Heat rushed up my neck, fast and sharp but before I could say anything, Maria smacked Dalton on the shoulder with the kind of casual mom-whack that carried more sting than a punch. “Don’t be an ass.”
He blinked, rubbing his shoulder with a put-on wince. “What? I’m just saying—”
“Don’t.” Her glare shut him up faster than anything I could’ve said.
I ducked my head, grateful and mortified at the same time, shoving the book into my bag. “It’ll take twenty minutes, tops. I’ll be back.”
Dalton sighed, already grabbing his jacket. “Yeah, well, no way you’re walking across campus alone this late. Let’s go.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I shot back, but he ignored me, holding the door open like it washisapartment.
By the time I stepped past him, he was already humming —some loud, obnoxiously cheerful tune designed to crawl under my skin. It didn’t work like it used to. We cut across campus under a sky that had started to lose its day-heat, students folding into the campus stream. The air had a crisp edge even in the sticky weeks, the way spring tried to bargain with why it existed in Georgia. My head was buzzing from equations and flashcards, but Dalton walked like the night belonged to him, hands shoved in his jacket, unbothered as ever.
“You kept up tonight,” he said finally, voice even. Not smug, not mocking. Just fact.
I side-eyed him. “Kept up? Pretty sure you were two steps ahead of me the whole damn time.”
His mouth twitched, the closest thing to a grin. “Only ’cause you psych yourself out. You’re not slow, Blondie. You just fight the problem like it’s out to get you. You’re like that with most things.”
My throat went tight, so I masked it with a shrug. “Wow. You do flashcards, and suddenly you’re Freud. Thanks for the diagnosis, doc, but no thanks.”
“Hilarious,” he said, tone dry but steady. Then, after a beat, softer: “We’ll keep at it. You’ll get there. You’re better than you used to be.”
The words hit harder than I wanted them to, settling right in the spot I usually guarded with claws and sarcasm. I knew hewasn’t talking about just math. I stared ahead, jaw tight, because if I looked at him, he’d see too much.
And of course, he didn’t let me off that easy. His elbow nudged into mine, firm enough to jolt me a step sideways. “Don’t get all misty on me, blondie. I’ll revoke the compliment.”
My head snapped his way as I glared at him. “You’re insufferable.”
“Yeah, but I’m right.” The smirk was back, lazy and infuriating, like he’d planned the whole exchange just to watch me squirm.
We walked in silence for a few blocks. My phone vibrated, but I didn’t look. My head was too full and too quiet in a different way. The silence stretched, comforting for the first time in a long while.
And then the laughing started out of nowhere, a group of guys from somewhere behind us, loud with too many beers and the kind of confidence that comes from never being told no. Someone whistled. A voice called, “Damn, Barbie is out past curfew!”
I didn’t break stride. “Original,” I called back over my shoulder. “Did you workshop that in the group chat or does it just come naturally?”
One of them laughed. The wrong kind of laugh. The kind that thinks it’s winning.
“Wanna hang out?”
I stopped then—not because they told me to. Because I wanted to. I turned slowly, dragging my gaze over them like I was pricing clearance items at a thrift store. “Hang out?” I tilted my head. “With that haircut? Please. I have standards.”
One of them puffed up, swaggering a step closer. “You got a mouth on you.”
“Yeah,” I said flatly. “It’s attached to a brain. Try it sometime.”
Dalton casually took one huge step between me and them, one shoulder forward like a shield, and smiled at the guys.
It wasn’t his usual grin—the easy, “let’s fuck with the world” grin. This was shorter, colder: a small curl at one corner of his mouth, the set of his jaw that said he could, if necessary, make you regret being alive. The way his smile cut through the crowd made them stop laughing mid-word like someone had turned off a radio.
“You boys lost?” he asked, voice calm as a lake. The tone didn’t invite banter.
The closest one tried to swagger up to him, all bluster. He took one step, maybe two— then he faltered. He looked at Dalton like the math just went wrong and he wasn’t sure why. They all glanced at each other before slinking back off into the night with their tails between their legs.
I didn’t realize I’d started shaking until Dalton’s hand found my waist, pressing, not tight but solid. I stiffened from the contact, but distantly my brain recognized it as safety and I didn’t pull away. Slowly but surely, the night folded back into ordinary noise, and we found ourselves in front of the library.
We stood there for a beat, the sidewalk suddenly enormous and ordinary. My cheeks were hot with a shame I couldn’t quite place—ashamed that I’d needed someone to stand up with me, ashamed that I felt the relief like a physical thing.
