Page 19 of The Equation of Us
But he’s right.
Nora isn’t flirty. She’s focused. Composed. Serious in a way that makes you want to mess with her—just to see what happens when she cracks.
And now I can’t stop seeing it.
The way her hands tremble slightly before she pushes her glasses up.
The way she holds her breath when she’s thinking.
After practice, I shower fast, change faster. Coach gives me the usual nod on the way out. Gavin’s still talking to the freshman goalie when I slip out, but I hear him shout, “Don’t overthink it, Carter.”
He means it as a joke.
But it hits harder than he knows.
Back in my room, I drop my gear bag and stretch my shoulders, bones aching in a good way. I open my laptop, glance at our project files, then close it again.
Nora asked me to meet her in her dorm room tonight. Not a study carrel, not the library. Her personal space.
She’ll sit across from me with her careful notes and clipped questions. She’ll act like nothing’s happening between us. And I’ll match her. Line for line. Boundary for boundary.
But a part of me—the part I keep locked behind every ounce of discipline I’ve built—wants to ask.
Wants to lean in, drop my voice, and ask her why she blushed. Why she looked at me like she saw something she wasn’t ready for.
Wants to ask what she’d do if I whispered,Get on your knees for me.
But I won’t.
Because I have a goal.
A timeline.
A future to build, one precise choice at a time.
I’m not here to chase after pussy.
I’m here to finish what Jesse didn’t get to.
And that has to be enough.
Chapter Eight
Calculated Risks
Dean
Mercer Hall looks exactly like what it is—a concrete box designed for maximum occupancy, minimum comfort, and zero personality. I’ve been here before, mostly for parties back in freshman year, but I’ve never gone past the common rooms.
I text Nora when I reach the front entrance.Here.
Her reply comes a few seconds later.Coming down.
It’s 7:28. I’m early again. Always am.
I wait in the small lobby area, awkwardly aware of the resident assistant watching me from behind the front desk. There’s something surreal about standing here, waiting to go up to Nora’s room. It’s like I’m crossing some invisible line I’ve been circling for weeks.
The elevator doors slide open, and there she is.
