Page 12 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

I shrug and focus on my mug. “Because I’m awkward. I read a lot. That tends to confuse people.”

He nods slowly. “In high school, I was the jock who read on a bench outside the library.”

I narrow my eyes. “Are you mocking me?”

“No.” His voice turns earnest. Honest. “I know what it’s like to be misunderstood.”

The sincerity catches me off guard. I don’t know what to do with it.

“Whatever,” I say quickly, retreating. “I’d really like it if you would leave. Please.”

“Can I get you anything?” Gretchen interrupts, tapping a pen on her notepad.

“Coffee,” he answers.

My eyes widen.

“No,” I say to Gretchen. “He’s not staying.”

Gretchen looks from him to me, catches the warning in my expression, and writes something on her pad. “One coffee. To go.”

“No—”

But Dylan smoothly cuts me off.

“To-go cup works.”

Gretchen tears the order from her pad and heads back toward the counter.

Before I can argue again, he pulls out his phone and slides it across the table.

My heart stutters when I see my name in a text message thread.

“You’re Dylan?” I whisper.

“I am.” His expression shifts. He’s less amused now, more careful. “Dylan Sharpe. Kate Sharpe’s son.”

Heat floods my face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He runs a hand through his hair, clearly caught off guard. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Of all people.”

“Why not?” I ask, still trying to recalibrate my brain.

“You’re Library Girl,” he says.

I stiffen. “And what exactly does that mean?”

“I’ve seen you around campus, but always near the library or one of the humanities buildings.”

The words aren’t cruel, but they land harder than he intends.

“I don’t live there,” I say lightly, as though the assumption doesn’t bother me.

“That sounded worse out loud. I only meant that’s where everyone seems to know you from.”

I let out a short laugh. “I’ve never seen you in this café before, and I’m here all the time. Maybe we just don’t exist in the same places.”

He considers that, then leans forward, elbows resting on the table. “You’re right. I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”