Chapter 5 Data, Disasters and Dorm Room Tension
By Sunday afternoon, I had mentally rehearsed every possible way our data-sorting session could go wrong.
Option one: Jace would show up shirtless. Accidentally.
Option two: His dorm would smell like Axe body spray and poor decisions.
Option three: His roommate would randomly reappear and traumatize me.
Option four: I would embarrass myself so catastrophically it would become campus folklore.
Honestly? All four felt equally likely.
Still, I knocked on his door at exactly 3 p.m., clutching the binder of surveys like it contained the secrets of the universe.
“Come in!” Jace called.
I exhaled, pushed the door open—
And stopped dead.
He was wearing glasses.
Actual glasses.
Reading glasses. Nerdy, rectangular, unfairly attractive glasses.
My brain short-circuited.
“Oh,” Jace said, looking up from his laptop with that slow, warm smile that did Things to my pulse. “Hey.”
I stared. Literally stared. Like a malfunctioning Roomba.
He raised an eyebrow. “You good?”
“Yes,” I blurted. “No. I mean—yes. I mean—why do you have a face?”
He blinked. “I’m sorry… what?”
“I MEANT GLASSES. Why do you have glasses?”
“Oh.” He snorted. “I only wear them when I’m working. It’s either that or get migraines.”
He pushed them up his nose casually.
I forgot how breathing worked.
Fantastic. I was losing to eyewear.
His dorm room was surprisingly clean—a miracle I wasn’t emotionally prepared for. A few posters on the wall, a guitar in the corner, a ridiculously comfy-looking bed that I definitely was NOT allowing my eyes to glance at, and a stack of psychology textbooks that looked… used. Actually used.
“Did you organize?” I asked suspiciously.
“Yes.”
“You cleaned?”
“Yes.”
“You did that for me?”
He shrugged, cheeks faintly pink. “I didn’t want you thinking I lived in a dumpster.”
My heart tripped over itself.
Nope. Not allowed. Illegal.
I clutched the binder tighter. “Let’s just… work.”
“Absolutely, partner,” he said with an infuriating smirk.
We sat on the floor, backs against his bed frame, surveys spread between us like a paper snowstorm.
“Okay,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “We need to code responses based on categories: accuracy of first impression, emotional tone, confidence level, and relationship prediction.”
Jace nodded like he understood exactly zero percent of what I said.
“So,” he said, “color-coding?”
I sighed. “Yes, Jace. Color-coding.”
“Awesome. I love colors.”
He grabbed the markers and somehow chose the pink one—the exact one I didn’t want him using because it was my favorite.
Whatever. I wasn’t going to be petty.
Probably.
“So,” he said as we started sorting sheets, “what was your first impression of me?”
“No.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only answer you’re getting.”
He grinned like this was the best moment of his life. “Come on. Just a hint.”
“No.”
“Is it worse than ‘annoying’?”
“Yes.”
“Is it worse than ‘menace to society’?”
“Shockingly, also yes.”
He laughed, head tipping back. “Wow. I’m honored.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
“Oh, I’m definitely making this my lock screen.”
I aimed a marker at his forehead.
He caught it midair.
I hated how impressive that was.
Half an hour in, things were shockingly productive.
We coded the surveys, organized them into stacks, and debated whether one participant’s comment—“He looks like the type who steals forks from the cafeteria”—was a compliment or an insult.
“It depends,” Jace mused, twirling a pen. “Is it a decorative fork?”
“No one steals decorative forks.”
“You don’t know my life.”
I stared at him. “Why would you steal a fork?”
“I haven’t—YET.”
I rubbed my temples. “I can’t believe we share oxygen.”
He leaned in, voice low. “And yet here we are. Sharing so much more than that.”
My entire soul glitched.
“Stop being weird,” I croaked.
He grinned. “Can’t. It’s my brand.”
By hour two, papers were everywhere and my brain was fried.
Jace flopped backward dramatically, landing on the carpet like he’d just survived a natural disaster.
“I’m dying,” he announced.
“You’re not dying. You’re bored.”
