloween costume.
A passerby knocks into me, snapping me out of my daze.
Summer: Why are you in my room?
Aiden: Practice ended early. Amara let me in before she left.
Summer: Don’t touch my stuff, and definitely don’t look in any more drawers.
Aiden: Too late. You’re kinkier than I thought, Preston.
Aiden: And your bed is super comfy. I’m exhausted, I think I’ll take a nap.
Aiden: Naked.
God, he is irritating. I make a mental note to buy a lock for my drawer in case the captain of the hockey team decides to snoop and some bleach to wash my sheets. Shoving my phone back in my pocket, I ignore the twitch of pain in my healing ankle when I sprint to my dorm.
Inside, I try to catch my breath, but it gets caught somewhere in my chest when I see Aiden in the kitchen. His blue Under Armour long sleeve outlines the movement of his back muscles so perfectly, I hate it.
The dip in my stomach reminds me of my high school boyfriend. Ryan was a year older than me.
I met him at the rink, where I skated while waiting for my dad to finish volunteering. I was in a Ryan-induced coma for those three months. However, I hated when he came to my house, because he would spend his time talking to my dad. Pretty soon, I realized he wasn’t dating me for me, he was dating me for my dad. Weird, but understandable, I guess, for a kid who had his sights set on the NHL
I didn’t learn my lesson because my prom date was another hockey player. He was popular and hot, so I said yes, like any sane teenage girl. At the after-party, we found ourselves in a hotel, and I prepared to lose my virginity that night. But the words that came out of his mouth had dried me up like a desert. “I can’t believe I’m fucking Lukas Preston’s daughter.” It was so revolting I grabbed my dress and got the hell out of there.
So, it’s safe to say hockey players have been off my radar. Completely.
But as Aiden Crawford stands in my kitchen with his killer smile and shining green eyes, I feel tempted to break that oath. I drop my keys on the counter as I watch him place a pot in the drying rack. The scene is so domestic I have the urge to pinch myself.
“That was fast,” he says, drying his hands with the dish towel.
My attention catches on the steaming cup on the counter. “What’s that?”
“For you.”
I peer into it. “You…made me tea?”
“You said you drink it twice a day more if you’re dealing with me, and I was already here.” He shrugs, and the air of nonchalance throws me off. “Didn’t know which one you liked, but I didn’t open this.” He lifts the green tin, and my heart stutters.
I lunge to snatch it from him and stash it back in the drawer. “Don’t touch that.”
He stands frozen. “You good?”
“Fine.”
“Fine?” he asks, incredulous. “You practically mauled me.”
Aiden waits for an explanation, and my shoulders tense. “My dad bought me this from a shop in Chicago when he traveled for work. It’s my favorite, and this is the last one I have.”
To escape the soft look in his eyes and his sympathetic nod, I bring the cup to my lips and take a sip. It’s a miracle how I hold in the noise that wants to escape when the taste hits my tongue. The strong cinnamon flavor and the overuse of honey coat my tongue in a bitter formula. But for some reason, probably because he looked so sweet providing the simple act of service, I can’t bring myself to say anything.
He made me tea.
Forest green eyes watch me. “Good?”
“It’s…it’s—yeah. It’s good.”
His eyes flicker, and the curve of his smile does something swirly to my chest before it starts to burn. Though that might be the spoonful of cinnamon I just ingested. With an itchy throat, I put the cup down. “I’m going to change. I’ll be right back.”
I’ve just slipped on a sweatshirt when a curse pulls me from my room. Aiden’s standing at the counter, my cup in hand and a look of disbelief on his face. “This is disgusting.” With a sour face, he places the cup in the sink. “It’s a good thing I already ordered you an actual drink and some food.”
“You didn’t have to do that. It wasn’t that bad.”
“Summer, it was so bad that you were being nice to me. That tells me everything I need to know.”
“Hey! I can be nice.” His barbed look irks me. “The only reason you’re here is because I was being nice by giving you a chance.”
“Yeah, after I begged you.”
“That’s what you call begging?”
His smirks, all too intrigued. “Wanna teach me? Maybe with those handcuffs…”
“They are not what you think they’re for.”
He nods with a suppressed smile. When his phone dings, he pulls it out. “Food’s here.”
When we’ve eaten, I hand him the assessments. The sooner he gets this done the sooner I can write my analysis.
“Are you done?” My impatience seeps into my tone.
“Almost. I wanna make sure I do it right.”
“It’s really not that difficult.”
A short beat passes before he sighs and his warm hand stops the anxious movements of my bouncing leg. “Summer, what’s going on?”
