Under Pressure (Lessons Learned Book 1)

by Smartypants Romance

  “I thought he did.” A tear slips down my cheek, unbidden. “I swear, there’s some kind of disconnect between his words and his actions.”

  “What’s that saying? Actions speak louder than words?”

  I snort. “Well, this time it was the words that were louder.” I grab a cookie off the plate she set next to me on the couch earlier and take a bite, glad she knew exactly what I needed. Cookies always bring me comfort. See, this is what friendship is. No underlying sexual tension. No falling in love.

  A pang goes through me at the reminder. No, it couldn’t have been love. Not if we were so obviously on different pages. I could have sworn he felt something, though. Especially two nights ago as I fell asleep in his arms, him idly stroking his fingers through my hair. You didn’t do that with just anyone, right?

  I shake my head, tired of beating myself up questioning everything. “I think I’ll move to a convent that devotes itself to cats. Is that a thing?”

  “We’ll make it a thing.” She reaches out a hand to pet Finn again and he lifts his head, sticking out his chin for her to rub underneath.

  I stretch out as much as I can on the couch without jostling the cats, asking, “Can you turn on something comforting? I don’t want to think about this anymore.”

  “Adventure Time?” she asks, turning on her TV.

  “Oh my God, yes. That sounds perfect.”

  We sing along to the opening theme song together, and I point to the screen, saying, “Look, it’s your namesakes,” to the cats, not that they’re paying a bit of attention.

  I let the Land of Ooo wash over me, blocking out everything that happened today, telling myself it’ll be better tomorrow.

  Yeah, tomorrow will be fine. It’s just the next day that’ll be a problem when I have to work with Tyler again. That will be the real test.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Tyler

  “Price wants to meet with us to check in about the study.”

  Mia stands with her back to me, packing up her bag, but doesn’t acknowledge my reminder. I’m just about to repeat myself when she finally says, “I know,” breezing past me and out the door of the lab.

  I watch her go, at once proud of her for acting like she doesn’t give a fuck around me and also incredibly annoyed that she doesn’t give a fuck about me anymore.

  It’s been two weeks since she came to my house and we had our big blowup. Everything’s back to normal, just like it was before this semester, before she wormed her way into every facet of my life. Not that I can completely escape her. Mom has asked about her no less than three times since I brought her over for the birthday party, though I told her we’re not that close anymore. It seemed to open some floodgate in her, even going so far as to suggest setting me up with a coworker’s daughter.

  Kill me now.

  Ethan at least stopped mentioning her after I snapped at him the first time he asked. But now the guys at the gym are questioning if she’ll be back. I guess she’d impressed some of them by speaking out against Erickson, who’d never been popular around there.

  If I could get people to stop talking about her, I might actually get her off my mind. That’s the only reason I’m still thinking about her, remembering that last night together. How connected we’d been. How instinctual it had been to trust her… Jesus, here I go again.

  I pack up my stuff and make my way down the hall and out to Dr. Price’s office, where Mia is already seated, warmly talking to him about some store that apparently both she and his wife shop at. Of course she can pull a conversation like that out of thin air. She can talk to anyone about anything, as she regularly demonstrates during her biofeedback sessions.

  The two of them stop when they notice me in the doorway, Mia visibly withdrawing into her professional demeanor, all traces of joking or pleasantry gone. It’s the same way she’s been the last couple weeks, sticking to the bare minimum of communication. Never rude, but lacking her usual vitality and friendliness.

  There are no more desserts either, something I didn’t realize I’d miss until it disappeared. No cookies, no brownies, no cupcakes. I never got to try that dark chocolate pie she spoke of one time. I’ve been fixated on that pie for some reason, even going so far as to buy one at the store, but it wasn’t at all the same as what I expect she’d make.

  “Have a seat, Tyler.” Dr. Price motions to the empty chair. I rush in, realizing I’ve just been standing here staring at Mia, who’s been studiously avoiding my gaze the whole time. The seat is surprisingly clear of any books or papers, and I wonder if it was actually that way or if she moved them for me.

  We get to work talking about the end of the study, which is fast approaching, as well as writing the paper we’ll be submitting to academic journals. For once, I let Mia take the lead in the conversation, content to hear her thoughts and opinions, her voice in general. How have I never realized how melodic it is? How sweet, just like everything about her. She claimed to love my voice but, really, it’s hers that’s worth noting.

  “What are your thoughts, Tyler?” Dr. Price asks, gazing expectantly at me.

  I blink, redirecting my attention to him. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

  “Mia said it would be easiest to each write your sections of the paper individually and just email if you need any clarification, rather than working on it together in person. Does that suit you?”

  “I—” I glance over at her, only her profile visible to me because she won’t look over. And why should she? I was a complete asshole to her, not only telling her it was time for this thing between us to end, but how I went about it too.

  But I didn’t realize how much was actually ending. “If that’s what Mia wants.” I shift in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable knowing she doesn’t want to spend any extra time with me.

  What did I think she’d do, sit around and pine for me? Wallow in her abject misery because I wasn’t around anymore?

  No, apparently I’m the only one doing that.

