Page 89 of Faking the Goal

"T," she says gently, almost mockingly, "you look like a beat-up puppy."

I gasp. "Rude."

"You do." She gestures at my face. "Your eyes have that haunted little thousand-yard stare thing going on, and you've been wearing the same two oversized sweaters for, like, a week. You need an immediate energy boost."

"I'm pretty sure what I need is sleep."

"No. You need to put on something hot, let me do your eyeliner, and come out with me tomorrow night. A few drinks, some dancing, maybe a little harmless flirting. Remind yourself that you're twenty-one and hot, not some manga hermit who spends her nights kicking her feet over cartoon men."

She clasps both hands beneath her chin and gives me the most obnoxious puppy eyes I've ever seen.

"Pleeeease? Just this once. We don't even have to stay late. One last fun night before finals week, and then you can crawl back into your celibate manga cave."

I stare at her.

She blinks harder.

"Claire."

"Taylor."

"You're so annoying."

"That's not a no."

I groan. "Fine."

Claire shrieks loudly enough that two students turn around.

"Jesus—"

"WE'RE GOING CLUBBING!" She grabs my wrist and starts dragging me toward the parking lot like I might change my mind if she gives me more than three seconds to reconsider.

CHAPTER 14

KENTARO

Taylor scoots farther into the couch, tucking one leg beneath her as she balances her laptop on her thighs. Her fingers immediately find the keyboard, the quiet tapping carrying through the peaceful stillness of the café. Around us, a few early customers sit tucked into their own corners, absorbed in their manga, the only other sounds the occasional turn of a page and the low hum of the espresso machine.

I set a hot latte and a slice of strawberry shortcake on the coffee table in front of her.

"Thanks," she murmurs absently, never once looking away from the screen.

Her fingers keep flying across the keyboard.

"Sorry about the wait." She winces, eyes still glued to the screen. "I'm almost done rewriting the questions. I swear."

"No rush."

I settle onto the couch across from her, wrapping both hands around my Americano.

She lets out an exaggerated groan.

"My laptop decided to start dying on me last night while I was finalizing the questions. Kept freezing, shutting itself down, then taking forever to turn back on." She scowls at the screen as if it personally betrayed her. "That's what I get for buying a secondhand laptop and expecting it to survive three years with me. Pretty sure this thing is running on borrowed time and pure fucking spite."

"Did you lose everything?"

"Thankfully, no. Just the last version I was working on, so I've been trying to remember all the changes I made before it had its little near-death experience."