"No. Consumer confidence surveys. They've been tracking how peoplefeelabout the economy for decades. If your fiftypeople match the patterns from historical data, suddenly you're not just guessing. You're proving a trend."
Sam is quiet for a second. "Holy shit. If we layer the survey data over my interviews, we can show the pattern repeating. It's not anecdotal anymore, it's a trend across decades."
He's right. It's the missing piece. He just took my criticism and flipped it into a solution.
"That's... actually brilliant," I say.
Sam's face changes.
"Say it again. Say I'm right." He shifts, his thigh pressing against my arm. "I want to hear you admit it."
"You're right."
"God, that's hot."
I push the laptop away. The screen saver flickers on.
"You just fixed your entire proposal," I say, my voice gone thick. "You just... made it work."
"Wefixed it," Sam corrects. He runs a hand through my hair, gripping the strands at the base of my skull. "I wouldn't have gotten there if you hadn't called me out."
I look at him, really look at him. The messy hair, the chili-dust stained lips, the fierce intelligence burning in his eyes. It's not just that he's pretty.
It's hismind.
I've never been turned on by someone solving a research problem. But here we are.
"Sam," I warn.
"Devan," he mocks, breathless.
I grab him by the waist and haul him forward. He yelps, a surprised laugh escaping him as I pull him onto my lap. He straddles me, the chair creaking under us.
"Whoa," Sam gasps, his hands finding my shoulders to steady himself. "Library. Public building. Very thin walls."
"I don't care."
"You... solving problems together really does it for you, huh?" Sam asks, already breathless.
"Shut up. I like how you think. I like that you didn't back down."
I kiss him. Messy and desperate. Our teeth clash. He tastes like fake blue raspberry and salt. He kisses me back with the same ferocity, pulling at my hair.
I go for his waistband. "Lift up."
"Devan, the door—"
"Locked," I lie. I don't know if it's locked. I don't care. If the Dean walks in right now, I'll stare him down.
Sam lifts his hips, and I yank his sweatpants down. He's hard, the scent of him flooding the small room.
"You... you made me think," he gasps. "It's your fault."
"Yeah?" I stroke him slowly, watching his face. "Thinking gets you hot?"
"You getting all intense about data gets me hot. It's embarrassing. Don't make it weird."
"I'm going to make it so weird."
