Chapter 10

Time to deploy the full Leo Brennan experience.

I lean forward, letting nineteen years of diplomatic training transform into something actually useful—making nerds like me.

“So let me get this straight,” I say, gesturing at the impressive setup of monitors. “You’re telling me you built a program that can predict which professors will actually show up to their office hours? That’s either genius or deeply concerning for the state of higher education.”

“Both,” Elijah grins, and fuck, he has dimples. Of course he does. “Professor Hudson hasn’t shown up to a single session this semester, but the algorithm caught the pattern after week two. Now we know to skip Thursdays entirely.”

“Revolutionary. You should sell this to freshmen for obscene amounts of money.”

I snag a slice of pizza from the communal box, making sure to maintain eye contact while I take a bite. Basic flirting 101, but sometimes the classics work.

“Though I’m guessing you’re all too noble for capitalism.”

“Noble? Us?” A girl with purple-streaked hair snorts from behind her laptop. “Elijah literally charged people twenty bucks to recover their deleted homework last week.”

“In my defense,” Elijah’s cheeks flush slightly, “they were desperate and I have student loans. Supply and demand, baby.”

The room erupts in laughter, and I find myself genuinely enjoying this—the easy banter, the lack of pretense, the way no one here gives a shit about my last name or bank account.

They’re roasting each other about coding mistakes and failed dating app encounters, and I’m keeping up, throwing in perfectly timed observations that have them clutching their sides.

“Wait, wait,” Jake interrupts, tears streaming down his face from laughing. “Leo, tell them about the time you tried to microwave ramen without water.”

“Listen, in my defense, the instructions were unclear and I was running on two hours of sleep.” I lean into the story, adding dramatic flair. “The fire alarm going off at 3 AM really brought the dorm together though. Nothing builds community like shared trauma and evacuating in your underwear.”

Elijah’s practically folded in half laughing, one hand on my shoulder for support.

The touch is casual, friendly, but there’s a warmth to it that Gabriel’s clinical handling never has. When he recovers, his eyes are bright with tears and something else—definite interest.

“You’re not what I expected,” he says, still catching his breath. “Jake described you as this intimidating pretty boy who probably summers in the Hamptons.”

“I mean, he’s not wrong about the pretty part.” I flash my most obnoxious grin. “But I contain multitudes. Microwave arsonist, trust fund baby, terrible at technology—I’m a walking contradiction.”

My phone chooses that moment to have a seizure on the table.

The screen lights up with notifications—eight missed calls from Gabriel, and oh look, number nine incoming.

The man has the persistence of a telemarketer and none of the charm.

“Sorry, duty calls.” I hold up the phone apologetically. “My… keeper needs his hourly check-in or he starts getting twitchy.”

Jake grins knowingly. “What, Gabriel can’t survive without you for two hours? That’s either sweet or deeply codependent.”

“Poor man. Probably pacing holes in his carpet as we speak.” I’m already heading for the door, but I throw a wink at Elijah. “Save my spot. I’m invested in hearing how that Professor Hudson story ends.”

The hallway’s empty, fluorescent lights humming that specific frequency that gives you headaches if you think about it too long.

I answer on the last ring, fully prepared for whatever stick Gabriel’s shoved up his ass tonight. “Why aren’t you in your room resting?”

His voice is calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that makes you check for exits.

“Because I’m at a party,” I drawl, pacing the hallway like I own it. “You know, that thing where people gather and enjoy each other’s company? Revolutionary concept, I know.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait, which is honestly insulting. “You remember the conditions of our agreement.”

Fuck. The man could make a compliment sound like a threat.

I hate how he drains all the life out of conversation, turning everything into mission objectives and protocol.

“I’m eating pizza with Jake’s IT-nerd friends,” I snap, irritation bubbling over. “Intellectual conversation, carbs, zero alcohol, zero one-night stand sex. Well, not yet anyway. Satisfied? Or do you need a detailed breakdown of my sodium intake too?”

The pause stretches longer than comfortable. Then, like a lightbulb moment designed by Satan himself, a thought strikes.

“Wait… How do you even know I’m not in my room?” My voice sharpens to a point. “Gabriel?”

More silence. The kind that speaks volumes.

“You’re tracking me.” It’s not a question. The rage that floods my system could power a small city, but I force it down, transform it into something more useful. “You know what, that’s… actually perfect.”

“Leo—”

“No, no,” I interrupt, voice dripping honey-coated poison. “Then you’ll love hearing about Elijah. Since you’re so invested in my whereabouts, you might as well get the full experience, right?”

The silence changes quality, becomes denser somehow. I can practically see him, jaw clenched, that little muscle in his cheek twitching.

“He’s one of Jake’s friends,” I continued, warming to my theme. “Senior. Computer science major. Smart as hell, which you’d appreciate if you weren’t so busy being a professional stalker. And really cute—like, genuinely adorable. Tall as fuck too, probably has big, thick, heavy… muscles from all that aggressive typing.”

I pause for effect, then deliver the killing blow.

“He smiles like he actually likes me, you know. No agenda, no reports to file, just genuine human interaction. Remember that?”

Still heavy silence from the other side.

“Maybe I’ll stay out a little longer, Mr. Bodyguard. Give you more data for your creepy tracking app.”

The silence on the other end is deafening. No denial, no justification, just the weight of everything we’re not saying. Good. Let him choke on it.

Two can play this game.