Emily leaned into me as she wrote the answer, her shoulder pressing against mine. She smelled like vanilla—her shampoo, maybe. I found myself noticing the curve of her neck, the way her curly hair fell forward when she concentrated.
She was beautiful.
That wasn’t new information. I’d known that since freshman year when she’d walked into Intro to Bio and sat next to me because the lecture hall was packed.
But tonight, sitting here with her pressed against my side, her hand still resting on mine—
This was exactly what I needed.
We were in third place. Emily was carrying us hard on anything psychology or literature-related. Noah had gotten us through history and politics. And I’d contributed exactly nothing except moral support and occasional wrong answers.
Emily kept answering, kept leaning into me, kept touching my leg under the table. Her thumb traced small circles on my thigh and I found myself hyperaware of every point of contact between us.
I let myself notice the way her lips curved when she smiled. The way she bit her lower lip when she was thinking. The soft curve of her waist when she leaned forward to write an answer.
She caught me looking and smiled. “What?”
“Nothing. You’re just—” I paused. “Really good at trivia.”
“Smooth, Moore.”
She leaned in and kissed me. Quick, sweet, tasting like cider. When she pulled back, her eyes were warm.
My chest tightened in a good way, it was that kind of tightness that meant something.
“Question fifteen: What year did women’s rowing first appear in the Olympics?”
I sat up straighter. “1976. Montreal.”
Emily grinned. “Look at you, being useful.”
“I contain multitudes.”
Noah snorted. “You contain rowing facts.”
“Not true. I also know—“ I paused, thinking. “Okay, yeah. Mostly just rowing facts.”
Emily squeezed my thigh. “At least you’re self-aware.”
“Hey Em,” Noah said, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Have we ever told you about my brief career in organized crime?”
Emily’s head came up. “I’m sorry, what?”
I laughed. “Oh no. Not this story again.”
“Yes, this story again.” Noah was clearly enjoying himself. “Freshman year. The poker thing.”
“Oh my god, the poker thing.” Emily turned to me. “I’ve heard references but never the full story.”
“It’s hilarious,” I said.
Emily shifted so she was facing us more directly, her knee pressing against mine. “Now I need to know everything.”
Noah took a long sip of his beer. “So. Fall semester, freshman year. I was broke as hell—“
“Aren’t we all,” I said.
”—and someone told me about this underground poker game happening in the basement. They needed a dealer. Twenty bucks a night plus tips. I figured, how illegal can it be? It’s on campus.”
