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I pretend not to be interested in them, but my ears perk up when I hear Leo’s name.

“He owns the place?” one asks.

“Who cares? It’s private and it’s ours from Friday to Monday. And for the five large I shelled out, I intend to party fucking hard.”

“Shit, that’s a bit steep just for a weekend, isn’t it?” another complains.

“Not for the special stuff he’s having flown in. You know what Leo’s parties are like.”

I angle my head and catch their knowing smirks as they reminisce in low voices I can’t quite make out, although I hear the wordsexclusiveandsupermodelsand my heart sinks a little, but I keep listening.

“How many people are going?”

“At last count, he said thirty. It’s going to be a fucking blow-out, man.” Anticipation oozes from the group and the conversation changes abruptly to how many girls they intend to fuck that weekend.

My mind veers from the lurid exchange back to the never-far-from-my-mind Leo.

So he isn’t just a hot actor with a to-die-for body. He also knows how to throw the party to end all parties. God, he’s just so perfect.

And he’s not seeing anyone at the moment. I know because I made it my business to subtle-dig during one of our studying sessions, and he let slip that he’d been dating his Russian co-star but ended it when the movie wrapped.

I suddenly have an idea for how he can pay me for the free tutoring I’ve given him so far. A guy like Leo won’t stay on the market for very long, and this may be my only chance to make my move.

I quickly calculate the weekly five hundred dollars he was paying Tammie and reckon he owes me about three grand. If I agree to throw in the rest of the semester for free, maybe he’ll agree to what I have in mind. My heart beats rapidly as I devise a plan to make things swing my way.

In the end, I decide to take the direct route.

My fingers shake as I type the text:

Hey, we still on for 8 tonight? I’ll pick up a pack of Red Bull.

They are his favorite, and little does he know I keep two cases of the stuff under my dorm bed.

I get a reply in seconds:

Fuck, yeah. I’ll need at least six fucking cans just to keep awake and focused on this fucked-up module.

I grin.

Dude, you swear way too much.

Oh hi there, Miss Pot, I’m Captain Kettle.

My grin stretches, and I’m sure I look like a cross between a clown and an escaped mental patient.

Oops!

No need to oops! I like it. Don’t ever change, Benson.

My heartstrings flutter like mad and everything inside me melts. I can barely type the question I intended to ask him all along.

Taking a shaky breath, I force my fingers to work.

Hey, you know when I said we can discuss payment for my tutoring later?

Uh… yeah?

How about an invite to your party this weekend?