"Perfect grades? But when he was at my house, he told my parents I'm tutoring him in Calculus!"
Jace's eyebrow ascends to an altitude that communicates amusement, suspicion, and the specific delight of a man who has just received confirmation of a theory he has been developing.
"He was at your house?"
I groan, pressing both palms against my face in the universal posture of a woman who has revealed more than she intended and cannot retract the information without a time machine.
"It was a long story. My mother was trying to arrange a pack marriage with these disgusting older Alphas, and Archie showed up because his dad was visiting my dad about coaching, and he basically rescued me from the situation by making up a storyabout tutoring, and then I dragged him to my room, and we kissed, and then my dad came to check on us, and Jeffrey saved us with the Valenridge envelope, and I told the geriatric Alphas that their cocks were too small to shut me up, and then Archie and I ran upstairs, and ANYWAYS."
I remove my hands from my face to find Jace staring at me with an expression that combines the intensity of a therapist receiving a breakthrough confession with the glee of a friend who has just been handed the best gossip of the academic year.
"ANYWAYS," I repeat with aggressive finality. "What do you mean he's a genius?"
Jace recovers from the information dump with the composure of a man who has decided to table the house-visit revelations for a future interrogation session and proceed with the current line of inquiry.
"I heard those squealing Omegas who talk about stupid shit every lunch period discussing him yesterday." He refills his juice glass, the pouring providing a casual rhythm for the intelligence briefing. "He's on a full scholarship because he's literally the only student who scored a perfect mark on the entrance examination. Not high marks. Not near-perfect. Perfect. Every question. Every section. The admissions office apparently had the test reviewed by an external evaluator because they assumed there was a grading error."
He takes a sip.
"They also don't understand why he's not on the hockey team. Because based on what their sources say, and these Omegas have sources that rival most intelligence agencies, Coach Rosedale has been training Archie since he could stand upright. The man could captain a squad if he chose to. He has the IQ for strategy, the conditioning for performance, and apparently the skill set of a utility player who can fill five different positions competently."
He leans against the counter, shrugging with the nonchalance of a man delivering life-altering information with the emotional investment of a weather report.
"Apparently he used to be really talkative as a kid. Social. Engaged. And then at some point, I'm not sure when or why, he just shut down. Went quiet. Built the nerd persona and retreated behind it like a fortress." He pauses, his golden-brown eyes meeting mine with an intensity that cuts through the casual framing. "But I don't know, Sage. When he talks with you, there's this bad-boy aura about him. The Alpha side surfaces in a way that it doesn't with anyone else on this campus. You don't realize it, but he literally gets territorial with his dominance aura when you're in his proximity, right?"
I gawk.
"With his aura? Y'all make it sound like this man is a glowing highlighter with this aura nonsense."
He laughs, setting down his glass.
"Come on, Sage. You know the difference between an average Alpha who walks into a room and fills space, and an Alpha who walks into a room and draws the entire room's attention without saying a word. The pheromone shift. The atmospheric change. The way conversations pause and heads turn because the biological hierarchy is broadcasting a signal that the conscious brain processes as 'pay attention to this person.'" He crosses his arms. "I don't want to admit it because the guy's glasses genuinely offend my visual sensibilities, but Archie has that frequency when you're in the picture. His whole demeanor transforms. The quiet disappears. The dominance signature amplifies. The nobody becomes somebody, and the somebody is very clearly an Alpha who has chosen a specific Omega and is broadcasting that choice through every pheromone channel available to him."
He fixes me with a look that has no sarcasm, no teasing, no protective buffer of humor between the words and their intent.
"So stop being blind and acknowledge that man wants you."
I groan so loudly that the walls of our tiny dorm vibrate with the frequency.
"That sounds SO weird coming from you!"
He laughs, the sound filling the kitchenette with a warmth that dispels the intensity of the previous statement.
"You need a friend who will give you a reality check, or else you'll lose your shot with Mr. Perfect who apparently needs 'tutoring.'" He air-quotes the word with both hands, his expression making it abundantly clear that the quotation marks represent approximately zero belief in the academic legitimacy of the arrangement.
"Oh my god." I press my face into the couch cushion, which still smells like cedarwood because the tank has been leaking its molecular payload into the upholstery for seven consecutive days. "I bet my Dad and his Dad didn't believe a single syllable of that story. They probably saw right through the whole thing."
"Probably worried you two were going to go at it against every wall in the house."
"NO!" The couch cushion absorbs my horror. "They came to check on us! His dad and my dad were right outside the door asking questions and shit, and Archie had to lie about the tutoring while I was hiding in the shower, and then Jeffrey appeared with the Valenridge acceptance envelope and saved the entire situation with his signature butler-level composure." I lift my face from the cushion, the imprint of the fabric pattern temporarily embossed on my left cheek. "Jeffrey needs a damn raise. That man has saved me from more catastrophes than any human being should be responsible for."
Jace nods with the solemn agreement of a man who has witnessed Jeffrey's capabilities firsthand and considers them superhuman.
"Well, Jeffrey would probably tell you that Archie is totally smitten for..."
He trails off.
His head turns toward the hallway, his dark eyes narrowing with the focused attention of someone whose sensory processing has detected an anomaly that his conversational brain has not yet registered.