“What do you mean?” The exasperated look I give him makes him take a long look at me.
“I mean you’re irritable and have this faraway look like you’re stressing over a million things.”
“It’s nothing. Can we just get this done?”
He sits back and crosses his arms. “No.”
“No?” Did he not know how close I was to strangling someone? “This is not a good time to test me, Crawford.”
I clench my jaw as his gaze drags over my face in a slow assessment. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“You know you’re not my captain, right? That whole demanding thing won’t work on me.”
He leans in, eating up my personal space. “Won’t it?”
The challenge in his eyes is clear, but I oblige. “Langston said my intro needs work, so I’m re-doing the entire thing, along with the methods section, because Donny thinks it’s missing something.”
“You’re just as smart as Donny. Smarter. Why does his opinion matter?”
Aiden’s dislike for Donny isn’t something he bothers to hide. And as much as I may feel the same, I’ve become so accustomed to Donny’s feedback, that I can’t imagine making a move without it. “Because he knows what he’s doing. Besides, there are only three of us eligible for co-op—Donny, Shannon, and me. I’m his competitor, yet he’s still willing to help. I have to be grateful for that.”
Aiden doesn’t comment, only shakes his head. “Okay, let me help you, too. You still have a few weeks, and I can read over your paper.”
I stare blankly. “No offense, but what do you know about psychology papers?”
“Nothing, considering I’m an Econ major, but sometimes an extra pair of eyes can help.”
His earnest look kindles a warmth in my stomach. “That is really nice of you.”
“Don’t be fooled, I’ve been told I’m an asshole.”
“WHO’S SHE?” AIDEN asks.
He pestered me into taking a break, so I put on a my favorite Turkish drama to spite him. Turns out he loves it.
“That’s his ex-girlfriend. She doesn’t know about the fake engagement,” I explain.
“Shit, she’s going to see the contract.” Aiden nudges me in excitement.
The suspenseful music builds, and we wait for the big reveal. We’re sitting on the edge of the couch, the sides of our legs pressed together. Then the credits roll.
“Seriously?” Aiden groans.
“That’s how they get you.”
He’s collecting our empty containers when he chuckles. “I’m starting to get your whole stay inside and not have a life thing. It’s kind of fun.”
I scoff. “I have a life, asshole. In fact, I met up with someone last week,” I lie. Well, not entirely. Connor sat with me in the cafeteria. It’s the closest thing to a date I’ve had all year. Pathetic, I know.
“Who?”
“Connor Atwood.”
He makes a noise in his throat. “What can you possibly have in common with Atwood?”
“You know him?” Of course he did. They were both athletes, and the captains of their team.
“Yeah. The dude’s at every party, and he’s been with his fair share of girls. Now, apparently one of them is you.”
I immediately backtrack. “I haven’t been with him. We just studied together.”
He cocks his head. “That’s your type, huh? Football players.”
“Player. Singular. But, no, I’m still figuring out what my type is.”
“You keep working on that,” he says. “I’m going to take off. I’ll see you Thursday at the pool.”
I hide the satisfied smile that tries to break free. I wasn’t sure if my paper was helping him, but Aiden started taking a day off and swimming for one workout. It feels like a big accomplishment.
I stand too. “Wait, I’ll walk you out. I just have to change.”
“For what?” he asks, but I’m already in my room changing into a random pair of leggings and a sports bra. I walk out with my sneakers in hand, slipping them on by the door.
“Where are you going?”
“For a run,” I say, gesturing for him to exit.
“Now?”
“I didn’t have time this morning.” I lock the door behind us, then check for my pepper spray and keychain alarm as Aiden stares at me.
“You shouldn’t be running alone this late.”
I almost laugh, but his expression is so serious I hold it. “Thanks for the concern, but I can handle it.”
He’s quiet the whole way down, until I’m turning onto my usual path. “Walk me to my car?”
“Scared?” I follow him into the parking lot.
He appears deep in thought. “Something like that.”
“Don’t worry, Crawford. I won’t let the boogeyman get you.”
When we reach his car, Aiden tosses his bag in the back seat, and locks the doors.
I stare at him. “What are you doing?”
He stretches his legs and moves his head from side to side. “Running.”
“You just had practice.” He walks past me. “Aiden, I’m not running with you.”
“Don’t. I’m just running the path over there,” he calls over his shoulder.
“That’s my path!”
“What a coincidence.”
I stare at his back. “You said you were exhausted.”
“Did I? I feel great.”
Before I can protest again, he takes off, and reluctantly, I go after him.