“Same thing.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Yet again,” he said without opening his eyes, “here you are spending your weekend with me.”
My cheeks warmed.
I looked away. “That’s because I’m committed to my grade.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That knowing tone.”
“I don’t have a tone.”
“You do.”
“What tone?”
“The one where you act like you’ve got me figured out.”
He finally opened his eyes. They were softer. Sharper. Like he was actually trying to read me, not just tease.
“Maybe I do,” he said quietly.
I swallowed.
Hard.
I should’ve looked away. I should’ve shut that down. I should’ve said something sarcastic.
Instead, I stared back.
“Maybe you don’t,” I whispered.
His eyes dropped to my mouth.
My heartbeat went feral.
This was not happening. This was forbidden. This was reckless and irresponsible and stupid and—
A loud knock hit the door.
I jumped so hard I smacked my elbow into the bed.
“OW!”
Jace sat up instantly. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I hissed, rubbing my arm.
The knock came again.
“Yo, Jace!” a deep voice shouted. “Forgot my charger!”
Oh no.
No no no.
Jace looked at me, grimaced, and mouthed sorry before opening the door.
A tall guy walked in, hoodie half-zipped, looking like he lived on gym energy drinks. He froze when he saw me on the floor surrounded by markers and survey sheets.
“Bro,” he said slowly. “Are you… tutoring her? Or is this… something else?”
I nearly burst into flames.
Jace ran a hand through his damp-looking hair. “It’s school stuff. Psychology project.”
Hoodie Guy nodded slowly, squinting at me like I was an exotic animal in his habitat.
“You sure?” he asked.
“Yes,” I snapped.
He raised his hands. “Alright, alright. No need to bite.”
I wanted the carpet to swallow me.
He grabbed his charger, winked at Jace, and said, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Jace groaned. “Please leave.”
The door shut.
Silence filled the room.
I buried my face in my hands. “I’m never coming here again. Ever.”
Jace chuckled. “He wasn’t hitting on you. That’s just how he talks.”
“Well, I hated it.”
“You hate everything involving me.”
“That is not—” I stopped.
Because if I finished that sentence honestly, things would get way too real.
I inhaled. Exhaled. Collected myself.
“Let’s get back to work,” I said stiffly.
Jace gave me a long look, but he didn’t push.
Thirty minutes later, we were back in the zone—well, I was. Jace kept drifting.
“Hey, Ava?”
“No.”
“You didn’t even let me finish!”
“Because I already know it’s chaos.”
“It’s not. I swear it’s academic.”
I eyed him.
He held up a survey. “This one says their first impression of their partner changed completely after talking for five minutes.”
“Okay… so?”
“So what about us?” he asked lightly. “Did yours change? After spending time with me?”
I froze.
Jace noticed. His expression shifted from teasing to something quieter.
“It’s just a question,” he murmured.
“It’s unnecessary,” I muttered, shuffling papers.
“But honest,” he said softly.
I swallowed.
Then—thankfully, mercifully—the power in the building flickered.
The lights snapped off.
We sat in darkness.
A beat of silence.
Then Jace said, “So… we doing this by candlelight? Super romantic—OW!”
I had smacked him with a folder.
Hard.
“Don’t you dare take advantage of a power outage to flirt,” I warned.
“But it’s the perfect setup!”
“We’re NOT having a candlelit research session!”
“Are you sure? I have LED candles.”
“You’re—what? Why?”
“For vibes.”
I groaned loudly. “We’re done. I am done. I’m going home.”
“Noooo,” he whined. “Ava, come on—we can still work. Or at least talk. Or—OW, STOP HITTING ME WITH THINGS.”
I flung a marker at him for good measure.
He laughed in the dark. Really laughed. A warm, full sound that shouldn’t have made my stomach flip but absolutely did.
When the emergency lights finally flickered on, Jace was still grinning at me like I was his favorite kind of chaos.
“Same time next weekend?” he asked.
“Absolutely not.”
“So… yes.”
I glared.
He smiled wider.
And that was the problem.
Because every time he looked at me like that—
It got harder to pretend I didn’t feel something too.
