Chapter 3
AARON
This must be fate giving us a second chance, but it’s a cruel fate because Minji doesn’t remember me.
I shouldn’t be surprised, technically, but I am.
We slept together for two months back in college before she ghosted me, and I never heard from her again.
She was my TA for chemistry at Columbia.
I was a sophomore in my second semester, and she was in her senior year.
The time gap means she’s maybe, genuinely, forgotten?
Or maybe her refined, law-weaponized mind has redacted those blurry memories.
Or maybe she just looked at me back then, ran the emotional calculus, and decided I was a non-essential variable. That would be so Minji.
I wasn’t holding my breath for some dramatic reunion scene.
Minji’s never been one for theatrics. When she stared me down in that conference room with her tilted chin and those words—“that might be the stupidest thing I’ve heard all week”—I nearly laughed at how familiar it felt.
Twelve years ago, I’d have moved mountains just to see a crack in that ice-queen facade.
These days, I’ve learned patience. But damn if seeing her didn’t blow the dust-off memories I thought I’d locked away for good after she vanished without a word.
Thank God for Tuesday nights with Grayson. Like clockwork: Riley’s Bar, Hell’s Kitchen, our corner booth, twin Jamesons waiting, a burger between us, and wings if either of us has had it rough. No need for texts, he knows I’ll be there, same as the sun rises.
I spot him hunched over his whiskey in our usual spot, but something’s off. I do a double-take—those wild curls he’s had since the orphanage are gone.
“Jesus Christ, what the fuck happened to your hair?” I slide in across from him, my fingers already finding my waiting glass.
Grayson’s hand drifts self-consciously to his newly-shaved head. “Too much? I figured after thirty years of the same look, it was time for a change.”
“Are you going through a breakup?” I’m genuinely confused why he would cut off his curls and get a low fade.
“No.” He scoffs. “I don’t do relationships, you know that. But I’m not the topic of discussion tonight, it’s you. So how did your first day go?” he asks. “Any hot paralegals or attorneys?” He raises his eyebrows suggestively.
“Not there for eye candy, but for work.”
“Boooo! So how about the attorney you are shadowing? How is he? A poindexter or is he chill?”
“He’s a she and she is a tough cookie. Did you know she had the nerve to tell me, ‘I think your genre of writing is absurd; romance is for dreamers, not doers.’ Who the fuck says that to someone’s face when they first meet them? She holds nothing back, that’s for fucking sure.”
“I think that’s a compliment.” Grayson takes a sip of his whiskey. “At least she reads.”
“That’s not a compliment. That’s an insult to my entire career.” I down half my whiskey in one gulp, feeling the burn crawl down my throat. “There’s a difference.”
Grayson shrugs, completely unfazed by my indignation. “So what if she hates romance? Makes for a better story when you fall for each other.”
I nearly choke on my saliva. “I’m not sure romance is on the docket for her. This woman is now the human equivalent of a paper shredder. She’d sooner file a restraining order than go on a date with me.”
“Exactly my point.” Grayson’s eyes gleam with mischief. “You’re the guy who writes about opposites attracting, enemies becoming lovers, all that shit. Now you’re living it. You have the cheat book on how to make her fall for your charms.”
“I’m not living anything. I’m researching.” I signal the bartender for another round. “Besides, she’s not even my type,” I lie.
Grayson leans forward, suddenly interested. “Oh?”
“Don’t give me that look.” I point an accusing finger at him. “Don’t start.”
“No, you started this. She is your type.” He smiles.
“You never say a woman is not your type unless she really is. A weird fucking thing you did growing up, and it looks like you are still doing it.” Grayson grins, the kind that always used to con teachers out of late slips and now just gets him free drinks at neighborhood bars.
“She’s about as indifferent as it gets, Arch.”
Grayson snorts. “You like a challenge.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not like that. I’m shadowing her and I need to stay professional.
But damn, man, you should have seen her face when she found out I write romance novels.
Like I’d admitted to a felony.” I try to remember if she was always like this, if she’s always been a human paper shredder disguised as a woman.
Back in college, Minji was serious, sure—focused, ambitious, always two steps ahead of everyone else, but there was something else there too.
A softness to her that I can tell is long gone.
“I don’t blame her for not believing in all that lovey-dovey stuff,” he says. “Just imagine all the shit she sees and hears on a daily basis.”
