I’m not sure if I feel flattered or offended by her comment. “Just so you know, that’s kind of a myth. Not that I’ve lived like a monk or anything, but I’ve never been…”
“With a different girl every night?” she finishes.
“Yeah, no.” I’m torn between embarrassment and amusement now, explaining my sex life or lack thereof to this girl. “If that’s what someone told you, they’re way off. Not even a different girl every other night.” I wink and give her a grin, and am relieved to see that she looks okay now.
A couple of my bandmates come out just as the girl is leaving. “Maybe some other time,” she calls out as she waves goodbye.
“What was that? Did you just turn down that girl?” Josh says.
When I don’t answer, Nick, the lead guitarist, pipes in. “Dude, what is wrong with you? I’d have hit that.” He stares after the girl, frustrated. “You could have invited her in to meet the rest of us.”
“If she wanted to meet everyone, she’d have asked. She’s a person, not a blowup doll.” I ignore Nick’s dirty look as I head out. “See you tomorrow.”
Other fans will be at the door soon. I take a shortcut through an alley and am back on campus after a few blocks. I’m checking the time and wondering if I should text Amber as I pass by BFOC. It’s still lit up brightly inside, and a flash of shiny golden brown hair catches my eye through the front window.
I’ve had a few times over the past couple of weeks when I’d thought I’d seen Amber, and it turned out to be someone else. Because she’s been on my mind, I guess I’ve started to see her everywhere. I expect the same thing to be happening now, but I look closer anyway.
This girl is sitting with a guy, leaning in close to him across the table, her hand resting on his. At first I assure myself that this couldn’t be Amber, but then her face turns in my direction, and I see for certain that it is.
What the fuck?
I’m so hung up on her that I turn down hookup offers from fans, I haven’t been laid in weeks, I’m all wrapped up in taking things slow with her, and she’s out with another guy?
I was stupid to think she was different.
My vision actually darkens as my anger flares. Before I can think twice about it, I storm toward the entrance.
29
Amber
“I’ve been in love with Megan since high school,” Eric says. “I’ve always been there for her. It was easy back then, but now she’s meeting all these new guys, and every time someone wants to hook up with her it nearly kills me. She’s always inviting me to go out with her, though. I know she likes me … but it’s not the same. I don’t know what to do.”
He pauses to take a sip of his coffee and I notice how tired he looks.
“I don’t want to lose her, but I can’t be on the sidelines anymore. It’s tearing me apart. What do you think?” He looks at me, half pleading, half desperate, all pain. “You’re her roommate; you talk about all the girl stuff with her. Do I even have a snowball’s chance in hell? Is there someone else she’s serious about?”
“She hasn’t said anything like that to me. Have you ever told her how you feel?” I ask.
Eric’s voice rises in frustration. “How can she not know?” He nearly looks close to tears, and I cover his hand with mine and give it a squeeze.
“I’m no expert at this,” I say, “but if she’s the one, you have to fight for her. Make her see you. If you walk away, you’re through anyway, right? So you’ve got nothing to lose.”
The storm clears from his eyes. “You’re right,” he says. “You’re absolutely right. I needed to know if I’d be making an ass of myself, if she’s hung up on some other guy. But if there’s no one, then I just have to tell her.”
Now that he’s decided, he’s full of energy again. “Sorry to be rude,” he says, “but you don’t mind if I take off, do you?”
“Of course not.” I slide from my side of the booth and give him a big hug. “Good luck. I’m pulling for you.”
“Thanks.” He’s smiling as he leaves. I sling my bag over my shoulder and turn to follow.
When I see Aidan standing there, it’s so unexpected that I’m speechless for a moment. Not just that he’s here, instead of at Buzzkill with the band … but the look on his face is unlike any expression I’ve ever seen from him before.
“Nice,” he says, his voice carrying in the almost-empty restaurant. “Good to know how much you fucking care.”
The bitterness in his tone stuns me. “What? Aidan …”
He throws a hand up, cutting off my words. “Forget it. I’m not listening to any of your bullshit excuses.”
“Aidan,” I call as he turns and walks away, moving fast, not looking back. “Aidan!” I run after him, but when I burst through the doors he’s already out of sight.
30
Amber
I cannot believe the way Aidan acted last night. It’s a really good things my finals are done, because I’m so angry I’m not sure I could see straight to take a test.
I’d never have pegged him as the jealous type. Where does he even get off with that attitude? He’s always surrounded by girls, but I can’t have a coffee with another guy?
I do feel bad that I didn’t text him like I said I would, but I know his overblown reaction isn’t over a missed text. He stormed out of the café last night like a big jerk, without giving me a chance to explain. And the main thing that pisses me off is that he won’t return my texts now.
I think about sending him an explanation about who Eric is and what I was doing with him, but I don’t owe him that. He doesn’t deserve it.
And it’s not even as if we have any kind of commitment. I just don’t get it. I thought he was different. More mature.
From time to time, my anger fades and gives way to sadness. Things had been going so well between us, and now it’s just blown up in my face. Deep inside I feel like Aidan must not have cared that much about me if he’s so quick to cut me loose. Maybe he’s just using Eric as an excuse to drop me.
