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Jubal’s smile fades into something quieter as his eyes move over my face. I have the strangest urge to tell him the rest of it, even though I’m not sure there’s anything left to say without admitting I enjoyed seeing him that way. Before I can decide how much more I’m willing to give him, his attention drifts toward the laptop beside me.

His gaze lands on the spreadsheet still visible behind my practice set. “Seventy-eight?”

“We were having a perfectly friendly conversation. Why did you have to bring up my score?” I turn the laptop away from him, and his laugh follows the movement.

I wish the number felt as harmless as he seems to think it is. Instead, having his eyes on it makes every reason I’ve spent the last hour giving myself for why 78 percent is useful information collapse into the much simpler fact that I wanted it to be higher.

Jubal is still smiling when I look at him again, without any of the careful concern I’ve learned to expect once someone knows how much this matters to me. He doesn’t tell me seventy-eight is good or ask whether adding more work is a good idea, leaving me wanting to explain the score instead of defending it.

“It was one practice set. I missed four questions I should’ve gotten right.”

“Do you know why?”

“Yes.”

“Then I guess you know what you need to work on.”

He leaves it there, making it easier to tell him what I did next.

“I added another timed block tomorrow,” I admit, watching his face for the concern that still hasn’t appeared.

“Was that already there?”

“No. I want to know whether I’m missing the material or rushing because I’m watching the clock, and thirty more questions should give me enough to compare.”

“Sounds like you have a plan.” Jubal looks from the schedule to me, and I brace for him to point out that I’m already rearranging things when I’ve barely started.

He doesn’t. I wait for a question about whether thirty more questions are necessary or whether I’m already doing too much, but Jubal leaves the decision with me. I hadn’t realized how prepared I was to defend it until there’s suddenly nothing left to defend, and the tension between my shoulders eases as I turn the laptop back toward myself.

His attention follows the movement, landing on the Bluetooth menu still open on my screen. “You should send me a picture of King’s speaker name before he changes it.”

“I can’t.”

I glance at my phone beside the laptop, almost laughing at the absurdity of having spent the last several minutes telling him I know the difference between his smiles when I’m still missing something as basic as how to talk to him once he walks out of this room. “Because I don’t have your number.”

“Give me your number.”

I give it to him before I can wonder whether I should make him ask differently, and I watch as Jubal enters it into his phone. There’s nothing particularly intimate about watching him put my number into his phone, but it feels like there should be.

Unknown Number

Now you can properly document the abuse.

My laugh comes easily, but I keep looking at the message after it fades, and I save his number before opening the new contact again: Old Man.

Jubal catches the movement of my thumb. “What did you just do?”

“Nothing.”

“Calliope, let me see it.” Hearing my full name in that low warning pulls a smile out of me as I tuck the phone against my chest.

“Absolutely not.”

He reaches for the phone, and I twist in my chair with a laugh, holding it against the side of my body farthest from him. Jubal could take it without trying, but he doesn’t. When I turn back toward him, he’s still standing beside my chair, close enough that I have to tip my face up to meet his eyes. A second ago, I was trying to keep my phone away from him; now I barely remember why when his eyes move over my face with the same focus that made the rest of the locker room disappear on Friday.

I know what happened the last time he looked at me like this, and none of the wanting disappeared just because Tuck and Easton interrupted us. His eyes drop to my mouth, and heat gathers beneath my skin as I wait for him to close the space between us. This time, there are no footsteps coming toward us, and when Jubal leans closer, I don’t move away.

He leans forward and murmurs against my ear. “You can keep your secret.”