Page 85 of Don't Puck the Wrong Brother

"Back to your place?" he asks as we pull away with our food. "So, you can drop off your books."

I nod, suddenly very aware that going to my dorm means privacy, means being alone together for the first time since we were interrupted by Lennox. The thought sends a flutter through my stomach that has nothing to do with hunger.

The drive back to campus is quieter, anticipation building with each mile. When we reach my dorm, he finds a parking spot close to the entrance.

"I'll wait here," he says, but I shake my head.

"Come up. We can eat in my room."

His eyes darken slightly, but he keeps his tone light. "You sure? I wouldn't want to scandalize your floor-mates."

"They're already scandalized," I say with a small smile. "Might as well give them something to actually talk about."

We take the food and my backpack, walking side by side into the building. In the elevator, we stand closer than necessary, our arms brushing, the tension between us palpable. By the time we reach my floor, my heart is racing, and not from the four-flight elevator ride.

My room is exactly as I left it—bed neatly made, desk organized into study stations, everything in its place. Sanderson looks around with interest, taking in the details I know he didn't have time to notice during his last visit.

"Very you," he comments, setting the food on my desk.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I drop my backpack by the door and take off my jacket.

"Organized. Thoughtful." He gestures to the color-coded bookshelf, the plants arranged by size on the windowsill. "You can tell a lot about someone from their space."

"What does yours say about you?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"That I'm surprisingly neat for a jock," he says with a self-deprecating smile. "And that I care more about comfort than style. My apartment is basically a couch, a TV, and a really good mattress."

The mention of his mattress sends my thoughts in a dangerous direction. I busy myself with unpacking the food, laying it out on my desk like a miniature picnic.

"So," he says, leaning against the wall as I work. "Your study buddy seemed…friendly."

And there it is. The elephant in the room, finally acknowledged.

"Ethan?" I keep my tone casual. "He's just a classmate. We've been quiz partners all semester."

"Hmm." Sanderson crosses his arms, not quite convinced. "He always sit that close to you?"

I look up, meeting his eyes directly. "Are you jealous?"

"Would it bother you if I was?"

The question hangs between us. I consider my answer carefully, wanting to be honest without giving too much away.

"No," I admit finally. "It wouldn't bother me."

A slow smile spreads across his face, transforming his features from guarded to devastatingly handsome. "Good to know."

He pushes off the wall, closing the distance between us in two strides. My breath catches as he reaches for me, but instead of pulling me close, he simply tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek.

"We should eat before it gets cold," he says, his voice low and rough.

I swallow hard, nodding. "Right. Food."

His laugh is soft as he pulls back, creating space between us again. "I'm trying to be a gentleman here, Porter. You're not making it easy."

"Who asked you to be a gentleman?" The words slip out before I can censor them, bold and wanting.

His eyes darken, pupils dilating. "Careful what you wish for."

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