Chapter 25
ETHAN
Perfect conditions for pretending to study while actually falling stupidly in love with Piper Renner.
She's been typing aggressively for the last twenty minutes, occasionally muttering threats at her Distributed Systems assignment. Her hair's in a bun but her wild curls are poking out, and she's wearing an oversized UMS CompSci hoodie that makes her look soft and touchable.
“Stop staring at me,” she says without looking away from her screen. “I can feel your eyes boring into my skull.”
“I'm not staring.” I glance at her screen. “What even is that?”
“Byzantine fault tolerance in distributed systems.” She says it like it should mean something to me.
“Sounds fake.”
“Everything sounds fake to liberal arts majors.”
“Hey!” I protest, spinning my chair to face her. “Game Design is technically—”
“Liberal arts with extra steps.” She's fighting a smile though. “What are you working on, anyway? You've typed like three words in the last hour.”
I look at my screen where my Computational Thinking homework sits abandoned. “Just this thrilling essay on algorithmic efficiency. Due tomorrow at noon, so naturally I'm starting it now.”
“That's actually irresponsible,” she says, but she's fully smiling now. “When did you plan to sleep?”
“Sleep is for people without coffee addictions and better time management skills. Look, it’s not the best system. But it’s worked so far. Sort of.”
She snorts, finally turning to face me. Our knees bump in the narrow space between computers. “Want help? I took that class last year.”
Of course, she’s already taken it.
“You want to help me cheat?”
“It's not cheating, it's... collaborative learning.” She's already rolling closer, her chair squeaking against the ancient linoleum. “Show me what you've got.”
“Three sentences and a profound sense of regret.”
She leans over to read my screen, and I catch that vanilla scent that's been driving me insane since our first tutoring session. Her shoulder presses against mine as she points at my opening paragraph.
“Okay, first of all, that's not what Big O notation means...”
Twenty minutes later, she's basically rewritten my entire introduction while I pretend to pay attention to her explanation instead of the way she bites her lip when she's concentrating.
“Are you even listening?” she asks, catching me staring at her mouth.
“Absolutely. Big O. Very important. Continues to mean things.”
She laughs and the sound makes my chest do stupid things. “You're hopeless.”
“Hopelessly charming?”
“Hopelessly distracting.” But she doesn't move away. If anything, she leans closer. “I need to finish this assignment.”
“What's it about?”
“You’d find it boring.”
“Try me.”
She launches into an explanation about nodes and consensus and network partitions, and I understand maybe 30% of it, but the way her eyes light up when she talks about elegant solutions makes me want to learn everything about distributed systems just to keep her talking.
“—and that's why the Byzantine Generals Problem is actually fascinating,” she finishes.
“I understood some of those words.”
“Which ones?”
“'The' and 'and.'“
She shoves my shoulder, laughing again. “You're the worst.”
“The worst at computer science, maybe. But...” I grab the back of her chair suddenly, pulling her backward. She squeaks, hands flying to grip the armrests. “I'm excellent at other things.”
“Like what?” Her voice comes out breathless as I spin her chair in a slow circle.
“Like this.” I spin her faster, and she's laughing now, feet lifted off the ground like a kid on a playground ride. “And making you laugh when you're stressed about homework.”
“Ethan!” She gasps between giggles. “Stop, I'm getting dizzy!”
I catch her chair, stopping it so she's facing me. Her cheeks are flushed, glasses slightly crooked, and she's looking at me with this expression that makes me forget we're in a public computer lab.
“Hi,” I say stupidly.
“Hi, yourself.” She fixes her glasses, still smiling. “You know we're never going to finish our work at this rate.”
“I'm okay with that.”
“Your assignment is due in thirteen hours.”
“Worth it.”
The PhD student across the lab coughs pointedly. We both turn to look at him, then back at each other, and Piper dissolves into giggles she tries to muffle with her hand.
“We're being those people,” she whispers. “The annoying couple in the library.”
“We're not a couple, or in the library.” I say automatically, then immediately want to take it back because her face does something complicated. “I mean—we are. We're just... new. Fresh. Still figuring out...”
“Ethan.”
“Yeah?”
“Stop talking.”
“Good plan.”
We try to go back to work, but our chairs keep “accidentally” rolling into each other. She steals my coffee. I draw silly diagrams on her scratch paper. She throws balled-up post-its at me when I hum too loudly.
“What are you so happy about?” she asks after catching me grinning at nothing.
“Just... this.” I wave my hands at the lab, at her, at us.
