I leaned forward across the coffee table slightly. “And you’re very confident for someone one bad hit away from becoming my project’s cautionary tale.”
His laugh came low and warm this time, rough enough around the edges that it settled somewhere dangerous low in my stomach before I could stop it.
I forced myself to focus.
“I don’t want this to feel like an interview,” I said, reaching for my notebook before immediately pausing because even the sight of it felt too formal. “Actually, no. This looks like I’m about to ask about your five-year plan and whether you work well in groups.”
Cade’s mouth twitched. “I don’t, just FYI.”
“That is only-child energy.”
His brows lifted. “What gave it away?”
“You looked personally overwhelmed when I described Sunday dinner.”
“It sounded loud.”
“It’s love with volume.”
“That sounds like it ends with property damage.”
I laughed and nodded. “In my family, property damage is just proof the kids are visiting.”
He laughed then too, low and real, and it hit me harder than it should have because Cade’s laugh didn’t match the rest of him. It wasn’t cold or polished or practiced. It warmed his whole face for half a second, softening all those perfect sharp edges until he looked less like a mythical god and more like a twenty-two-year-old guy sitting on my couch, genuinely amused.
That was dangerous. So much more dangerous than him being hot. Hot I could handle. Funny was where women made mistakes.
I took a sip of coffee and tried to remember every single reason I did not date athletes. The ego. The cheating.The attention addiction. The way girls became accessories, distractions, problems, or trophies depending on the season.
And then there was Luke, Luke who had taken every warning sign and carved it permanently into my nervous system.
I needed a normal man someday. A boring man. A man who owned sensible shoes, called when he said he would, and thought ESPN was something restaurants put on in the background, not a belief system.
The last thing a girl like me needed was Cade Mercer on my brain.
Cade Mercer, who watched me like every thought crossing my face had become the most interesting thing in the room.
“What?” I asked.
His head tilted slightly. “You disappeared for a second.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I blinked.”
“You checked out.”
I laughed despite myself. “You’re dreaming.”
“It felt real.”
“You engineering majors are so used to always being right you forget you’re just a guy who voluntarily enjoys math.”
“It’s structural reasoning,” he defended with an effortless smile.
“It’s wizardry with student debt.”
