It takes my brain exactly 1.5 seconds to get back to reality, and then I look at my books all splayed across the table and at the lines of code that won’t compile for the life of me.
“Yeah, I kinda hate mobile applications.”
That earns me a smile, and instantly my mind drifts to another one. A smile that was always more reserved. More guarded. More appealing to my neurons, apparently, because I watch Weston and feel absolutely nothing.
Nada.
My heart is a block of ice.
“Do you need my help?” he asks, and it’s sweet, especially since I aced the exam on this subject and he barely scraped a B.
It’s not that I don’t get it. I do get mobile programming languages. I just don’t like using them. My time could be more useful spent helping children get out of the hands of monsters, but Julia and Maksim’s only condition was for me to finish my degree first.
I go back to staring at my screen when he speaks again.
“We have this project for Professor Lacrusse?—”
“I’ve already finished it.”
And there it is, the awkward silence that settles between us like a dropped equation with no solution. What does he actually want?
“Hey, I know you don’t usually get out much, but I was thinkin?—”
Holy Archimedes, no!
“I’m busy.”
His brows furrow, then his dimples show when he smirks.
“I haven’t mentioned a date yet, Amalia.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” His eyes move to my hair, then to my glasses, and then he closes the distance between us slowly. “I really like you, Amalia. When that brain of yours decides to take a break, come find me.”
He winks and then strolls away, leaving me flabbergasted, because what in the name of Turing was that?
I’m not the one guys ask out. Like never.
But then I hear his voice:there isn’t a formula on this earth that could replicate you.
That’s good. We don’t need more idiots falling in love with their lying math professor on this planet.
“Max, I managed to fix the timing on the footage, and I think the resolution is good enough for you to start searching for these guys. One of them has a distinctive dagger tattoo on his forearm.”
“Got it. Every one of our soldiers will receive the photo. Can you find out where this shipment came from? I know the paperwork says Veracruz, but I don’t buy it,” he tells me, and in the background, I’m pretty sure he’s assembling some explosives.
My sister’s boyfriend has a thing for blowing things up.
I keep typing, feeding everything we know into my own machine-learning algorithm, and after a few minutes of processing, I have some barcodes.
“Spain. I think Málaga, but I can’t be sure. The barcodes on some of the crates in that shipment seem to be coming from Spain.”
“Awesome. Thank you, Amalia. Now go study for that exam.”
“¡Sí, señor!” Before I end the call, I hear him chuckle, which pulls a smile out of me.
I’m so happy for Julia. For finding love in the worst of nightmares. Someone who I’m sure would wrap himself in darkness just so she can keep the only ray of sunshine.
