Page 18

Rule Breakers

Nora

I wake to the insistent blare of my alarm, fumbling blindly to silence it while my brain struggles toward consciousness. Six-thirty. Early, but necessary if I want to shower and review my notes before neurochemistry at eight.

My body feels different this morning—a pleasant soreness in unexpected places, a lingering sensitivity that reminds me of everything that happened with Dean last night. Images flash through my sleep-addled mind—his hands on my breasts, his mouth between my thighs, the unexpected vulnerability in his eyes when he told me I see too much.

That I see him differently than everyone else.

I’d left his apartment shortly after midnight, despite his suggestion that I stay. The ten minutes of rest had turned into an hour, both of us drifting in comfortable silence, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin. When I finally forced myself to leave, he’d walked me to the door, kissed me with surprising gentleness, and said, “Text me when you get back safely.”

I did, another rule broken without discussion or debate.

“You’re up early,” Sadie mumbles from the top bunk, her voice thick with sleep. “Lab prep?”

“Neurochemistry review,” I say, sitting up and stretching. “Go back to sleep.”

She makes an unintelligible sound and rolls over, pink hair disappearing beneath her blanket.

I gather my towel and shower caddy, trying to move quietly in our cramped dorm room.

The library is unusually crowded for midmorning, every table occupied, the quiet hum of whispered conversations filling the air. I circle the main floor twice before resigning myself to studying in the noisy café area instead.

“Nora!”

I turn to see Daphne waving from a corner table, her marketing textbooks spread out beside her laptop. She gestures to the empty chair across from her.

“I have a spot for you,” she calls, earning a few irritated glances from nearby students.

I hesitate, guilt flickering through me at the thought of sitting with Dean’s ex while my body still carries the memory of his touch. But refusing would be suspicious, and the café is my only other option.

“Thanks,” I say, sliding into the chair. “It’s a zoo in here today.”

“Midterms,” she says with a grimace. “Everyone’s panicking.”

I arrange my notebooks and laptop, hyperaware of Daphne across the table. Does she notice anything different about me? Can she somehow tell what I’ve been doing—who I’ve been doing it with?

“How’s that biopsych project going?” she asks, highlighting a passage in her textbook. “The one with Dean?”

My stomach tightens at his name. “Fine. Good, actually. We work well together.”

She nods, not looking up. “He’s smart. Really smart. I never understood half of what he talked about with his engineering stuff.”

There’s no bitterness in her tone, just a matter-of-fact observation. I’m not sure how to respond, so I just make a noncommittal sound and open my laptop.

We work in companionable silence for a while, the awkwardness gradually fading as we both focus on our studies. It’s almost noon when Daphne suddenly says, “Oh! I almost forgot.”

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a slim book, sliding it across the table to me.

“I found this at that used bookstore on Maple,” she says. “The one with the grumpy cat in the window? Anyway, I remembered you mentioned wanting to read it for your cognitive neuroscience paper.”

I look down at the book—“All About the Brain: Stories of Personal Triumph from the Frontiers of Brain Science”—and blink in surprise. I had mentioned it once, weeks ago, during a group dinner. I didn’t think anyone was really listening.

“I was going to text you,” Daphne continues, “but I figured I’d run into you eventually. It was only five dollars, and I thought it might help with your research.”

“This is—” I’m genuinely touched by the thoughtfulness of the gesture. “Thank you. This will be really helpful.”

She waves it off with a smile. “No big deal. Consider it payment for all the times you’ve proofread my marketing proposals.”

As I flip through the book, noting the highlighted passages and margin notes from the previous owner, I’m struck by a wave of guilt. Here’s Daphne, being genuinely kind and considerate, while I’m hooking up with her ex-boyfriend behind her back.

“Hey,” I say impulsively. “Are you going to Stevens’ party tonight?”

“Probably,” she says. “James might come too, if that’s not weird.”

“The investment banker?” I ask, recalling her date from a few weeks ago.

She nods, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. “We’ve been seeing each other. It’s going well, actually.”

“That’s great,” I say, and I’m surprised to find I mean it. “And of course it’s not weird. You should definitely bring him.”

“Cool.” She smiles, then returns to her textbook. “Maybe you’ll meet someone there too.”

If only you knew.

Stevens’ house is already packed by the time Sadie and I arrive, the bass from the speakers vibrating through the floorboards. Red cups litter every surface, the distinct scent of cheap beer and cheaper vodka permeating the air.

“Remind me why we’re here?” I shout over the music, following Sadie through the crowded living room.

“Because we’re young and it’s Friday,” she yells back. “And because you need to interact with humans who aren’t professors or study partners occasionally.”

