Beautifully Complicated (Front Range University #4)

11. Kier

Chapter eleven

Kier

OCTOBER

A fter our little heart-to-heart Aiden and I aren’t avoiding each other the way we did at first, but things are still awkward.

I basically admitted to having feelings for him, and he did the same, which has made things both better and worse. Better in the sense that we no longer work in silence, although we only discuss our research. By unspoken agreement we don’t talk about the things that endeared us to one another in the first place, like movies and sports teams. We don’t venture into new territory either, like favorite foods or weekend plans. Everything said aloud is limited to the data we’re reviewing, leaving no room for emotion to creep in.

Theoretically.

But since we’re both passionate about work, even those conversations make my feelings grow, which almost makes things worse than they were to begin with.

Aiden speaks my language. Sometimes he’ll finish my thoughts. Others he’ll pose a timely theory. His grasp of a complex subject is remarkable, especially given his age, and since he’s driven by a desire to do good rather than to make money or accumulate power, his motivation is admirable.

I’m awed by his mind. His heart. His beauty. Everything. So much so, I think even if we hadn’t met before, I’d still find myself wanting him in ways I shouldn’t.

Sitting at my desk, reading the comments he made on a student’s paper—comments exactly like what I would make had I been the first one to read it—I can’t help wondering what might’ve happened if I wasn’t so willing to get to Colorado.

Ours is a niche field. One that would’ve eventually brought us into contact with one another, and if I’d just had more patience, maybe our second meeting would have been as potential colleagues instead of a mentor and his charge. We’d have been free to resume exactly where we left off without any consequences.

Of course, that would have meant at least a year of wondering. Pining for a man I didn’t know how to find and feeling distraught most of the time, but I feel like that now, so… Which is worse, the not knowing or the knowing with your hands helplessly bound?

Not for the first time, Aiden’s question about where we’d stand after graduation surfaces.

If one or both of us is no longer at Front Range University, that would seemingly eliminate any roadblocks, provided I have no further part in his education or career. Unfortunately, the fact we’re both here now means there’s going to be some overlap.

Should he want to pursue a higher degree, my recommendation will open that door. Should he want to go straight into the workforce, once again it’s my influence that will make that happen. I can’t withhold my opinion about his capabilities without damaging his opportunities for advancement, but by the same token any praise I bestow will lose its meaning if we’re together.

At the very least, I have to give him a referral for whatever he chooses to do, so people don’t question why he didn’t deserve one. And once that referral is made, I’d have to give him time to prove himself to whomever he’s reporting to, be that another professor or a boss.

At best that puts us at least a year away from pursuing the feelings we have. At worst, two. Neither scenario holds much appeal, but I don’t see any other options.

My phone dings, reminding me that I’m due in the lab in five minutes.

If it wouldn’t raise some eyebrows, I’d plan my day so that Aiden and I would be there separately, but in addition to the fact my colleagues would question the effectiveness of having an assistant that doesn’t actively assist me… I don’t want to. As torturous as it is to be in the same room and not act on the urge to touch him, the thought of not seeing him at all is just as unappealing.

Aiden’s head is bowed when I arrive, focused on the phone he holds on his lap. That in and of itself is odd—he’s not the type to waste time scrolling aimlessly—though it’s the strange voice coming from the speaker that really captures my interest. It’s both nasally and authoritative, demanding attention.

He’s so engrossed he doesn’t even hear me approach or realize I’m peering over his shoulder like a creep until I exclaim, “What the hell is that?”

Aiden jolts, dropping the phone to the floor with a clatter. Since it lands near my foot, I pick it up, getting a closer look at the… fish on the screen.

“Breaking news!” the fish declares, then launches into a story about the upcoming election.

Aiden grabs the phone and silences it before I can fully comprehend what I’m seeing. His face is red as he pockets it and turns on the computer with a hurried, “Sorry.”

“What was that?” His flustered movements have my curiosity piqued.

“Just a news clip.”

“About what?”

“The democratic nominee picking a running mate.” His fingers fly over the keyboard, entering his password.

“When did that happen?” I ask.

“Just now.”

“But…” I debate whether to ask about what I thought I saw, and decide I need to know. “Wasn’t that a fish on your phone?”

“Yeah.” Even the back of his neck is red.

“So, it’s a parody?”

“No, it’s real.”

Just then my phone pings, and I see an Apple News notification that a running mate has been selected.

Now I’m really confused.

