I want to be your friend.
Aiden didn’t have to spend his spare time taking care of someone like me, but he’ll always be the little boy who took me by the shoulders after my mother said something hurtful and told me, “Out of your head, Underwood.” The first time I heard those words, I stared at him with glassy eyes until he’d added, “This is where you say, ‘head in the game.’”
To this day, he doesn’t want me being trapped alone in my thoughts, replaying old fights or moments that would lead me twisted in his spare blankets or bedding instead of the ugly pink ones I grew out of when I was twelve. Because now I don’t have that escape—I won’t let myself.
Pulling up his name he clearly programmed into my phone while I was out of commission, I type out a quick message before forcing myself up the stairs with clothes that actually fit and head for the shower.
When I’m done drying off and combing my hair, I notice the blinking light in the corner of my phone when I glance down at the counter it rests on.
Aiden: You’re welcome
The whispers at the house get worse each time I find myself coming and going. Some of the girls who would barely pay me a second look now stare a little too hard like they’re trying to figure something out, and the itchy feeling under my skin builds from the unwanted attention.
Sydney has been even worse to me since I recovered because of Remi’s wandering gaze and Aiden’s daily cameos to make sure I’m still alive. Her glares are more obvious after the tight end leaves, and her comments are like whips against my skin whenever Remi tries making conversation with me.
They may only be words, nothing that can do any permanent damage, but even cat scratches hurt like a bitch for a few days before they fade.
Their words wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t overheard Sydney talking to a few girls when I was dragging myself to the kitchen for juice that Aiden bought for me. Normally I tune out their gossip, but as soon as the tight end’s name was mentioned I couldn’t help but eavesdrop from behind the basement door. When I heard Paris Hilton 2.0 mention her candid history with my childhood friend, something heavy dipped in the pit of my stomach. But that feeling spread to my chest and vice gripped my heart when I heard the other girls asking what happened when Aiden slipped into Sydney’s room the other day.
I have no reason to be jealous over what, or who, he chooses to do. I’ve been far from celibate over the years, taking what I want since moving in because I can and not because I’m obligated to, so there’s no reason for me to feel betrayed that Aiden gets some too. Even if it’s from the girl whose done everything to beat me down with her lackluster opinions and dirty looks.
Swallowing down the little green monster, I grip my bag a little tighter as I walk through campus. The brisk air is exactly what I need after holing myself up, and the nipping November wind against my skin distracts me from the thoughts that pop back up.
Unfortunately, Aiden and the she devil still haunts me even when I get to my first class. By the time anthropology comes around, my mood is sour, my energy drained, and my patience ten times thinner than normal.
“You sure you don’t need to go home?” DJ asks for the third time since I sat down, seeing the way my body slumps into the seat and eyes struggle to stay open through the lecture.
I’ve been ready to go home since I left my room this morning, but I have a shift at the bakery despite Bea telling me to take as much time to recover as I need. “DJ, I don’t wake up and strive to be a hardcore bitch every day of my life, but you’re about to see that side of me if you ask me that one more time.”
One of the guys, Matt, snickers from the other side of him. When I lean forward and shoot him a look of warning, he sinks down in his seat and pretends to care about the lesson.
DJ nudges my arm. “I’m looking out for you, and not just for the tight end either.”
I don’t acknowledge what he’s getting at and focus on my notes instead. It’s bad enough I’m over three classes behind. “Did you take any decent notes while I was away?”
His lips twitch downward. “No, but—”
“You can borrow mine,” another football player says from nearby. I give the guy, Wallace according to the others, a grateful smile before sitting back in my seat and scribbling halfway coherent notes across the page.
The persistent blond next to me sighs and murmurs, “Watch out for that one. He thinks because he’s the new quarterback he can charm his way into anyone’s pants.”
I stiffen. “You don’t need to worry about that. I’m not interested.” There’s a heavy pause between us. “In anyone,” I add in vain.
My seat neighbor shakes his head, tapping his pen against my hand. “Griff told everyone to back off. He normally doesn’t care who we go after. Take that for what it’s worth.”
I slide my focus to him. He’s staring at the front of the room, acting like he cares about what the professor has to say for once. His profile doesn’t give much away. “What did Aiden say?”
A shoulder lifts. “To keep our hands to ourselves and give you space. Got to be honest, though, not sure you’ll get far with him when you decide to stop pretending you don’t like him.”
My eye twitches. “And why is that?”
Exhaling, he rolls his shoulders and finally glances at me with sorrow in his eyes that makes my anxiety curdle my stomach. “He’s going pro, Ives. Don’t know if he told you or not, but he’s supposedly leaving after this semester is over. I know you don’t go to games, but you pay attention when someone brings up our stats so you know he’s good enough to be snatched up by a major team.”
Though the news about his future career is far from surprising, my heart clenches over the confident statement of his departure. I’ve heard people talk on campus and at the bakery, even if I try tuning out news of Lindon’s best player. Aiden deserves to go pro from everything people have said. It’s what he’s always wanted. Still, I wish he would have hinted that our reuniting was short lived if he’s leaving Lindon in a matter of weeks.
Forcing a smile, I shrug as if the news doesn’t squash what little hope remains inside of me. “Good for him.”
He looks like he wants to say something, his lips parting and eyes focused on me for a moment too long, before shaking his head. Scratching his jaw, he faces forward again. “You two drive me nuts. Always fighting what other people would just let happen if you weren’t both in your damn heads. Do something about the tension before he goes if nothing else.”
Chest tightening, I stare at my notes absentmindedly. “You’re being kind of an ass.”
“I’m just saying you might regret not doing something about it while he’s around. Who knows what will happen when he leaves.”
I grip my pen a little too tightly until my fingers hurt. “It doesn’t matter because Aiden and I aren’t even friends, much less anything else. Drop it, DJ.”
I wonder how many times I have to say that out loud before I’ll start believing it. Because acquaintances don’t act like they care when you’re sick, much less take care of you, and they certainly don’t have your back without motives.