Chapter 24

Riley’s POV

When we waltzed in, I commandeered the kitchen table for brainiac HQ—AKA my laptop station—so Chef Noah could duel with dinner. He’d volunteered to cook, and honestly, my version of “cooking” plus midterm panic was a recipe for disaster. Also, I still felt that twinge of guilt for ditching his “burger night with the guys” plan. So I secretly vowed: tomorrow night, burgers or bust.

Exam #1 went down like a caffeine-fueled ninja while Noah sautéed, chopped, and maybe did a minor skillet backflip. Three exams. Three plates of food. Zero chill. Midnight deadlines loomed like final bosses. Between questions about quantum this and molecular that, we munched pasta for moral support. Then I blasted through Exam #2 like it owed me money.

At some point, Noah set up his laptop next to mine. Not crossing the proctor’s “no roommates” line—we’re not that dumb—but close enough that whenever one of us stretched, our knees collided in classic bumper-car style. Fu