Finn slipped into that practiced smile he used when he wasn’t actually present. “I’m Finn Andersen from Boston.”
“Jacob Gates from Connecticut.”
“When and where do you want to connect?” Finn asked, even though his brain was screaming not now, not now, not now. Maurice was only a few tables away, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, watching Finn with that unreadable little half-smile.
“Tomorrow morning for breakfast in the Dining Car. Say around nine.”
“Okay.” Finn didn’t want to be rude, and Mr. Santos had said to keep an open mind. Too late. His mind had slammed shut the second Maurice rolled up his sleeves.
“I’ll be waiting for you in the morning.” Jacob handed him a gold token.
“Thanks.” Finn pocketed it, already scanning the room again.
Maurice was still watching him.
Not in a casual, oh-hey-we’re-in-the-same-room way. More like he was tracking Finn’s movements, quietly amused, like he knew exactly where Finn wanted to be. And that—more than anything Finn could admit out loud—was what made his pulse kick.
Maurice talked to his friend, David Finn had found out, and that warm, stupid jealousy flared again—soft, harmless, but impossible to ignore. Before anyone else could pull him into another conversation, he crossed the room fast enough that his bracelets clicked together.
Maurice noticed him halfway over and excused himself from David with a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder. By the time Finn reached them, Maurice was already standing.
“I thought you’d never make it over here,” Maurice said, voice warm as he reached out and brushed his fingers along Finn’s forearm—light, as if he was checking Finn was really there.
Finn tried to play it cool, even though that tiny touch sent a spark up his arm. “I guess we’re here to socialize and people are socializing.”
Maurice’s smile tugged wider. “Yes, I see you’re very popular.” His hand stayed on Finn’s arm a beat longer than necessary, thumb grazing the edge of one of Finn’s bracelets.
“Popular with the wrong people,” Finn muttered.
Maurice’s expression softened, and he shifted closer, close enough that Finn could feel the warmth of him. “How would you like to leave after the next round so we can talk alone?”
His chest gave a sudden, stupid thump, as if his body was reacting before he could. “Mr. Santos said to meet tons of people, but I want to leave with you.” He couldn’t stop the grin; it just happened.
Maurice’s eyes dipped briefly to Finn’s mouth before returning to his eyes. “So is that a yes or a no?”
“It’s a yes, Daddy Maurice.”
Maurice stilled—not offended, not startled, just… intrigued. His hand slid from Finn’s arm down to his wrist, fingers curling loosely around it.
“Oh,” Maurice murmured, voice lower now. “So that’s how you’re talking to me.”
Finn swallowed. “If that’s okay.”
Maurice stepped in just a little more. “You don’t say things like that by accident.” His thumb traced the inside of Finn’s wrist, slow and thoughtful. “I enjoy hearing it from you. I just want to know you mean it.”
“I do,” Finn said, cheeks warm. “It felt right.”
Maurice’s smile turned slow and deliberate. “Then you can call me that again later. When we’re alone.” His fingers gave Finn’s wrist the gentlest squeeze, barely there, but enough to make Finn’s breath catch.
“Okay,” Finn whispered.
Maurice chuckled softly, eyes lingering on him like he was memorizing something. “Let’s finish our next round before I decide to steal you early.”
Finn didn’t move right away. Maurice didn’t either. Their hands brushed again, and Maurice let his fingers trail along Finn’s knuckles before finally stepping back. Mr. Santoswalked up to the whiteboard and wrote numbers as if he were announcing lottery results. The room buzzed—chairs scraping, bracelets clicking, boys whispering guesses about who they’d get stuck with. Finn only cared about one thing: where Maurice was going.
His own number popped up next to Table Five.
Great. Not Maurice.But Maurice’s friend David was at Table Five. Which meant Finn would be sitting close enough to sneak glances without looking like a total creep.
