Then I swiped.
The next post was from an hour later — Dante, and two others at a bar, drinks in hand, surrounded by people who clearly weren’t worried about passing an education policy midterm. He wasn’t smiling for the camera anymore; he was smirking, that same lazy, too-charming look he’d used on me like a weapon.
Something hot and sharp curled in my stomach.
I yanked open our message thread.
Me: Thought you said you understood the concept of APPEARANCES
It took less than a minute for him to reply.
QB10: I do. This is team stuff.
Me: Funny, I didn’t see “team stuff” on the syllabus.
QB10: You jealous, Sav?
My teeth ground together so hard I thought I’d chipped a molar.
Me: I’m pissed, Ten. You told me you understood don’t bring attention to us
There was a pause — long enough that I knew he was typing, deleting, typing again.
QB10: Us? I’m in a bar.
Me: You’re supposed to be in the library!
QB10: Bitch at me later, you’re ruining my good mood
I almost replied. Almost told him to go fuck himself. Instead, I tossed my phone onto the bench, but the irritation stuck like glass dust under my skin, impossible to shake no matter how hard I scrubbed.
I shoved my phone face down on the bench, like that would keep him from getting under my skin any more than he already had.
I tried to get back to work, but the grinder’s hum couldn’t drown out the mental reel of him laughing at some bar while I was elbow-deep in a project I wasn’t even allowed to admitexisted. Every time I picked up a shard of glass, I imagined it was his stupid smirk I was sanding the edges off.
After half an hour of that, my lines were crooked, my measurements sloppy. Professor Yates would’ve told me to pack it in for the night before I ruined the whole piece, so I did.
Back in my apartment, I went through the motions — but every time my phone lit up, I glared at it like it was personally responsible for all my bad decisions.
By the time I crawled into bed, I’d worked myself into such a state that I was practically rehearsing our next session.
Oh, hey, Dante, thanks for showing me exactly where your priorities are. Was the IPA worth tanking your GPA?
I flipped my pillow over and groaned into the cool side.
I had no plan to see him again soon. I’d given him a reading list for the week, which is what heshouldbe covering in his study sessions; hepromisedhe’d do so. Not to go and train more, or go to the bar.
Was tonight a one-off? Or would he fuck up again? Should I tell him my dad wanted me to report back to him, and the very fact that Ihadsomething to tell Dad might make Dante take me seriously?
The very idea ofthatmade me nauseous, but if Dante messed this up for me, then Iwouldthrow him under the bus.
I sighed.
I knew I wouldn’t.
I just really hoped he had the same kind of integrity as I did.
However, knowing I could decide if I wanted to pull the one card I had on him— or keep it in my back pocket until I could play it for maximum effect — settled my nerves.
