Is this a date? No. Definitely not. Probably. Maybe.
Stop.
“I can’t.” I cut off the spiral before it turns into smoke. “I’m heading home for the weekend.”
His brow lifts. “Where’s that?”
“Queens. My aunt and uncle.”
Something changes in his expression—not dramatic, just a softening around the eyes, a pause in his breath. Surprise, maybe. Or disappointment he’s trying to smooth over.
“Right,” he says quietly. “Family weekend.”
“Just a check-in.” I adjust my bag strap, suddenly self-conscious. “I haven’t been back since fall break.”
“That’s—” He stops himself, then tries again. “That’s good. Family’s important.”
The way he says it feels loaded, like he’s thinking about his own.
“Another time then,” he says, already stepping back, that easy grin sliding back into place. “Enjoy Queens, Marin. Try not to study the whole bus ride.”
“No promises.”
I watch him go, tracking his easy stride across the quad until he disappears into the crowd. My chest feels tight in a way that has nothing to do with morning drills.
A voice cuts through my thoughts. “There you are.”
Aubrey jogs up, wool hat low, two coffees in hand. She slows when she gets a good look at me. “Whoa. You look…electrically unwell.”
“I’m fine.”
“You say that whenever you’re not fine.” She presses a cup into my hand. “Drink. Explain.”
“I was at the dojo,” I say, hoping that covers the flushed face and wrecked nervoussystem.
“Sure,” she drawls. “Karate.” She falls into step beside me toward the lecture hall. “So why do you look like you just did sprints in your head?”
I stall with a long sip of coffee that burns my tongue. “Kieran O’Connor showed up.”
Her whole expression brightens. “At your karate class?”
“He was walking back from practice,” I hedge. “Saw me through the windows.”
“Uh-huh.” She grins, already entertained. “And?”
“And he…waited. Then asked me to breakfast.”
Aubrey stops dead on the sidewalk. “Breakfast. As in, morning, food, and sitting together in public? Girl, why are you here with me and not with pancakes and jawline?”
“Because it’s not like that,” I say quickly. “He’s bored. I’m just…new entertainment.”
“Or,” Aubrey says, stretching the word out like taffy, “this is the part where trouble knocks on your door at eight in the morning, and you pretend it’s a census survey.” She nudges my arm. “We literally just had this conversation. ‘No one ever shows up for me, Theo is safe, Kieran is noise’—ringing any bells?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“I’m paraphrasing.” Her eyes narrow, assessing. “And now the ‘noise’ is watching you do kata and offering you breakfast.”
“It doesn’t mean anything.” I tighten my grip on the cup. “Guys like him like games. This is probably just…something to do before class.”