Between the anger and the sadness, I’m filled with a deep, deep ache that just won’t go away.
I really wish I could talk with Megan. She was such a comfort before. But I can’t figure out how to tell her what happened without revealing my conversation with Eric. So in addition to feeling as low as I’ve ever felt, I have to put on a happy face and act like nothing’s wrong.
I think things are about as bad as they can get, but I turn out to be very wrong about that.
On Sunday night, I receive a message from Professor Carmichael, my chemistry professor. Why on earth would he be sending me a message? Especially one that tells me to report to the office of the Vice Provost for Academic Affairs at eight the next morning to discuss my test. What the hell?
There are no other details given, but I know this can’t be good. I can’t have failed; can I?
My first impulse is to contact Aidan, and knowing I can’t do that just adds to the sick feeling in my stomach.
I barely get any sleep at all, and the next morning I’m dragging, but I get myself up and arrive at the Vice Provost’s office twenty minutes earlier than requested. When I’m finally summoned into the office forty minutes later, my stomach is tied up and twisted so tight from worry and nerves that I feel like I could split in two.
Professor Carmichael is there, along with the VP, and a woman who turns out to be from the Office of Academic Integrity. Before I can wonder about the meaning of her title and its relationship to my situation, my professor very bluntly gets to the point.
“Miss Paulson, we’ve called you in because you are suspected of cheating on your chemistry final. As you know, the school has a zero-tolerance policy on cheating, and if you are found to be guilty of the accusation, disciplinary actions will lead to your expulsion.”
His words don’t register for several long moments. Cheating? Expulsion? I had no idea what to expect this morning, and an accusation of cheating never entered my mind.
&nb
sp; “I’m sorry. I don’t understand,” I say, looking from my professor to the two women, and back.
“Your test score was a 95,” he says. “Your quiz and test scores earlier in the semester were dismal. It’s simply not plausible that you could have improved that much and achieved that score on your final through honest means.”
I have one quick flash of jubilation at hearing my score before terror and outrage fight inside me. Indignation quickly gets the upper hand; I’m ice cold with fear, but hot anger flares.
“I have been studying my —” I almost say ass and catch myself. “Studying my butt off for weeks. You can verify my sessions at the tutoring center. I’ve worked hard to bring up my grade, and the reward for my work is to be called a cheater? I can’t believe you would accuse me —”
The VP interrupts. “You said you went to the tutoring center?”
“Yes, and I had a really good tutor.” I’m trembling with adrenaline pulsing through me from my anger and anxiety. My voice cracks because thinking about Aidan, even now, makes me more emotional.
“We can try to contact your tutor through the registrar’s office to verify the sessions,” the VP says.
There is no way I want this hanging over my head for days while they try to sort it out. “I have his number. You can call him directly,” I say.
Their eyebrows shoot up, and I realize that if they get any hint of a personal relationship between me and Aidan, they’ll think he helped me cheat. The twisted knot that is my stomach tightens further.
Sure enough, the academic integrity woman pipes in. “Are you and your tutor friends?”
The question hurts, even in the midst of cheating accusations, and I’m not sure exactly how to answer it. I don’t know what Aidan and I are to each other now. Nothing, really. “We spent a lot of hours together in the last few weeks. We weren’t friends before he started tutoring me, though.”
That’s all true enough, and it leaves out the part of us meeting at the concert, which doesn’t matter anyway.
“So you didn’t request that he tutor you?” she says.
“No, we didn’t know each other before this.” It’s a little bit of a fib, but essentially true for their purposes.
“Students don’t typically have the contact information for someone they only know as a tutor,” the woman says gravely.
I let out a big sigh, not caring how it looks to them. This situation is pissing me off. I worked so hard, and now I have to deal with accusations like I’m some kind of criminal.
“I’m here on scholarship, and my scholarship was in jeopardy because of my chemistry grade. Chemistry has always been a challenge for me, but after I had my first tutoring session, things started to make sense for the first time.” I stop and take a deep breath. “My tutor’s a nice guy, and he could see that I was really stressed about it all, so he gave me his number so I could confirm when he’d be available at the tutoring center and continue working with him.”
“What’s your tutor’s name?” the VP asks.
Again, I get that twist of pain in my chest. “Aidan.”
“Aidan?” Professor Carmichael comes to attention. “Aidan Holt?”
“Yes.”
The three of them exchange glances and the professor says quietly, “He’s an excellent student.”
“Miss Paulson, would you step outside for a moment?” The Vice Provost opens the door for me and I go back into the waiting area, but I’m too agitated to sit down. I pace back and forth, listening to the murmur of voices behind the closed door. The VP’s admin keeps looking at me, probably wishing I’d take a seat, but I can’t.
After several long minutes, the professor opens the door just long enough to tell me that Aidan will be coming in. I picture him in his bedroom, barely awake, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his hair even messier than usual, and the knot in my stomach gives way to a dull ache in my chest.