She isn’t wrong.

Between classes, research, and my increasingly frequent visits to Dean’s apartment, I’ve been even more reclusive than usual. Not that Sadie knows about Dean—I’ve kept that part vague, telling her only that I’ve been “seeing someone” without specifics.

We make our way to the kitchen, where Sadie mixes us drinks with slightly more precision than the average party-goer. I scan the room as I sip mine, my heart skipping when I spot him—Dean, leaning against the far wall, beer in hand, listening to something Gavin is saying. Despite tomorrow’s away game, it seems the team’s allowed some social time before their early morning departure.

Our eyes meet briefly across the crowded room, his expression carefully neutral. I look away first, reminding myself of our agreement. In public, we’re barely acquaintances. Tutor and student. Nothing more.

The forced distance creates a strange tension, knowing he’s just across the room but being unable to approach him, to touch him, to show any sign of what we’ve become to each other.

“Nora!” A masculine voice cuts through my thoughts.

I turn to see Kyle Evans approaching, his usual confident grin in place. We’ve had several classes together over the years—he’s pre-med, smart but overly aware of it, with the kind of conventional good looks that earn him plenty of attention.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, stopping closer than necessary.

“Sadie dragged me,” I reply, gesturing to my roommate, who’s already disappeared into the crowd.

“Lucky me,” he says, his smile widening. “So how’s the most brilliant mind in neuroscience doing tonight?”

I roll my eyes at the obvious flattery. “The most brilliant mind in neuroscience is probably a sixty-year-old professor with three PhDs, not a senior undergrad.”

Kyle laughs, undeterred. “Brilliant and modest. Seriously, though, how have you been? I feel like I never see you outside of class anymore.”

“Busy,” I say, taking another sip of my drink. “Research and tutoring take up most of my free time.”

“All work and no play,” he chides, stepping even closer. “That’s not healthy, you know. Studies show that social interaction is crucial for cognitive function.”

“Are you citing neuroscience research to a neuroscience major?” I ask, amused despite myself.

“I like living dangerously,” he says with a wink.

From the corner of my eye, I catch Dean watching us, his posture stiff, jaw tight. He takes a long pull from his beer, eyes never leaving us even as he nods at whatever Gavin is saying.

The conversation continues—Kyle flirting with increasing obviousness, me deflecting with varying degrees of success. It’s harmless, really. Under different circumstances, I might even enjoy the attention. Kyle is intelligent and funny, if a bit full of himself.

But all I can think about is Dean watching from across the room—how his hands felt on my skin last night, how he looked at me like I was a puzzle he was determined to solve, how he admitted I scared him because I see too much.

“Hey, what’s up?” Gavin appears beside us, beer in hand, bringing Dean with him. My pulse quickens at Dean’s proximity, though his expression remains coolly neutral.

“Evans,” Dean acknowledges, his voice controlled.

“Don’t you have a big game tomorrow?” Kyle asks.

Dean nods once. “Coach is letting us stay out until eleven.”

“Special treatment for the hockey stars,” Kyle says with a smirk. “Though some of us are wondering if all that weight training is affecting your academic standing. Heard you needed a tutor.” He glances at me, his implication clear.

I feel Dean tense beside me, though his expression barely changes. “Nora’s the best,” he says evenly. “Lucky to have her help.”

Our eyes meet briefly, and I see the carefully controlled heat there, invisible to anyone who doesn’t know what to look for.

“She’s being modest about her skills,” Kyle continues, placing a hand on my lower back. “Nora’s the top student in our program.”

I subtly shift away from Kyle’s touch, but he doesn’t seem to notice, his hand settling more firmly against my spine. Dean’s eyes track the movement, his fingers tightening imperceptibly around his beer bottle.

“Dean mentioned you’re both interested in the Archer Initiative,” Gavin says, clearly trying to diffuse the tension. “Pretty competitive.”

“Different tracks,” I explain, grateful for the change of subject. “My focus is neuropsychology, his is prosthetics engineering.”

“Still, must make for some interesting… tutoring sessions,” Kyle says with a smirk that makes me want to step on his foot.

Dean takes a casual sip of his beer, but I can see the muscle working in his jaw.

Before Kyle can respond, Dean says, “Speaking of interesting sessions, Nora, I’ve been meaning to ask if you want to grab coffee sometime. Compare notes on the McPherson paper.”

His hand slides slightly lower on my back, and I step away, putting some distance between us. “I’m pretty swamped right now with research, but thanks.”

Kyle isn’t deterred. “Come on, we could both use a break. Sunday morning? That café near the science building?”

