22. Chapter 20
Xavier
I make a final adjustment to the third hidden camera in the main living space of the girls’ dorm, my profile taking up the majority of my screen as I adjust the physical angle. When it’s finally in the right fucking spot, I update the settings of the camera through the app on my phone.
Stepping back, I flick through all the live streams that I have set up, with only three of them being for this location. The low number is an issue, but until my little dove is comfortable allowing me back into her bedroom all the time, I’m giving her the privacy of her room.
Unless she does something stupid, like allow that little cunt from her math class into her bed. Then her privilege of privacy will be revoked, and she will be placed under permanent surveillance.
Which is exactly the reason for the upgrade and addition of cameras. He’ll be in this dorm this afternoon. I don’t give a fuck about the rest of the students that will be here, because none of them are trying to get into her pants.
She’s ours, whether she wants to be or not, and some little wannabe hockey player isn’t going to steal her from us.
I don’t give a fuck who his dad is, I’ll break the kid’s arm before I let him touch her the way I have.
And since I can’t be here when they all arrive—because Thayne refused to end my contract, leaving me trapped teaching computer science to a group of kids who are most likely going to end up working in sales at a tech store—the best I can do is watch.
And then I’ll continue watching while I eat and play poker at Derek’s place because he refuses to pause our weekly game while we sort out this situation with Emery.
He is insisting that Emery should still be allowed to have a normal college experience, and that includes study groups, so unless I want to give up my lead in our current tournament, I need to show up.
Flicking between the videos—one is aimed at the kitchen, the couch, and now the table, all of which overlap—I contemplate setting up a fourth, but am interrupted by a knock on the door.
Shooting a look at the girls’ bedroom doors, I wait a few seconds to see if it woke either of them.
When neither door opens, I stride over to answer the knock.
Hudson’s gift-giving started yesterday, and my little dove isn’t missing out on any of them because some homesick student decided to pocket it.
Locking my phone, I shove it into my back pocket and open the door, pissed that it doesn’t have a peephole. If there was a fucking peephole, I would have let him stand out there while I watched him get twitchy and leave.
The smile on the kid drops immediately. “Ah,” he starts, taking a step back and glancing at the other doors, clearly putting two and two together that he is at the right door. He just has the wrong person opening it. “Is Emery home?”
“No,” I answer as I cross my arms over my chest.
The buttoned-up polo and pressed beige trousers would look ridiculous on most other college kids, but William Jensen Alderidge isn’t like most college kids.
He could have bought his way into any college he wanted, but instead, he got himself into a Division I hockey school, without Daddy’s interference.
If he wasn’t attempting to steal Emery out from underneath me, I’d actually be impressed by the kid.
William stares back at me, a calculating expression on his face. “Are you a friend of Oakley’s?”
“No.”
The math is really adding up for this kid, because the polite mask starts to slip. “Look, I just want to talk to Emery, make sure she is okay.”
“And I told you, she isn’t home.” Satisfaction burns in my veins when William breaks eye contact with me, his jaw clenched and head turned to the side.
We both know I’m lying.
Where else would she be at seven a.m. on a Thursday morning, especially after yesterday’s damsel-in-distress moment?
William eventually shifts his attention back to me and holds up a small bag. “Could you give this to her when she…gets back?”
“Sure.” I take the little brown bag.
William doesn’t let go, and for a moment, we stare into each other’s eyes like lovesick puppies, except the expressions are more a declaration of war. Then the fucker smirks at me. “Tell Ems that I’m looking forward to our study session this afternoon.”
It’s not a question. It’s a message. For me.
He has a date with my girl.
I grit my teeth but give a clipped nod.
With one final look, he releases the bag and takes a step back. Before he can turn to leave, I shut the door on him, the brown paper bag making a crunching noise as I clench my fist around it.
Using a breathing technique to stop myself from chasing the little shit down, I open the bag and take a gander at what he thought would make a good little mating gift.
A double-chocolate-chip muffin, a brand-new packet of acetaminophen, and a small bottle of electrolytes.
Scrunching the bag up, I head over to the trash can and toss the whole thing in, only to turn around and find Oakley leaning against her doorframe, staring at me.
Her gaze flicks down to the trash and back up to me, a knowing look on her face before she walks into the bathroom, the door locking behind her.