“Actually,” she says, gesturing to the empty chair across from her, “I live about ten minutes from here. Got an apartment near SCU a few months ago.”
I stare at her, processing this information. “You live near my campus? What about?—”
“My dad's school?” She shrugs, playing with the straw in her iced coffee. “It's almost an hour away. I was tired of the commute, so I got my own place. Been trying to familiarize myself with everything around here.” She leans forward slightly, her voice dropping. “This is my first time at this coffee shop, though. I usually don't come to this part of campus.”
While I’ve been stewing, fantasizing about her and she’s been in my backyard.
“Sit down,” she says. “You're looming.”
I should say no. I should walk away. Instead, I drop intothe chair across from her, my knees bumping against hers under the small table.
“How's your team?” she asks, like we're old friends catching up. Like I don’t still have the phantom taste of her on my tongue.
“Fine.” I clear my throat. “They're fine.”
“You sure?” Her lips twitch. “Because I heard you've been a raging asshole at practice.”
I narrow my eyes. “Who told you that?”
“Does it matter?” She takes a sip of her coffee, leaving a smudge of lip gloss on the straw. “Word gets around. Especially when the mighty Beckham Kingston starts losing his shit.”
“I haven't been losing my shit,” I lie.
She actually laughs at that, the sound hitting me right in the chest. “Sure, Coach. Whatever you say.”
Before I can respond, a barista appears at our table, setting down a large black coffee in front of me.
“Just pay before you leave,” she says, tucking a strand of blue hair behind her ear.
I stare at the steaming cup. “I didn't order this.”
She shrugs. “You look like a plain black coffee guy. Figured I'd save you the trouble.” She glances between Hennessy and me with barely concealed curiosity before heading back to the counter.
“Oh, she pulled your card and nailed it.” Hennessy's eyes dance with amusement.
I wrap my hands around the mug, grateful for something to do besides stare at her mouth. “I like what I like.”
“So I've noticed.” She leans forward, elbows on the table. “Let me guess. No sugar, no cream, no joy.”
“There's nothing wrong with black coffee.”
“There's nothing right with it either.” She reaches across the table and pulls my mug toward her, taking a sip before I can stop her. Her nose wrinkles immediately. “God, that's awful. How do you drink this?”
I snatch the mug back, ignoring the lipstick mark she's left on the rim. “Not everyone needs their coffee to taste like a fucking dessert.”
She gestures to her own drink, which is more cream than coffee. “This is practically a meal. Breakfast of champions.”
“That's not breakfast. That's diabetes in a cup.”
She laughs, and the sound does something to my chest I don't want to examine too closely. “You sound like my father. He's always on my case about my sugar intake.”
“Smart man,” I say before I can stop myself, and immediately regret bringing up her dad.
But Hennessy just rolls her eyes. “Please. You two agree on exactly one thing in the universe, and it happens to be my coffee preferences? The simulation is glitching.”
I can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips. “I'm not exactly known for agreeing with Vega.”
“That's the understatement of the century.” She takes another sip of her sugary monstrosity. “You two practically foam at the mouth when you see each other. It's like watching two rabid wolves fight over territory.”