“She said she’s busy, man,” Dean interjects, his tone friendlier than his eyes.

Kyle shoots him an irritated look. “I think Nora can speak for herself, Carter.”

“And I think she already did,” Dean counters with a tight smile.

The tension between them is palpable, and I find myself in the awkward position of mediator. “I really am busy,” I say firmly. “But I appreciate the offer, Kyle.”

He looks like he wants to argue further, but just then, Daphne appears with a tall, well-dressed guy I assume is James.

“Nora! You came!” she exclaims, giving me a quick hug. She spots Dean and offers a small, slightly awkward smile. “Hey, Dean. Good luck tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” he says, his tone noticeably softer with her. “You must be James?” he adds, extending a hand to Daphne’s date.

I watch the interaction carefully, searching for any signs of lingering feelings, but Dean’s expression is polite and neutral. There’s none of the tightly controlled heat I’ve come to recognize when he looks at me. None of the anger he just directed at Kyle.

“Daphne talks about you all the time,” James says to me with a warm smile after introductions are complete. “Says you’re the one who keeps her sane during exams.”

“That’s an exaggeration,” I say, but I’m touched by the comment.

The arrival of Daphne and James shifts the dynamic, diffusing the tension between Kyle and Dean. Kyle eventually drifts away to talk to some friends, while Dean, Gavin, Daphne, and James fall into conversation about some upcoming campus event.

I observe their interaction carefully, like a scientist would.

I look for any signs of lingering feelings between Daphne and Dean, but there’s nothing but casual friendliness. Daphne seems genuinely happy with James, her hand tucked in his, her smile more relaxed than I’ve seen it in months.

After a few minutes, Dean excuses himself, mentioning an early bus ride tomorrow. As he leaves, his eyes meet mine briefly, a look that communicates volumes. He might appear calm and collected to everyone else, but I can see the possessive heat in his gaze, the promise of consequences for Kyle’s hand on my back.

It shouldn’t thrill me the way it does.

As the night progresses, I find myself relaxing, enjoying the rare opportunity to socialize without academic pressure. Gavin turns out to be surprisingly good company—quick-witted and observant.

Around midnight, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I check it discreetly:

Dean: Leaving early for game. We need to talk when I get back Sunday night. My place. 9 PM.

There’s something in the phrasing that sends a shiver down my spine—not fear, but anticipation. This isn’t just Dean wanting to talk. This is Dean planning something.

OK , I respond, then tuck my phone away, my mind already racing with possibilities.

Sadie appears beside me, her cheeks flushed from dancing. “Ready to go? This week kicked my butt.”

I nod, glad for the excuse to leave before I can dwell too much on Dean’s text and what it might mean.

As Sadie and I say our goodbyes, Daphne gives me another quick hug. “Thanks for coming,” she says. “I survived James and Dean being in the same room.”

“They both seem fine with it,” I say honestly. “You look happy.”

“I am,” she says, with a smile that reaches her eyes. “It’s different than with Dean—easier, you know? Less intense.”

I nod, guilt twisting in my stomach again. “I’m glad.”

Walking back to our dorm through the chilly night air, Sadie links her arm through mine. “So what was that about with Kyle and Dean? Looked tense.”

“Kyle was being Kyle,” I say with a shrug. “And Dean was being… unexpectedly protective for someone who’s just…”

I can’t finish that sentence because I honestly don’t know the word that comes next.

“Mmm hmm.” She gives me a sidelong glance. “You know, I’ve noticed him looking at you a few times tonight. Not in a casual way.”

My pulse quickens. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, Dean looked ready to murder Kyle tonight,” Sadie says, lowering her voice. “That’s not a ‘just a hookup’ kind of look. That was pure jealousy.”

“He was being protective,” I argue weakly.

“Nora.” She gives me a look that clearly says she’s not buying it. “I saw his face when Kyle put his hand on your back. That wasn’t protective. That was possessive.”

I sigh, grateful that at least Sadie already knows about us. “It’s getting complicated.”

“No kidding.” She squeezes my arm. “And seeing Daphne tonight? With you and Dean in the same room? That had to be weird.”

“She seems happy with James,” I say, deflecting slightly.

“She is. But that’s not what I asked.” Sadie studies my face. “Are you okay? I know this is messy with the whole friend code thing.”

I squeeze her arm, grateful for her loyalty even as I continue to lie. “I have no idea. Just trying to navigate one day at a time.”

Sunday night, I’ll see him again. And something tells me there will be consequences for Kyle’s hand on my back—consequences I’m already looking forward to more than I should.

Another rule about to be broken: No jealousy.

And I’m not even sorry.