Talon’s already here, sitting near the back. Hoodie, messy brown hair, the exact brand of cocky grin that screamstroublewrapped in dimples.He’s got his laptop open, a half-empty cup of coffee beside it, and an expression that says he’s either studying or plotting a minor felony.
“Look who finally showed,” he says, leaning back in his chair like he owns the place.
“Some of us actually try when we’re at college,” I say, sliding into the seat across from him. “You’d know that if your worksheet didn’t look like a drunk toddler wrote it.”
He clutches his chest in mock pain. “You wound me.”
“Not as much as your spelling wounds the English language.” I pull out the crumpled packet he turned in Friday and wave it like evidence. “You butcheredintersectionalitythree times and somehow turnedsocial stratificationinto ‘social satisfaction.’”
“Sounds like something worth researching,” he says with a smirk. “Maybe we can start tonight.”
I roll my eyes. “Keep flirting, and I’ll assign you extra homework just for that.”
“Promise?”
The man has no shame.
Before I can respond, the barista wanders over.
I order a double-shot iced latte, a chipotle hash brown bowl, and avocado toast with bacon because I’m starving and tired of pretending I survive on salad and dreams. Talon orders another black coffee because apparently he’s committed to his caffeine addiction.
“You’re not eating?” I ask.
“Watching you eat’s entertainment enough.”
“Gross.”
He grins. “Compliment.”
I shake my head, but a laugh slips out anyway. I hate that he can make me laugh so easily.
When my food’s placed before me, the smell alone makes me feral. The hash brown bowl is steaming, drizzled with chipotleaioli; the avocado toast looks like art, all green and gold and crunch. I dig in without hesitation, humming when the first bite hits.
Talon watches me over the rim of his coffee cup, eyes glinting. “You always make that sound when something’s good?”
I pause mid-bite, deadpan. “Focus on your worksheet before I grade you into oblivion.”
He laughs, loud enough to earn a look from the couple studying nearby. I hide my smile behind my cup.
“Hey,” he says after a minute, quieter now. “About Friday night.”
I look up. His tone’s different—less teasing, more cautious.
“Yeah?”
“I was a dick. Said some shit I shouldn’t have.”
“You did,” I say, still eating. “But it’s fine.”
He exhales, nodding. “Still sorry.”
I stab another piece of avocado toast, then sigh. “Yeah. Well… I wasn’t exactly a saint either.” I flick my eyes up to meet his. “I said some shit too.”
His brows lift, surprised but soft. “So we’re both idiots?”
“Apparently.”
A tiny smile tugs at his mouth.