“Do you have some sort of goofy filter on your phone? Is that why the reporter looked like a fish?”

Aiden props his elbows on the desk and rests his head in his hands, talking to the keyboard rather than me. “It’s not a filter. It’s Real Talking Fish. He anchors Bikini Bottom News.”

I’ve never heard a more ridiculous string of words come from Aiden’s mouth. Positive I heard wrong; I parrot the sentence back to him. “Real Talking Fish anchors Bikini Bottom News.”

“Yeah.” He sighs dejectedly.

“I don’t understand.”

Aiden digs his phone from his pocket, taps the screen a few times, and hands it to me.

The fish on the screen booms, “Breaking News. Florida issues a state of emergency as Tropical Storm Bella threatens to make landfall.”

“What tropical storm?” I ask.

Aiden finally looks at me with an incredulous expression. “Don’t you pay attention to the weather? News of the storm is all over the place.”

“I uh, haven’t been following the news lately. It’s usually over by the time I get home and I’m asleep before the late news starts.”

Nothing says lame like admitting to the man you like that your pathetic life revolves around work.

“I don’t watch the news either. That’s why I follow this.” He nods at the phone I’m holding.

“But this is a fish.”

“He’s surprisingly informative.” Aiden’s brow wrinkles, as though even he’s shocked to admit that despite it being his phone I’m looking at.

“I don’t understand.” I watch another clip, this time about an asteroid that will circle the earth. “Bikini Bottom… isn’t that a SpongeBob thing?”

“Trust me, I get it.” Aiden puffs out his cheeks as he exhales. “I thought the same thing when I first saw it, but Bikini Bottom News is timely and accurate, with zero spin. It’s the fastest, least biased way to stay informed.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Just… Watch it.” He goes back to typing, still as red as he was a few minutes ago, so I take the phone to my desk and scroll through the old clips.

I can’t independently verify anything since I rarely see the news myself, but a quick search on every story turns up a piece with the same information, so clearly this fish reports actual news. And just like Aiden said, there’s never any spin to it. No underlying message to make the viewer lean one way or another. It’s impressive really.

And like everything else about him, this little quirk makes me like him even more.

Getting news from a fish is silly. Whimsical almost, yet totally legitimate at the same time. It’s a perfect fit for Aiden, who’s brilliant without being overly serious.

His phone unlocked and, in my hand, the temptation to snoop is overwhelming. Not to pry, just to feel closer to him in a way I can’t allow myself to chase through conversation. I want to learn everything I can about him, and even though I’d rather do that organically, the urge to find out by any available means is near compulsive. But I refrain, knowing that would only make the next several months worse, and in the end, it would rob me of learning about him through his own lips.

Shutting off the screen, I cross the room to hand the phone back to him, offering the most innocent smile I can muster when he takes it. “This does actually seem legitimate.”

The tension in his shoulders seems to fade somewhat, like he’s relieved to have my approval. “Believe me, I know how hard that is to admit.”

“How did you even find this?”

“One of my roommates. He absorbs information best in short, to-the-point doses, and this is how he gets all his news. I tried to poke holes in it, but it’s honestly airtight. Sometimes they even break things before more traditional sources.” He traps his lips between his teeth to hide a bashful smile.

“Unbelievable,” I mutter, getting momentarily distracted by the way that innocent gesture plumps and darkens his enticing mouth.

God, what I wouldn’t give to feel those lips on mine right now.

“So—” I clear my throat “—any progress on that sample you’ve been working on.

Work. Talk about work.

Aiden opens a file and starts pointing out how the algorithm correlates to the data he has, pausing at intervals to gauge whether I agree or disagree. When he’s finished going over his findings I say, “That was my assessment as well.”

“You have me working on the same project as you? Isn’t that redundant?”

“Not when you consider we’re trying to help this patient regain his natural gait instead of the stilted one his current prosthetic gives him. Everything has to be perfect, so I needed another set of eyes on it.”

“And you trust my eyes to do that?” His molten caramel gaze meets mine, and there’s so much reverence in them I nearly forget to answer.

“Of course I do.”

“But.” His long lashes brush against his cheeks as he blinks repeatedly. “I’m just your assistant.”

“So? Do you know how gifted you are? Half the time you finish my thoughts for me and the other you have them first. You could have a career that surpasses mine. I wouldn’t trust my father’s care to anyone else.”

“Your father?” Aiden gasps, and I realize my mistake.