  We exit the Stress Lab after the meeting’s over, and she hangs back, waiting for me to precede her down the stairs. Halfway down, though, I turn around, gazing up at her. “We don’t have to be unfriendly to one another. We can still be friends.” God, I sound like her now.

  I know what I’d say in response to that inane suggestion.

  Wow, we can still be friends? What an honor. I must be the luckiest person on the planet that you’d still want to be friends after coldly rejecting me.

  She simply stares at me, though. “I’m doing what you asked.”

  I take a step up, drawn to her despite myself. “What did I ask?”

  Her eyes narrow, the first sign of emotion I’ve seen in weeks. “You said you don’t want intimacy.”

  “That doesn’t mean we can’t—”

  “To me, intimacy is more than just fucking each other,” she interrupts. “It’s spending time together. Being there for one another. And apparently, I can’t separate it all,” she mutters, speeding past me, taking the steps at a hurried clip.

  I close my eyes, hearing her words again in my head. I really like you, Tyler. This means something to me.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you what you wanted,” I call out to her.

  She pauses at the bottom of the stairs, but doesn’t look up at me. “Not couldn’t. Wouldn’t,” I hear her say before she pushes open the door leading outside.

  Have I turned her into someone as cynical as me? Did I crush her Hufflepuff spirit?

  I sway in the direction she just left, then force myself to march back up the steps, making my way into our room in the Stress Lab. No one else is scheduled after us, so I have all night to work on the data if I want. I should have been doing it while she was meeting with her biofeedback people, but I was too distracted by the sound of her voice, the glimpses of her out of the corner of my eye when I thought she wasn’t looking.

  God, I’m pathetic.

  I settle in at my desk, pulling up my spreadsheet and beg
in inputting data from the results today. Afterward, I look it all over, reaching for my phone more than once to text Mia, remembering the times we’ve done this after our participants had left, examining everything, each of us with insights the other didn’t see at first. Though I never would have thought it initially, we actually make a good team.

  But if she doesn’t want to write our paper together, I’m fairly sure she doesn’t want to review these numbers with me.

  I’m used to doing things by myself anyway.

  The hush over the computer lab is absolute, the week of midterms finally upon us. Usually, it’s just the library that’s this quiet, but it’s seemed to extend its way across campus to here too.

  It’s fine with me, though, as I still need to study for this dumbass Geology exam. Ask me anything about psychology and I can tell you no problem, but explaining the different effects of metamorphism in rocks? My mind goes completely blank.

  A girl approaches the help desk and asks in a normal tone, “Where does my print job—”

  “Shh!” Oscar loudly shushes her. “Can’t you see everyone here is trying to study?” he demands in a whisper so loud, he might as well be talking.

  “Your print job shows up over there.” I point to the printer in the corner. “Just swipe your student ID.”

  Thanks, she mouths, unwilling to risk Oscar’s wrath again.

  “You gotta cool it,” I tell him in a low voice. “The pressure’s making you crack.”

  “If I don’t make an A in Organic Chemistry, my dad will disown me.” He feverishly scribbles equations in a notebook, none of which make the least bit of sense to me. Then again, I’m not a science major, as evidenced by my extreme lack of interest in rocks.

  “Isn’t that the class that everyone fails? Accept the reality that you won’t make an A in it.”

  He turns to me, his eyes wild and bloodshot behind his glasses. “My dad’s a chemist! I have to make an A.”

  I gently disengage his fingers that somehow found their way to grip my shirt. “How about you take off early? Go home and grab a power nap? I’ll cover the rest of your shift.”

  He rubs at his eyes, gazing at me strangely. “That’s nice of you.”

  I turn back to my page about metamorphic rocks. “Okay.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him still staring at me. “Why are you being nice?”

  I slam the book shut, startling nearly half the computer users, but I really don’t give a fuck. “I can’t be nice?”

  “I mean you can, but you don’t.”

  I sigh. Miss Hufflepuff’s rubbing off on me again. I don’t even have to speak to her anymore for her to have an effect on me. “Do you want to go home or not?”

  “Yes,” he whispers, frantically grabbing at his things to stuff in his backpack. “I owe you.”

  “Damn right you do.” See? It was in my own self-interest to do him a favor. Nothing altruistic about it.

  Except, it did feel good to help, knowing how much he’s been stressing about his midterms.

  Damn it.

  It’s smooth sailing for the rest of my shift and I lock up when we close at eleven, though I still need to finish studying for my Motivation midterm tomorrow. Just a few last key concepts I’m unsure of, to make sure I know them backward and forward.

  I jog the quick distance to the library and take the stairs to an upper floor, where it’s certain to be dead silent. At home, I can’t trust Tom to stay quiet enough out in the living room playing his video games, as I’ve learned during previous midterms and finals week.

  I stop short as I enter the third-floor study area, spying Mia at one of the front study carrels, her wild, brown hair piled up on top of her head in a haphazard bun. There’s a pencil stuck through it, along with another one she’s gnawing on as she intensely focuses on her open textbook.