“Besides, not all women love the romance genre. It’s too fucking sappy if you ask me,” Grayson continues.
“I didn’t ask.” I cut my eyes at him.
“Well, it’s true. Eight times out of ten, you meet a woman who wants the fucking fairytale love story she read in some shitty romance novel. No offense.”
“I’m taking all the offense. Because if I remember correctly, the hockey romance genre has been doing wonders for your sex life.
” I lift one eyebrow. Grayson is one of the best defensemen in the league, and when hockey romance novels became the trend…
There wasn’t a day this man didn’t have a story to tell about a new woman gracing his bed.
He chuckles. “Puck bunnies don’t want romance. They just want to get thoroughly fucked, and who am I to deny them?”
“Until you knock one of those bunnies up. So, I think you should start denying some of them.”
“Do not wish death on me.” He almost falls off the barstool.
“I would never wish kids on my worst enemies. I hear some people say kids are a blessing, but I think otherwise. I could never. Your life isn’t yours anymore with kids, and that scares me.
Just imagine having to give your last piece of food to your child because they won’t stop staring at you.
Or changing from ESPN because they want to watch fucking Blue’s Clues. ”
“Gray. You can’t be serious?”
“Dead serious, take it back. I swear if some—”
“Relax, Grayson.” I chuckle. “Just wrap it up.”
“Whatever, man. I still stand by what I say. Romance novels are too fucking sappy or just filled with fucking and no plot. So that attorney you’re shadowing is right. But it pays your bills, so I won’t judge too much.” He winks.
If Grayson and I hadn’t spent our childhood in the same orphanage, our friendship probably wouldn’t have lasted this long.
I can handle outsiders criticizing my career choice, but when it comes from Grayson, my best friend, my brother, it hurts.
I always sensed he thought my decision to become a romance author was odd, but he’d never openly expressed it until now.
Even though he didn’t use those precise words, I can read between the lines.
“I think I’m going to call it a night.” I stand, pulling out my wallet.
“I’m sorry.” He stands quickly, grabbing my wrist. “I didn’t mean it like that.
I just feel like the genre is not—look, I’m proud of you and what you do.
I brag about you to anyone who listens, I swear it.
I don’t want you to think I think your career is lame.
You’re the only family I have, besides Axel… we are all we got—”
“Aww hell, the hot ones are always gay.” A woman stumbles by us, slurring her words as she holds onto her friends to keep her upright. Grayson snatches back his hand as if it’s on fire and scratches the back of his neck.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re acting out some sappy romance.” I tease. “I hate to break it to you but I love me some pussy.”
“Hey, so do I.” He looks offended. “But for real, I didn’t mean any harm. You know I’m proud of you and all your accomplishments.”
“I know, Gray. Apology accepted.”
“You sure, man?” he asks, and I can see he is about to give me that damn puppy face. It won’t hit the same anymore since he cut off his curls. That gave him the golden retriever look. “I don’t like it when we—”
“We’re good, so please don’t start your shit. I forgive you because if I don’t, I know you will harass me until I do. But I need to get going, I can’t show up late tomorrow. That might give Minji more ammo not to want me to shadow her.” I scoff.
“Minji, so that’s her name? She’s Asian?”
“I believe she could be East Asian.” I shrug playing it coy, but I know for a fact she is Korean.
“I didn’t get around to asking her, and I don’t think I ever will get around to asking.
I know for a fact that woman will not share anything about her personal life with me.
I’ll be surprised if she tells me her coffee order. ”
“Wait.” He stops walking, and I know what he is about to ask. I should have made up a fake name, but it’s too late, the cat’s out of the bag now. “Is she the Minji from college, the TA? The one who you slept with for two months and then ghosted you? That Minji?”
“Yes, that Minji.” Her ghosting me had to be one of the top five worst things I think I went through, and it’s not like I had her number.
She restricted our contact to Facebook Messenger, and then, that dreadful thing, she was supposed to stay the weekend with me, she deactivated her Facebook, and I never heard or saw from her again.
But the chem professor said she graduated early and went off to law school.
“Holy shit. Fuck. Did she recognize you? Is that why she was being hard on you? I mean, she has to remember you, she practically lived in our dorm suite for those two months getting cracked like an egg.”
“Don’t be an asshole. But no, she didn’t recognize me. It was over a decade ago.”