He wasn’t supposed to know this prosthetic is for my dad. Not because it’s confidential or anything, but because that’s a personal detail like the ones we’re trying to avoid. And I didn’t just reveal a tiny detail about myself by telling him who the patient is, I admitted I value his opinion as much as, if not more than, my own.

“He lost his leg in a car accident years ago.” I try to skirt over the gravity of my earlier comments. “He was a runner, and while he can still run with his current prosthetic, he says he doesn’t feel like himself with it.”

“That’s how you got into this field.” Aiden puts two and two together. It’s not a stretch, but it’s also something I don’t share since there’s enough pressure to get this right without an entire industry watching.

Several people obviously know my dad benefits from my work, they just don’t know we’ve yet to build him something that feels as real as his leg did, and that I plan to keep fine tuning the algorithm until I can give that back to him.

No point in hiding that from Aiden now.

“Yes. I want to help everyone regain their mobility, but he’s the reason I want to make prosthetics feel like normal limbs.”

He’s quiet for a minute as he absorbs my words. “Thank you for trusting me,” he whispers.

I don’t know how to respond to that without saying something I shouldn’t, something that will only draw attention to the depth of the feelings I have to keep buried for my sanity and his. So, I merely nod and go back to my workstation.

***

“Remind me never to say yes when it’s Grace’s turn to pick the location,” I tell Daniel with a heavy sigh. “My ears are going to ring for days.”

“It’s not that bad,” my colleague replies. “Some of these people are really good.”

“Yeah, but for every one of them who can sing there are at least four that are tone deaf.” I shake my head as the next amateur takes the stage and belts out an off-key rendition of Party in the USA.

Karaoke has never been my thing, and now I’m reminded why.

“They ought to have a screening process,” I remark. “Or pass out earplugs at the door.”

“Someone’s in a mood.” Daniel hands me a shot off the table in front of us. “Maybe this will help.”

I’m not much of a drinker, but I do need to get out of my head, so I toss the shot back and wait for the liquor to work its magic while he rambles about some TV show he’s started binging.

I try to pay attention, I really do, but my heart just isn’t in it. As usual, Daniel seems to notice.

“Still stumped by your algorithm?” he asks, assuming that’s what’s got me out of sorts. I can’t blame him since that’s the explanation I give him each time he pops his head in to see what I’m up to, which happens almost daily.

Though I’ve been here over a month, I’m still not entirely sure if that’s a friendly colleague thing or a hint that he wants something more. In case it’s the latter I should probably figure that out, and discourage it, I just haven’t had the time or desire to think about him at all. My mind is too full of all things Aiden.

The way he looked at me earlier, when he learned he was helping me find solutions for my dad… It stole my breath. I could see it in his eyes, in the way his lips parted on a gasp. He was flattered. Honored. Like my faith in him was the greatest gift he could receive.

I damn near pulled him into my arms right then and there. I’ve never had to fight my body so hard. I’m still tense over it, hours later.

“It’s still giving me trouble, yes.” I perpetuate that little white lie about the algorithm.

“Haven’t you ever heard that solutions come when you’re not looking for them?” Daniel arches a knowing brow. “Get your mind off it and you’ll probably have a breakthrough. What song are you going to sing?”

“I’m not singing.”

“Oh, come on. You can’t be any worse than he is.” He tilts his head toward the stage, where a man is butchering Saturday Sun.

“I’ll still pass.”

“Ugh, fine. But at least put work away for tonight.” Daniel bumps my shoulder with his, trying to get me to loosen up.

“I’ll try.”

Sipping on my beer, I try to enjoy watching my colleges goof off, clapping when they take the stage and toasting them when they come off. For about twenty minutes I’m blissfully Aiden free. And then a group comes in, six men paired off like couples, with Aiden bringing up the rear.

My stomach plummets when I see his face, the forced smile a dead giveaway he’s uncomfortable. Feeling like a third wheel no doubt. Then one of the men leans toward him, speaking into his ear with obvious familiarity. I’d bristle at that if it weren’t for the fact the man has his fingers entwined with someone else, so I conclude the gesture is to be heard over the music, nothing more.

Then the man straightens, and I get a good look at him. He’s… me . A little taller, a little bulkier, but… me . And a brief glance at Aiden’s stiff grin confirms what my gut already knows. That’s Bennet, the roommate he thought he was in love with, until I came along.

Feelings aren’t misinterpreted my ass.