Page 46 of Wicked Surrender

Will I even care?

I got my answer the next night. He showed up like we’d never even had that snafu on Tuesday, which sort of disappointed me even though I wasn’t sure why. He harassed me, interrupted me, and was a rude jerk.

Like usual.

But also, not like usual. I knew now that I couldn’t let him get to me—as I had in the beginning—yet I was also confident that the world wouldn’t end if I did talk back or stand up for myself in the future.

He came prepared, too, for the first time, and it nearly shocked me speechless. I recovered, not making a big deal out of it so it wouldn’t jinx it or anything, but I was impressed.

Instead ofonlytrying to taunt me and be rude, he was more engaged. Still a jerk, but more alert to what I was saying and showing him.

He maintained that weird equilibrium all the way into the next week. On the following Thursday—when it seemed like he wasn’t going to post that video—he harassed me but kind of put some effort into the work we were covering.

I sat back, reading and rereading a part of his trig papers. While I’d corrected him about his mistakes on a particular problem, I realized in the end that he had actually solved a complex equation that had been eluding him.

Okay, he hadn’t admitted that it was eluding him, but I saw how it was.

By bickering and breaking down the steps to reach the answer, I supposed we worked with reluctant teamwork for him to get there.

He was pensive too, staring at the paper where my neat penmanship and perfectly written numbers and lines were covered and mixed with his sloppy scrawls.

“Um. Good job,” I said at last.

He grunted. I had no idea what that meant as a reply. Things were too ambiguous and confusing to know where I stood with him.

So when he opened his mouth and spoke next, I was surprised.

“I just realized something about you.”

Oh, fuck.

He glanced at me.

“Here we go again.” I sighed and leaned my elbow on the table. “What point do you want to claim is wrong this time?”

“No.” He shook his head, staring at the paper. “Something about you.”

“And it isn’t that I have to be wrong so you can always be right?”

Facing me slowly, he narrowed his eyes.

“I didn’t realize this was an opportunity to critique me,” I muttered.

“You’re smart.”

I blinked, then blinked again. I must have hit my head or something. Brain damage. Because I could have sworn it sounded like he’d just complimented me.

“Funny,” I replied, deadpan.

“You don’t think so?”

I narrowed my eyes, wondering what his game was now. “Youdon’t think so.”

“I never said that.” He leaned back and crossed his arms, tricking me into thinking this was a spoof of a truce.

“You imply it every single time we meet. Other than that one night when you stared at me like a possessed neanderthal, you consistently point out how wrong or incorrect I must be as I demonstrate anything to you.”

He shook his head, true to his combative nature. “You are far more intelligent than your older sister ever was.”

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