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His hesitant tone, the tension in his jaw, the way his hands popped opened and closed nervously, it all startled Allison. “What?”
“I thought you didn’t want to talk about before?”
She gritted her teeth. “We’ll make an exception.”
He lifted a shoulder and let it fall, limp. “You remember, you usedto go on and on about all the things you read in undergrad. About how funny and brilliant Chaucer was, and how weird Chretien de Troyes’s romances were, how amazing it was to read things by women like the Paston sisters at a time when people now believe women had no education or authority or agency. I never forgot any of it.” His fidgeting worsened. If it wouldn’t have meant them touching, Allison would have reached out to steady him. “I—when I was taking my two gap years before grad school, I picked some of those works up. And you were right. I mean, I readTroilus and Criseydeat least three times.”
Warmth spread through Allison’s limbs. If what he was saying was true, she’d had more of an impact on him when they’d dated than she’d thought.
But bitterness had left her with sharp edges, and she couldn’t ignore that he’d spent the last ten minutes purposely trying to outshine her. Just like he had the whole time they’d dated. Right up until he’d ripped that Rising Star Award out from under her.
Allison stalked a few steps closer. He was still sitting on the table, and, for once, they were eye level. She tried not to think of how she was practically standing between his knees. Or how many times they’d made out in that very position. She let her anger explode those thoughts like grenades. “You’re really going to get in my way when you know how hard I’ve worked for this? How much it means for me to study with her? I’ve been talking about doingexactly thisfor years.”
He shook his head. “I’ve worked hard, too. Ineedthis. Getting Professor Frances’s attention can open doors. That’s sometimes the only way to a tenure-track job these days. And I—” He pursed his lips and considered his words. “I can’t step aside and let that opportunity pass.”
“Neither can I.” Allison refused to blink as she stared him down. Professor Frances might have chosen them both as TAs, but teachers always had their favorites. If Allison stood out, maybe she’d mentor her, help ensure Allison achieved all her goals. That had to be what Colin was aiming for, too.
“I’m not going to hold back. When we were together, all those things we said, what we know about each other, they won’t affect me here.” She forced herself not to remember how she’d once told him she loved him and how much she’d meant it. Or all the things he’d confided in her about growing up with a teen mom and his close relationship with his grandfather. He would not pollute her goals or reroute her path. Not again. She’d barrel through him like a battering ram on a castle gate if necessary. She hoped her fierce expression illustrated that.
Colin tipped his chin. “There are no rearview mirrors here.”
“Good.”
He pressed a palm against the table and leaned into it. “May the best man win.”
Allison threw her hair over her shoulder and straightened her spine. She smoothed her pencil skirt and striped shell. Unlike negotiating how to exist in the same space as her ex, this was territory she could navigate. Competing with Colin was like breathing.
“I think we’re all about done with men winning.” She was halfway through the door before she flashed him a smirk. “By the way, you might want to change your sweater before Post-Colonial Lit. It looks like a toddler used you as an easel.”
The last thing she saw before she left was Colin walking in circles trying to catch a glimpse of his back, like a dog futilely chasing his tail.
Chapter 5
When they’d dated, Colin had liked to celebrateeverything.Their first kiss, the first time they had sex, the first time Allison tried his cooking, you name it, and Colin saw it as a reason to splurge on a special dessert or treat themselves to a new book.
It was no surprise, then, that he went all out on their one-month anniversary. Flowers, chocolates, and reservations at this upscale barbeque place outside of Boston.
What neither of them had known was that it was also the restaurant’s monthly line-dancing night, and everyone with a reservation was encouraged to participate as they waited for their food.
The host had set down their menus and pointed to the stage a few feet away, where four or five lines of people—mostly in cowboy boots, jeans, and hats, unlike Allison’s tight dress and heels—moved like a flash mob to a honky-tonk song. There was clapping and hooting and a whole lot of foot stamping, the exact opposite of the romantic, candlelit dinner they’d expected.
Allison raised an eyebrow at Colin. She was an okay dancer, but he possessed about as much grace as a drunk flamingo, and the pure fear etched across his face suggested he knew that.
With an exuberant wave, the instructor hailed them, insisting it was the perfect time to “jump on in.”
Weighing the potential humiliation of trying to line dance against the current embarrassment of everyone staring at them, Colin and Allison had surrendered and squeezed themselves in at the back of the pack.
The music transitioned into a new song a second later. “This one’s called the Cowboy Hustle,” the instructor’s voice burst through the speakers, “and it’s an easy one for any new people out there.” She winked at them.
Colin groaned. “What does she know about easy? I bet her feet Cowboy Hustle in her sleep.”
Allison gently took his arm. “It’s not that complicated, I promise. Here…” She slid up next to him so they were hip to hip. “You tap your foot like this.” She fanned her right foot in and out twice. He did the same, only to stamp on her in the process.
She choked back a laugh. His face was pinched in a mix of concentration and frustration, and she didn’t want to belittle his attempts.
“Now tip your toe back twice,” she offered.
“I think it’s heel first,” he said, squinting at the instructor as she demonstrated again.
