"And his iced coffee has oat milk," Gavin continues seriously. "Dietary restrictions show self-awareness."
Leo's shaking with silent laughter. Max has his face in his hands.
"Gavin," I try again. "He's literally wearing camo cargo shorts."
"Functional! Pockets for days! That's just smart regardless of sexuality?—"
A blonde woman in yoga pants approaches the Bass Pro Shops guy. He immediately pulls her into his lap and?—
"Oh God, they're examining each other's tonsils," Max squeaks.
Sure enough, the straightest man in California is now attempting to swallow his girlfriend's face in public.
"Huh." Gavin tilts his head. "Plot twist."
"You almost had me convinced with the oat milk thing," Leo admits, giggling.
Gavin turns to me with those big brown eyes, all earnest. "I'm terrible at this, aren't I?"
My chest goes soft and stupid. "The worst."
"Good thing I've got a hot tutor." He winks, "I mean, smart. Smart tutor. Who happens also to be... I'm gonna stop talking now."
"Please don't," I say before I can stop myself.
We stare at each other. The coffee shop, the geeks, everything else just... fades.
"Get a room," JP mutters.
The spell breaks. Gavin clears his throat, I stare at my coffee, and Max kicks JP under the table.
"Okay, but seriously," Gavin says, "how do you tell? Because clearly I need help."
I launch into an explanation of actual queer coding, trying to ignore how intently he's watching my mouth when I talk. He asks surprisingly thoughtful questions, makes connections I don't expect.
"So it's more about breaking expected gender performance than specific behaviors?"
I blink. "That's... actually an excellent way to put it."
"Told you I wasn't just a pretty face," he grins.
The conversation shifts to JP's coding project, and suddenly Gavin's asking about recursive functions and optimization. Then Max brings up his dance theory paper, and Gavin knows about Laban movement analysis. When Leo mentions his sustainable agriculture research, Gavin starts discussing soil composition and crop rotation.
What the fuck?
"Sorry," Gavin says, catching my stare. "I know I'm supposed to be the dumb jock, but?—"
"You're not dumb." It comes out sharper than intended. "Don't say that."
"I mean, I am in Mensa," he adds casually. "But that just means I'm good at tests."
"You’re in Mensa?” Max literally bounces in his chair. "Me too! Oh my God, we can go to meetups together! They're usually boring, but sometimes there's good snacks and?—"
"Wait, wait, wait." I hold up a hand. "You're in Mensa. The genius society."
Gavin shifts uncomfortably. "It's not that big a deal?—"
"Your GPA?" I demand.
