Page 8 of Prince Material
“They might have.” I glared at my laptop. “There’s this one problem that’s being particularly stubborn. We have to calculate the load-bearing capacity of a bridge, but the numbers feel off.”
“Want another set of eyes? Maybe I can offer a fresh perspective?” When I hesitated, he added, “No pressure. Just offering.”
I studied him for a moment. Most people didn’t volunteer to look at engineering problems for fun, but then again, Floris had surprised me more than once already. Like finding him watching that documentary about climate change yesterday evening. That had been about the last thing I had expected of him. “The Party Prince”, the European tabloids called him, but so far, I saw little evidence of him partying.
“Sure. Why not?”
I flipped my laptop open and he moved his chair around to my side of the table, suddenly close enough that I could smell his cologne: something subtle and expensive that made me think of crisp, autumn mornings. His shoulder brushed mine as he leaned in to look at my screen. For a minute or so, he said nothing as he read through the problem and studied the numbers on the screen.
“Where is the bridge located?” he asked.
As soon as he asked it, the missing part popped into my brain like a jack-in-the-box. “Environmental loads. I didn’t properly account for those. It’s located near San Francisco.”
“Earthquakes.” He nodded. “Plus probably changes in temperature? Not sure how cold it gets there during the winter.”
“The wind is a factor too. They even had a tornado warning recently, so I’d have to take that into account as well. I did the standard environmental load, but in this case, it should be much lower considering the circumstances. Thank you.”
“You did the work yourself. All I did was ask a question.” He smiled, and this close, I could see the faint freckles scattered across his nose. “Well, since I’ve saved you from a mathematical crisis, want to try thosestroopwafelsnow?”
I glanced at my watch and realized with a start that we’d been talking for almost an hour. This had been… nice. Easy, in a way conversations rarely were for me. “I should finish this first.”
“Right, of course.” The mask slipped back into place, but not completely. There was still warmth in his eyes as he gathered his mostly untouched food. “Thanks for the cultural exchange. Even if your country’s idea of cuisine is deeply concerning.”
“Save me a cookie,” I said quickly, somehow uneasy with the hint of disappointment on his face.
His smile was back. “Will do. See you in a little bit?”
I nodded.
His long legs ate up the ground as he walked away, my eyes glued to his back. Should I have said yes? But if I had, he would’ve lured me into more conversations and then I would’ve had to scramble to finish this project.
I needed to focus. I had goals. Important ones. Getting distracted by my roommate’s infectious laugh and the way his whole face transformed when he talked about something heloved wasn’t part of the plan. Even if he did look unfairly good in that blue henley that brought out the green in his eyes. Even if those jeans clung to his round ass and made it pop.
Nope. Not going there.
Maybe there was more to my roommate than met the eye, but I couldn’t afford to find out.
3
FLORIS
I stared at my phone, willing the numbers to change. Who in their right mind scheduled classes this early? Back home, nothing started before nine, a perfectly civilized hour that didn’t require sacrificing sleep or sanity. But here I was, two weeks into my American college experience, contemplating if showing up to class in pajamas would be too much of a cultural faux pas.
Then again, Americans didn’t really seem to care much about things like that. I’d seen people grab coffee while clearly still in their sleepwear. Maybe I was assimilating with more ease than I had thought?
Nah, I was still processing surprises every day, unexpected cultural customs and fascinating habits that baffled me. Sure, I’d visited the States before, but those had been carefully orchestrated royal visits with reasonable schedules and minimal interaction with actual American daily life or, for lack of a better word, ordinary Americans.
TV shows and movies hadn’t prepared me for the reality of American college culture either. Where were the frat parties and the Greek life they had promised me? So far, the wildest thingI’d witnessed was someone double-fisting energy drinks during a late-night study session.
My theory was that Vernon Tech attracted a different crowd than those party schools I’d seen in films. These students actually seemed serious about their education—a fact that would probably shock the tabloids if they ever found me here. It didn’t really match their image of me. It was a major reason why I had picked VTC and not some easy party college.
What had surprised me most, though, was how friendly everyone was. Complete strangers said, “Hi,” on campus, which would’ve earned you concerned looks at best and a few choice curse words at worst in Amsterdam. The cashier at the campus store had asked how my day was going, and she’d actually seemed interested in the answer. Back home, small talk was reserved for people you knew, and even then, it was more about complaining about the weather than genuine conversation.
Speaking of weather, the humidity here was doing ungodly things to my hair. No wonder Americans were obsessed with air conditioning. Without it, we’d all probably melt into puddles of sweat and regret. The Dutch might complain about rain, but at least we didn’t have to deal with air that felt like breathing through a wet blanket.
Unable to avoid the inevitable any longer, I finally slid out of bed. Orson was already up and had been for a while, judging by the pristine state of his side of the room. Even his bed was made with those precise hospital corners that made my messily bundled sheets look like modern art gone wrong. He was probably out to get some coffee or something, his one vice as far as I could tell.
Yawning and stumbling around in pre-coffee haze, I gathered my shower supplies, then grabbed my brand-new, bright red flip-flops. I’d never been a flip-flop guy but they were a necessityhere, so I found a pair for ten bucks at Target. Four generations of ancestors were beaming with pride for being that frugal.