  She brings the page up closer to her face and I see that it’s the Motivation of Psychology book, the same one I’m studying from tonight. The same one we’ve studied together multiple times. The same one she apparently doesn’t want to study with me anymore.

  I watch for a minute, the way her neck elegantly turns as she checks something in another notebook next to her. I’ve kissed that neck, pursed my lips and blown cool breath over it to make her giggle in delight as goose bumps raced over her skin.

  The way her mouth moves on the end of her pencil, delicately nibbling at it. I’ve kissed that mouth, felt those delicious nibbles as she worked her way across my whole body, using her lips and teeth and tongue to drive me wild.

  The way her eyes focus on the page, the gray of them lightening when she’s happy, darkening when she’s turned on. If I could do it over again, I’d spend a day making those eyes shift in color, wanting to see the entire range of them.

  Wait, what am I talking about? If I could do it over again, I wouldn’t have started anything with her to begin with. Saved both of us a lot of unnecessary heartache. Not that that’s what I’m feeling. It’s not.

  Besides, she won’t even look at me now. I can barely get her to acknowledge my presence in the lab. In the stairwell last week was the first time she’d actually looked at me in…

  My mouth goes dry as she glances up, her eyes meeting mine. I’m a zebra caught in the gaze of a lion, unable to move for fear it will signal her advance. Somewhere along the way, our roles switched, with her now the predator. Did it start that night she tied me up? Or much earlier?

  The door opens behind me, a group of girls jostling their way past me, annoyed I’m in their path. Our eye contact breaks and I use the opportunity to slip to the side and back out the door, watching her still through the glass from an indirect angle.

  She peers around in confusion, letting the pencil in her mouth drop to the desk. I can’t tell if she wants to actually see me or keep an eye on me to avoid me. Based on our interactions lately, probably the latter. I turn toward the stairwell, intending to go up a floor to find a place to study, but glance back one more time, seeing her head down again, focused on her textbook.

  That’s how it should be.

  She’s better off without me.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Mia

  Thank God I’m finished. Midterms are never fun, but today’s seemed especially brutal, first with Statistical Reasoning this morning and Classical Mythology right now. I thought humanities classes normally had you write papers as a midterm, but apparently Dr. Vasquez likes seven-page papers and a multiple-choice midterm to really feel that you understand the material. Thanks for that.

  But at least I’m done, a whole week of spring break ahead of me to look forward to. Not that I have any plans, but it’ll be nice to relax.

  I head out of the humanities building and toward the nearest parking lot where my car is, but pause when I spot a familiar tall form in front of me on the sidewalk.

  “Mia,” Ethan says good-naturedly, smiling wide enough to show off remarkably effective orthodontic work. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen teeth so straight. Or white. It’s dazzling really. “Do you have a class in here?”

  I finally focus on the words coming out of his mouth rather than the teeth speaking them, answering, “Yeah, but my class is usually at eleven. I had an exam today.”

  He smiles wider and I nervously tuck my hair back behind my ears before I remember I wore it up today. “How have you been?” he asks, crossing his arms like he’s ready to dig into some serious small talk.

  “Um, fine.” Is it okay to chat with him? This somehow feels like a betrayal of Tyler. His best friend and… whatever I am.

  “Good, good. But you know who’s not doing so good?”

  “Uh…”

  “Tyler.” He nods, like I was about to say that. “Alternately mopey or ragey. Well, more ragey than usual. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s PMSing.”

  A laugh escapes me and I quickly cover my mouth with my hand. Tyler PMSing. Oh God, if he heard Ethan say that— Wait. “Why is he PMSing?”


  He tilts his head, looking at me quizzically. “I think you know why.”

  Well, that’s cryptic. “No, I don’t.”

  “It started right around the time a few weeks ago when I asked about you and he nearly bit my head off, spouting off about how you and him weren’t dating, so why the hell should he know how you were doing and I should mind my own business. Figured there’s only one reason he’d go off like that.”

  “What’s that?” I ask, hanging on his every word now, despite that I’ve been doing my absolute hardest to banish Tyler from my thoughts, practicing meditation daily, to the point where my inner critic is rarely even showing up. If nothing else, it’s been amazing for my anxiety.

  “He realized he’s actually in a relationship.”

  My intense interest abruptly fades.

  What did you think he was going to say? Tyler realized he’s in love with you or something? Get real.

  Damn it, you’re supposed to be gone.

  “No,” I tell him, pulling the straps of my backpack tighter. “We’re definitely not. We’re not anything. At his insistence,” I tack on, giving him a rueful smile.

  His own smile lessens. “Well, he’s miserable.”

  I shrug, hoping I appear more nonchalant than I feel. “I can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.”

  He strokes a hand over his jaw. “God, doesn’t that describe him,” he murmurs.

  “I thought I was getting through at one point, but then it was like I was beating my head against a brick wall.”

  “So you’re done with him?”

  “I—” That’s what I told him, wasn’t it? But that was in the heat of the moment. The truth is, I don’t know. I still care about him, still miss him. But I’m not going to waste my time on him when he’s made it clear he’s not interested in anything more. I have some pride. “He doesn’t want a relationship. He must have realized that’s where we were headed. So he broke it off.”