“What are you writing?”
“An exposé on emotionally exhausting basketball players.”
“Hope there’s a section about my jawline.”
That got an eye roll instead of a laugh.
Disappointing.
Rowan studied me for a second over the top of her laptop.
Then:
“You hungover?”
“A little.”
“You deserve it.”
Fair.
I took a sip of coffee while she kept typing.
No awkwardness either.
Weirdly comfortable silence settled between us almost immediately.
Like we’d done this before.
Outside, rain tapped softly against the café windows while students drifted in and out around us.
Rowan suddenly pushed her coffee toward me without looking up.
I frowned. “What’s this?”
“You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“I’m not drinking your coffee.”
“You already look dramatic enough. Just take it.”
I stared at her for a second.
Then took the cup.
Our fingers brushed briefly.
Tiny contact.
Still felt it stupidly hard.
Rowan noticed too because her typing paused for half a second before continuing.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
I took a sip.
