Infinite Cashback System

Chapter 261: 261 | Study Session

Chloe appeared at the end of class and walked with Jordan toward the library. She’d changed into a cropped black turtleneck and high-waisted jeans that made her legs look approximately three miles long, though Jordan suspected this outfit choice was less about fashion and more about establishing visual dominance over any ex-girlfriend who might be lurking in study rooms.

"I’m going to stream at three." Chloe matched his pace across the quad. "Just Chatting. Kumiko’s going to raid me from her channel after her cosplay segment ends."

"Good. Cross-promotion."

"Don’t say cross-promotion like you invented the concept."

"Brooke’s document says it’s the fastest path to audience growth for channels under five hundred followers."

"Brooke’s document says a lot of things." Chloe stopped walking and turned to face him. Her blue contacts caught the afternoon sun and threw light back at him in a way that made his stomach do something embarrassing. "You’re meeting her in twelve minutes."

"I know."

"In the library. Study room 3B."

"I know, Chloe."

"I’m not worried."

"Okay."

"I’m not." She reached up and adjusted the collar of his hoodie, her fingers brushing against his neck where the cologne sat. Her nose twitched slightly, registering the cedar and sandalwood, and her pupils expanded by a fraction before she caught herself. "You smell good."

"I always smell good now."

"You smell specifically good. Like you put effort into it."

"I put effort into everything now. That’s the whole point."

Chloe studied his face with the intensity of someone reading a contract for hidden clauses. Whatever she found there must have satisfied her, because she rose on her toes and pressed a quick kiss against the corner of his mouth. Her lips were cool from the iced coffee she’d been carrying and tasted faintly of vanilla.

"Don’t let her get in your head." Chloe pulled back. "You’re better than that now."

"She can’t get in my head. There’s no room. You and Kumiko already filled all the available space."

Chloe almost smiled. Almost. The corner of her mouth twitched upward for a quarter of a second before her expression reset to its default setting of composed neutrality. She turned and walked toward the communications building without looking back, her ponytail swinging with each step and the blue streak catching sunlight.

Jordan watched her go.

Then he checked the time. 1:43 PM.

The library at Pacific Crest occupied a massive glass building at the center of campus, four stories of floor-to-ceiling windows that made the interior feel like a greenhouse full of stressed-out undergraduates instead of plants. Jordan entered through the main doors and was hit with the smell of paper, carpet cleaner, and the collective desperation of two thousand students who had all procrastinated on the same assignments.

The study rooms occupied the second floor, accessed through a hallway that branched off from the main reading area. Rooms 3A through 3F lined the left wall, each one visible through a narrow glass panel beside the door. Most were occupied. Groups of students huddled around tables with laptops and energy drinks, their faces lit by screens in that distinctive blue glow that made everyone look like they were receiving bad news.

Study room 3B was the second door on the left.

Jordan arrived at 1:45 PM. Fifteen minutes early. The old Jordan would have been thirty minutes early, sitting in the room sweating and rehearsing conversation starters. The new Jordan was fifteen minutes early because he had nothing else to do and the library was on the way.

He stopped outside the door.

Through the narrow glass panel, Jordan could see that the room was already occupied.

Eliza Hartwell sat at the far side of the rectangular table, her laptop open in front of her and a stack of printed research papers arranged in a neat pile beside her notebook. She’d arrived before him. That was new. In the two months they’d spent together, Eliza had never once arrived anywhere before Jordan. He’d always been the one waiting. The one checking his phone. The one refreshing Instagram to see if she’d posted a story from wherever she actually was instead of where she told him she’d be.

Jordan’s hand stopped on the door handle.

Because Eliza Hartwell had not dressed for a study session.

She wore a cream-colored top that dipped low enough across her chest to qualify as a declaration of intent rather than a fashion choice. The neckline created a V that drew the eye downward along the curve of her collarbones and into the shadow between her breasts, which were pushed together and presented with the kind of structural engineering usually reserved for bridges and skyscrapers. The top was tight, the material thin enough that Jordan could see the faint outline of her bra underneath, some lacy thing that was definitely not selected for comfort or academic productivity. Her blonde hair fell in those effortless waves that he knew from experience took her forty-five minutes and three different products to achieve, cascading over her bare shoulders and catching the fluorescent overhead light in a way that turned honey-blonde into actual gold.

Below the table, visible through the glass, Eliza had crossed her legs. She wore a black skirt that ended approximately four inches above her knee, shorter than anything Jordan had ever seen her wear to class. Her thighs pressed together under the table, smooth and tanned from what was probably a spray tan appointment she’d made specifically for today, and the hemline rode high enough on her crossed leg that Jordan could see the edge of something that looked suspiciously like a lace garter.

She was leaning forward over her notebook, which pushed the cream top’s neckline even lower and created a view that would have made the old Jordan’s brain shut down like a Windows 98 computer trying to run Cyberpunk 2077.

Eliza glanced up from her notebook.

Through the glass, their eyes met.

She smiled.

Not the polite, detached smile she’d given him for two months while spending his money and texting Cameron behind his back. Not the blank, apologetic smile from yesterday’s class when they’d been assigned as partners. This was different. This smile reached her eyes. Softened her face. Made her look younger and more vulnerable than the calculating social climber he’d memorized over twelve dinners and forty-five hundred dollars.

This smile said she was glad to see him.