"I should go," he says finally. "I have a shift at the library in an hour."
"One more thing," I say as I lead him back to my room. "You'll need access to our shared drive and calendar." Grabbing a sticky note, I scribble down login information. "Password is case sensitive. Don't share it."
He takes the note, careful not to let our fingers touch. "Thanks."
"If you have technical questions, fine, ask me. Pledge questions? Literally anyone else."Why is offering help so bloody awkward?
"Noted." He pockets the paper, already turning to leave. "I'll try not to bother you at all."
"That would be ideal,"
As he leaves, I return to my computer, telling myself I'm relieved to be rid of him. Caleb Huntington the Third is exactly the type of person I've spent my life avoiding: privileged, entitled, morally flexible. The fact that he's now part of Delta Psi is just one more complication I don't need.
And yet, as I get back to my system update, I keep thinking about how quickly he pulled that evidence together and how good he was at explaining everything. For all his faults, Caleb Huntington isn't dumb.
That might make him more annoying, not less.
With a sigh, I push thoughts of our newest pledge aside and immerse myself back in code.
Those cornflower blue eyes, though. And the way his jaw clenches when he's annoyed, which seems to be basically always. Bloody hell, stop it. He's posh, pretentious, and probably considers slumming it with frat brothers a temporaryinconvenience before he runs off to join Daddy's law firm. Gorgeous is irrelevant when someone's that far up their own?—
Right. No. Absolutely not going there. Caleb Huntington is a complication I don't need, with a family that would eat someone like me for breakfast. People are complicated and unpredictable. Computers make sense. And right now, I need things that make sense.
Chapter 2
Red Bull & Porn
JAMES
The blue light of my monitor is the only illumination in my room as I scan through the code. Three in the morning isn't unusual for me; the frat house is finally quiet, and I can work without interruptions. No one knocking on my door with broken laptops or forgotten passwords.
A pop-up notification interrupts my concentration. Someone's trying to access the frat's Wi-Fi network using an unfamiliar device. Again.
"For shit's sake." The network dashboard loads, third attempt tonight from the same goddamn device. Why can't people just use normal porn sites like civilized humans?
It has to be the new pledge, Caleb Huntington the Third. Even his name sounds pretentious. Of course, he couldn't wait until morning to ask for the network password like a normal human being.
Checking the timestamp of the attempts. 1:47 AM. 2:15 AM. 2:58 AM. Persistent little rich boy, isn't he?
With a sigh, I push back from my desk and grab my hoodie. DPO's newest charity case is about to learn that the house network has rules, and I'm the one who enforces them.
The hallway is dark and quiet as I make my way downstairs. Most of the brothers are sound asleep, resting up for whatever chaos tomorrow will bring. I've been with the frat for three years now, and the rhythms of the house are as familiar as breathing, loud during the day, subdued in the evening, and blessedly silent in these early morning hours.
A faint glow from the kitchen catches my attention. Someone's awake after all.
Caleb is hunched over his laptop at the kitchen island, surrounded by empty Red Bull cans. His dark hair falls forward, hiding his face as he scowls at the screen. He doesn't notice me lingering in the doorway, too focused on whatever he's doing.
"Network password is case sensitive.” My voice is flat.
He startles, head snapping up. For a moment, our eyes meet, and there's something vulnerable in his expression before it hardens into irritation.
"I know how passwords work," he retorts, his voice low but sharp. "I've been typing it exactly as Gavin wrote it down."
Crossing the kitchen, I hold out my hand. "Let me see."
He hesitates, then slides a crumpled Post-it across the counter. One glance confirms my suspicion: Gavin's handwriting is atrocious.
"That's not an 'i', it's an 'l'," explaining, I turn the paper for him to see. "And this isn't a zero, it's the Greek letter theta. Gavin likes to be cute with the passwords."