“A few weeks ago, you were just some guy with a plant fetish who overtipped at the diner.”
“I don't have a plant fetish.”
“You brought Greg to a party.”
“Greg is a social butterfly!”
She's laughing again, and I'm struck by how easy this is. How right. Even in a fluorescent-lit computer lab at midnight, even with homework we're definitely not doing—this feels like exactly where I'm supposed to be.
The PhD student shuts his laptop with aggressive force and storms out, muttering something about “undergraduates.”
We wait until the door closes, then burst into laughter.
“We're terrible,” Piper says.
“The absolute worst.” I pull her chair closer with my free hand until our knees are interlocked. “Want to be terrible somewhere more comfortable?”
“We could be terrible right here,” Piper says suddenly, and her voice has dropped to something that makes my whole body go on alert.
I almost choke. “What?”
She bites her lip, looking up at me through her lashes in a way that should be illegal. “I mean... the PhD guy left. We're alone...”
“Piper Renner,” I manage, my voice coming out strangled. “I thought you were a good girl who got good grades and followed rules.”
She considers this, still biting that lip in a way that's definitely going to kill me. Then she smiles—not her usual sweet smile, but something wickeder. “You're right. I am a good girl.”
I deflate slightly, but then she continues.
“How about one of the smaller seminar rooms? The ones with locks?”
My brain short-circuits. “That's... that's much more like you.”
“Is that a yes?”
“That's a hell yes. It's so late, nobody's around anyway.” I grab her hand, already pulling her toward the hallway. “Room 3C. I had a presentation there last week, I know it's empty.”
We're trying to be quiet but we keep giggling, especially when we have to duck past the main corridor where a security guard is doing rounds. Piper pulls me into an alcove, pressed against me until he passes, and I can feel her heart racing against my chest.
“This is insane,” she whispers against my neck.
“Want to stop?”
“Absolutely not.”
We practically run the last few yards to the seminar room.
I fumble with the handle—thank God it's unlocked—and we tumble inside.
The room is small, intimate, with a presentation table at the front and whiteboards covering two walls.
Moonlight streams through the windows, casting everything in silver.
I flip the lock, the click sounding impossibly loud in the silence. When I turn back, Piper's leaning against the presentation table, watching me with dark eyes.
“Get on the table,” I say, my voice coming out rougher than intended. “Right now.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Bossy.”
“You love it.”
“Maybe I do.” She hoists herself up onto the table, legs dangling, and beckons me closer with one finger. “Come here.”
I cross the room in two strides, stepping between her knees. She's higher now, almost eye level with me, and when she wraps her legs around my waist to pull me closer, I groan.
“Reminder,” she whispers against my jaw, mischievous. “You're still my tutor for one more week.”
I kiss the corner of her smile. “Tonight is strictly supervised study.”
“Supervised by whom?”
“Me. I'm your TA—'Touch Allowed.'“
She snorts, trying not to laugh. “That's so bad.”
“Prescott's After-Hours: Kissing 101, followed by… advanced applications.”
“Curriculum seems… comprehensive.”
“Oh, it is. It's strict too, Miss Renner. Pass or fail.”
“Pass or fail?” She pulls back slightly, eyes sparkling with challenge. “What's the grading rubric?”
“Participation is mandatory.” I slide my hands up her thighs, feeling her shiver. “Points for enthusiasm.”
“How very academic of you.” Her fingers are already working on the buttons of my shirt. “What about extra credit?”
“Definitely available for exceptional performance.”
“Define exceptional.” She gets the last button undone, pushing the fabric off my shoulders.
“Making your tutor forget his own name would qualify.”
“That's a pretty low bar,” she teases, her hands exploring my chest. “You already forgot what Byzantine meant.”
“I never knew what Byzantine meant.”
“Fair point.” She gasps as I kiss that spot below her ear I've discovered she loves. “What—oh—what else is on this syllabus?”
“Hands-on learning.” I demonstrate by sliding my palms under her hoodie, finding warm skin. “Very interactive courseware.”
“I'm”—her breath hitches as my thumbs stroke her ribs—“usually good at interactive assignments.”
“Top of the class, I hear.”
“Dean's list every semester.” She pulls me closer with her legs, and we both groan at the contact. “But I've never taken this particular course before.”
“Lucky for you, I'm an excellent teacher.”
“Modest too.”
“I have references.” I capture her mouth in a kiss that's all heat and promise. When we break apart, we're both breathing hard. “Previous students have given rave reviews.”