She smiles widely. “Use the app a few more times and then wanna meet for coffee on Wednesday after classes?”
“Sure.”
She beams. “My name is Katrina, by the way.”
“Didn’t ask.”
Katrina laughs, rolling her eyes as she turns around.
As she walks out the door, Danika walks in.Fuck. That could’ve been bad.What the hell am I doing making plans to hang out with this girl when I know Danika had a problem last time I talked to her. But it’s not like I’m meeting with her romantically. I would never do that. I have no interest in anyone other than Danika. She knows that. That’s all that matters.
“Morning, beautiful.”
She smiles. “Don’t start going soft on me now, tough guy.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, brat.”
She tells me her coffee order but she doesn't need to. I already know she prefers a black iced coffee with way too much sugar. As I give her the drink, awkwardly pushing aside the credit card she insists on offering, I brush my thumbs across the back of her palm.
“Can’t wait until tonight.”
“Me either,” she replies, her cheeks warming. I love it when I can see the effect I have on her. It makes me feel like she feels it too. “Do you need me to get anything for tonight? I can pick up some wine on the way home.”
“Nope. I got it all covered, brat. Just show up.”
“I’ll be there.”
She turns to leave but I can’t help giving her one last thing to think about. “And I really wanna talk tonight. Like...really.”
She nods tentatively then leaves the cafe. I probably scared her off with that last comment but I don’t care. I’d rather she’s prepared for the conversation when we sit down. Because otherwise I run the risk of her completely bolting.
Now, she’ll have something prepared to say to try and change my mind about her and I’ll be just as prepared to convince her to be with me. It’s going to be perfect.
When I walk in the door, I see the table is set, a single candle lit in the center and wine glasses ready to be filled. Danika is sitting sheepishly at the kitchen island.
“Sorry, I got antsy," she says with a shrug.
“Don’t apologize, I love you.” Her eyes widen. “It. I love it. Thank you.” I shuttle into the apartment, dropping my bag, hanging my coat, and hoping to god we can ignore that freudian slip. I avoid her gaze as I walk into the kitchen and start preparing the dinner I planned this morning while I was working. A beautiful skirt steak with potatoes and asparagus.
“Can I help more?” she asks quietly, and I’m so fucking thankful that it seems like she’s letting me get away with that slip.
I didn’t actually mean it. I don’t actually love her. I love being around her. I love hooking up with her. And having her fall asleep on my chest. And when she quizzes me in statistics and shares her terribly cooked meals with me. And when she smiles. Or frowns. Or laughs. Or just sits there looking at me.
Fuck.
I love her.
“Nope, brat. You just sit there and look pretty.”
“I excel at doing that,” she hums, pulling up a textbook from the bookshelf. “But I was thinking I’d quiz you while you cook. It’s been a while since I kept up my end of the bargain.”
Her comment makes me pause.
How could I forget that we were meant to befakedating.
“You don’t have to do that anymore. I mean, I think we’re far from where we were at the beginning of the semester,” I say, not meeting her eye as I start prepping the steak.
“I know. I want to.”