Page 30 of My Brother’s Best Friends Entanglement

"Yeah? Well what if I like being close to the sandwich shops? And anyway, you haven't even seen the listings, there are good options..."

"I don't need to see the listings. I work in construction, in real estate. I know this city like the back of my hand." He points at me. "And don't even think of looking anywhere south of Edwardstown. You don't strike me as an early riser, and you'll be getting up an hour early just to get to the uni in time."

I grit my teeth at his turned back as he grabs some bags from the drawer. "Okay, well stop telling me where not to look, and maybe give me some places that get your stamp of approval!"

He grabs an apple and puts it in a bag along with the lunch box and pushes it over to me. "I'll think about it. I'll get back to you by the end of the week."

I stare down at the bag. Is that...for me? "Well, think faster, please. I want to have a place by next week."

Rhys gets up, cleans his cup and puts it back in the cupboard, ignoring me and Marcus as we have a stand-off. I hear the opening of a yoghurt tub but I'm too busy glaring at Marcus to pay him too much attention.

"There's no rush. It's better to do your due diligence than just run around all over Adelaide looking at dud places," Marcus huffs. "I mean, don't mind me if I'm thinking of places that have convenient parking, easy access to the city, and are safe. But sure, as long as there's a handy panini nearby!"

Ugh. What an arse.

"Forget it, I can find a place myself!" I storm out of the kitchen.

"Fine!" he shouts as he plops down on a stool.

Before I make it all the way to the entryway though, I hear someone shout. I turn around, just in time to see Marcus leaping up from the stool and spinning around like he's chasing his own tail. As he turns, I see his arse is completely covered in yoghurt.

"Did you put this yoghurt on my stool on purpose, you jerk?" Marcus shouts at Rhys. I watch in wonder as Rhys just picks up the paper, tucks it under his arm, and as he walks past the kitchen island, grabs the oven mitt he'd put there earlier and throws it right at Marcus. Then, without a word, walks right past me and out the door.

But I think I might've just caught the tiniest of tiny little twitches at the corner of his lips.

Rhys is behind me the entire way to the university again. He must've gotten caught up on something because even though he left the house a few minutes before I did, he doesn't pull out until I'm partway down the road.

Again, he's behind me the whole way.

Again, somehow, the parking demons curse us, and he turns into the empty spot right next to me.

I can't use the same excuse that I left something in the car. But it doesn't really matter. I get out and then just say, "I'm this way."

He nods, but doesn't move. I turn, walking in the direction of my office, feeling his eyes on me the entire way.

But I must have just imagined it. Because I make it almost all the way before I do the thing I told myself I wouldn't. I turn around. And when I do, he's nowhere to be seen. Story of my life with Rhys Pham.

Part of my RA role includes co-running two tutorials a week — a first-year intro to politics class, and one of my favourite topics, the Comparative Politics of Rising Powers. The advanced classes offer far more room for debate and exchanging ideas, and I'm still surprised every day by the level of thinking the undergraduates bring.

It's what tells me that, in some capacity, I'll always be involved in academia.

I'm looking over the course curriculum, preparing for my first tutorial tomorrow, when there's a soft knock on the door. Craig Pedler, the RA who walked me to my car yesterday and my co-TA for the advanced class, stands in the doorway, holding up two chocolate bars.

"Are you real or a treats-carrying spectre?" I say, with a laugh.

"I'm hoping I'm real, or else I just spent an hour and a half adding citations to my paper when I could've just been floating around in the ether haunting my high school bullies for fun."

I laugh and wave at the other end of the couch.

He plops down, letting me pick a chocolate bar, and we spend twenty minutes talking through our class plan before pivoting to our respective work. There's no doubt he knows his stuff, warm without being sycophantic, funny without trying too hard. At one point I say something moderately scathing about the current state of UN peacekeeping frameworks and he laughs and says, "God, yes, finally, everyone here is so polite about it, you'd think the Secretary General was sitting in on our staff meeting." We laugh, and it feels good to have someone who understands.

"Lunch?" he says, when the clock on my wall shows 12:30 p.m. "Let me introduce you to the best baguettes on campus. My treat."

I look at my laptop. I have a chapter outline that isn't going to annotate itself and a four p.m. meeting with Professor Pollack that I'm going to over-prepare for, just in case he's finished his puzzle and is actually paying attention. But I can't help thinking about how this is supposed to help me prepare for the next phase in Alexia Riley's life. And next-phase Alexia Riley...has friends. A social life.

"Sounds good," I say, standing up, grabbing my coat off the hook on the back of my office door. "But I've got the drinks."

We walk over to Taste Baguette in Hub Central and find an empty spot on the grass with our fresh juices. We chat easily about some of the current projects Adelaide and Sydney university are working on, and agree the industry might be cannibalising itself, with recruitment at an all-time low. "So, how different is the department in Sydney compared to Adelaide?" he asks.