It hurts so much, because he’s broken my heart just like I was afraid he would, but not at all in the way I’d expected. I keep replaying his words and the look on his face at the café, and for the first time I realize that he wasn’t just mad. He was hurt by seeing me with Eric.
The thought of hurting him, even accidentally, makes the ache inside me sharper. And then it hits me, right in the middle of this nightmare — I’m in love with Aidan.
He’s sexy and ridiculously hot, but there’s so much more to him. He’s smart and he’s driven, and down-to-earth even though he’s a local rock god. And he cares about me. I can see it now. I’ve been so angry that he jumped to conclusions and acted like a jealous jerk, but maybe he had reasons.
Feeling like there’s still a chance things could work out between us gives me strength even as I pace helplessly in circles.
In what seems like no time — ten minutes maybe — Aidan comes through the door, his dark hair damp, his expression wary. He meets my eyes briefly, but before we can speak, the admin directs him into the office and closes the door behind him.
I continue my pacing, and less than twenty seconds later hear Aidan’s voice raised in anger. “You what?!” I can’t help but smile to myself. The nerves are still there in full force, but for the first time, I start to think things might work out.
The voices behind the door return to murmurs after that, so I have no idea what’s being said, but I can hear Aidan talking fast and low. Every now and then, his voice gets louder and a word comes through — dedication, opportunity, hard work, outrageous. My anxiety is gradually edged by a warm glow.
Then the office door is flung open and Aidan stalks out. He looks even angrier than he had at the café, and seeing him angry now makes it clear to me that he was more hurt than anything when he saw me with Eric. But right now, he’s furious. He stalks past me without saying a word, or even looking at me.
The VP motions for me to come back in. I give a quick glance over my shoulder as I head back into the office. Aidan’s still in the waiting area, jaw tight, lips flat, nostrils flaring.
When the door is shut once again, Professor Carmichael says, “Miss Paulson, would you be willing to take a quiz, right now, with all of us present?”
“Yes.” My anger gives my voice an icy edge. “Yes, I would.”
The familiar clutch of nervousness grips me, but I imagine Aidan at my side, and it steadies me. The professor gives me paper, pencil, and a calculator, and then asks a question verbally.
I feel all three sets of eyes on me, and their stares, along with the extreme stress of the last twelve hours and lack of sleep, do not make it easy. But Aidan’s calm voice is there in my head, reminding me of tips and formulas.
I work through the first problem, hand it over to Professor Carmichael, and am given two more, one at a time. After I turn in the third one, he nods his head. “These are all correct,” he says, and looking me in the eye, he adds, “I apologize. I’ve never had a student improve this much in the span of half a semester.”
Relief washes over me, but my anger at the injustice isn’t completely gone. “I know students cheat,” I say. “But you can’t treat us like we’re all the same. You could have cost me my scholarship. You could have ruined my college career — my whole future.”
The academic integrity woman breaks in. “Well, there are procedures in place to ensure that doesn’t happen. But things like this have to be investigated.”
“With all due respect, ma’am, you need better procedures.” I turn to my professor. “That’s it, then?”
“Yes,” he says. “Your high score on the final is confirmed, so even with your earlier low marks, you’ll pass.”
“You’re sure, right? I need to be sure, because you took about ten years off my life this morning.”
Professor Carmichael has the decency to look sheepish. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Between your performance on the quiz just now and Mr. Holt’s very forceful defense of you, I’m completely satisfied. You’ve made quite an impression on him, Miss Paulson. And on me.”
I manag
e — only barely — not to blush. “He was a great tutor,” I say quietly. “But I worked really, really hard, and he knows it.”
“He assured us that was the case,” the Vice Provost says. “We’re sorry to have put you through this. There will be no mark on your record, no record of this at all, in fact. Congratulations on your outstanding improvement.”
The VP stands up and opens the door for me, so I gather my things and leave. Aidan’s waiting near the outer door, still looking pissed off. I’m a little surprised that he’s still there, but I keep my expression and posture formal as I walk toward him.
They trust Aidan, and I know he had a lot to do with them deciding to believe that I didn’t cheat — quiz or no quiz — so there’s no point in making them wonder about our relationship, even a little bit.
Aidan meets my eyes briefly, but he doesn’t say anything or even change expression when I reach him. He turns, though, and leaves with me.
“Can we just keep walking for a little while?” I say when we reach the bottom of the steps at the front of the building.
I can feel the tension drawn tight between us, and I hold my breath for his response, but he doesn’t make me wait long.
“Sure,” he says, not breaking his pace. We head across campus, all the words we aren’t saying lying heavily between us. The start of several sentences enter my mind, and I reject all of them. I’m not ready to speak, and I have no idea what to say anyway.
I’m lost in my thoughts and it’s not until we leave campus and hit a residential street that I realize we’re walking to Aidan’s house.
31
Amber
Aidan doesn’t speak until we’re about to walk up his front steps. “What happened in there?” he asks, his jaw still tight. He stops on his porch and turns to me. “They’re not going through with it, are they?”
SPARKED: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance (With bonus book, PERFECT) Page 10
