out of the classroom, managing to keep pace with his long strides while keeping intentional distance between us. I didn’t have to be told the same thing twice.
“We should coordinate our schedules so that we can figure out a time to work together,” I said as we walked.
Aiden offered me a half shrug and didn't look in my direction, keeping his eyes facing forward.
“I'll let you know,” he said, voice flat. “But I wouldn't worry too much about it. You have a lot on your plate, pretty boy. You should stick to tattooing and filming. You know, the stuff that you're good at. Standing around and looking good and not having to hurt your head with thinking too hard. I'll do the real work so that we don't have to worry about our grade tanking.”
I tried to remember Bryan's advice. I tried to grant Aiden a measure of grace. But goddamn, this kid was making it tough. “You know that I'm more than just a tattoo artist and a pretty face—not that there’s anything wrong with being a tattoo artist, or that we don’t use a lot of intelligence and creativity and talent to do our jobs. Besides, if you really thought that I was some brainless jock, you wouldn't be so worried about my getting the FBI job instead of you.”
I waited for a reaction. A flash of anger, or a snarl, or even a frustrated frown. Instead, Aiden's face managed to remain completely neutral. Why that bothered me more than a reaction, I had no idea, but it did. I snapped. “Are you a robot? Do you feel anything?”
That earned a response. It earned me a smarmy-ass smirk that made me want to throw something.
“I suppose I should take offense at those words,” Aiden said with wry amusement dripping from every word, “but they're so dumb and ignorant that they aren't worth my time.”
Like all our interactions where he wanted to get the last word, he sped up and walked away from me. Like a hair caught in my shirt, it rubbed at my skin, and itched, and while it shouldn't be a big deal, it was driving me crazy.
I never had trouble making friends. And I never had someone work so hard to be a dick to me. Aiden was becoming something more than a fun challenge—he was becoming a major pain in my ass.
I’d been certain that flirting and good-natured teasing would have worn down his shell by now. Hell, it was my go-to for getting close to new people when they seemed a little too shy or reserved or tense. Usually it relaxed them. But with Aiden, all it did was make things worse.
I couldn't decide if he saw me as a threat or a giant dumb bimbo. Or worse—he might consider me both.
These were the thoughts that accompanied me for the duration of my classes. Like any storm, it started with a slow accumulation of negative energy, like moisture in the air. That negative energy seemed to combine and merge and brew into something bigger, and by the time I got to work, I was ready to unleash some thunder and lightning on anyone who crossed me.
Sometimes having things in common with the God of Thunder meant more than just having blond curls and a strong jawline.
Moreover, at work, my frown and stewing didn't go unnoticed. I knew that people were used to me being in a good mood. Sometimes it even felt like they relied on me for it. Like I was supposed to be everyone's personal ray of sunshine or some shit. But today I didn't have it in me.
After all, what was the point of trying so hard to get people to like me if someone like Aiden could smash right through all my efforts? So I was not exactly on the top of my game during my shift, acting completely out of character and not even giving a fuck (even though I knew I’d feel like shit for it later). But in the moment, it felt good to indulge in my bad mood.
I snapped at Reagan when he asked me something about the website.
I walked away from Dane when his joking chatter made me want to just strangle him.
And when Erykah asked if she could borrow some of my inks, I practically threw them at her.
Even though at first there was a flicker of satisfaction, as my shift continued there was a clawing, gnashing sensation inside my chest that I