“You’re staring,” she said without looking up.
“Just trying to figure out what kind of person bringstwocoffee cups to the library.”
Her gaze flicked to the cups, then back to me. “A person who plans ahead.”
She quickly returned her focus back to the screen, clearly wanting to end our conversation.
Except something in me just couldn’t stay quiet.
“I like it back here.” I stretched my legs under the table. “It’s hard to find a place so tucked away and far from other people.”
She scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. “I thought guys like you shriveled up and died if you didn’t get attention to feed your ego.”
My lips pulled up on one side in a smirk. “Guys like me?”
“Yes.” Her eyes narrowed, daring me to deny it.
I leaned back, grinning. “I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to.”
She rattled off words fast enough to make my head spin. “Arrogant, privileged, pretentious, conceited, attractive, egotistical athletes.”
One word stood out. My smirk widened. “You think I’m attractive?”
She gave me a deadpan look. “That’syour takeaway?”
I flashed the smile that always got me into trouble—the one that brought out the dimple on my left cheek. “It was the most important part—and the only thing in that whole list you could know for sure without actually knowing me.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Whatever. I’m not going to sit here and discuss your looks.”
“So you’re leaving, then?” I asked cheekily before she could say anything else.
A patronizing glare shot my way. “Very funny.”
I tried to hide my smile, failing spectacularly.
Most people, when they recognized me, went into one of two modes: starstruck or judgmental. She’d skipped starstruck entirely and gone straight for judgment. Not the loud, in-your-face kind—more like she’d already filed me under a label in her head and was now just gathering evidence to prove herself right.
After a few minutes, I gave up pretending to focus and asked, “So what’s got you holed up in a library dungeon instead of out living your best life?”
She looked at me like I’d just spoken fluent Martian. “Do I look like I have time for a ‘best life’?”
“Fair point.” I gestured to her mountain of books. “What’s the major?”
She hesitated just long enough for me to notice. “Double. Accounting and Computer Information Systems.”
I let out a low whistle. “Overachiever.”
“Efficient,” she corrected. “Two degrees for the price of one miserable schedule.”
“Bet your barista knows your order better than your friends do.”
Her pen stilled. “I don’t really have time for friends.”
Something about the way she said it made me wonder if she liked it that way, or if life had just forced her into it. Either way, it didn’t sound like a complaint, more like a fact she’d learned to live with.
Her eyes flicked up from her notebook, narrowing slightly. “You’re really not going to leave, are you?”
“Nope.” I typed out a sentence that made zero sense, trying to look like I was working.