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They’d broken up before Allison had discovered what kind of scars he was hiding.
A full minute passed, and yet Colin’s knee had not moved, no matter how hard she glared at him. His expression was placid enough that she could almost believe he didn’t know what was happening.
Almost.
Allison’s heart began to do unconscionable things like speed up and skip beats. She crossed her arms over her chest as if that might stop it. She should not have this kind of visceral reaction to Colin. The only part of her body he was allowed control over was her gag reflex.
For a second, she considered the pros and cons of stamping on his foot, before settling on the food as an excuse to angle away. Surveying the tray of pastries, she cursed herself for noticing the slight chill that slipped under her skin at the absence of his touch.
She wouldnotlet herself be aware of him. She wouldnotfeel anything about Colin Benjamin. Allison had already learned the hard way that following those paths led to her dreams smoldering in a pile of ash.
She reached for a croissant and tried to lose herself in its buttery goodness.
Colin’s hazel eyes followed her movements as she tore off a corner and popped it in her mouth. “Some things never change, huh?”
“What?”
He nodded at her hands, a small smile peeking out of the corners of his mouth. “You and croissants.”
Allison dropped the pastry to her napkin, suddenly not hungry at all.
She’d spent her first two weeks in Lit Theory avoiding Colin. It had been clear on the first day of class, when he gawked at her while handing out the syllabus, that he recognized her from that party, and Allison was not interested in reliving one of her most embarrassing moments every time she looked at him. So, she didn’t. Instead, she’d created an elaborate schedule where she’d rush into class with less thana minute to spare, and as soon the professor was done, she’d dash back out the door. It was all working splendidly until the day Sophie sent a frantic set of WCS texts, and Allison was so distracted answering them that she walked smack into Colin as they both tried to exit the room.
“We really need to stop meeting this way,” he’d said with a grin.
Humiliation slashed heat across Allison’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I did that the other night. I’d had a little too much to drink and—”
He held out a hand to interrupt. “No, I’m sorry,” he said. “You ran off before I could say anything.”
“I attacked you with my ass,” she blurted out.
That was the first time she ever heard Colin laugh. It was neither melodic nor sexy. More like a bird squawking for attention. And it had turned her to mush.
“You didn’t attack me,” he said. “I was just… surprised. And when I’m caught off guard, I tend to put my worst foot forward.” His long fingers tapped a tuneless song against his thigh, and he chewed on the inside of his bottom lip for a second, like he was thinking. “Maybe I could… take you for coffee? To make up for it?”
Allison was too stunned to do anything but agree.
They went to one of the cafés on campus. It had been prime afternoon-caffeine time, and the line snaked around the circumference of the small building. As they waited, Colin struck up a debate about the top three breakfast pastries. Barely able to stay quiet during Allison’s monologue on the perfection of the croissant, he’d done his best to outperform her with a lofty defense of the blueberry muffin. Their little war of words had been silly and fun, and, if Allison was being honest, watching Colin construct an argument had been kind of a turn-on. Before they knew it, hours had passed as they leaned across the table over forgotten mugs of coffee, bickering amicably.
When she’d gotten to Lit Theory two days later, she found a bag with a still-warm croissant sitting on her desk. From across the room,Colin had flashed her a smile that would have melted metal. After that, a croissant waited on her desk every week for the rest of the semester.
Allison shook her head. She didn’t want to dwell on those moments with Colin—the ones that reminded her why she’d fallen for him in the first place. She needed to focus on all the reasons she was glad it was over. Like the obscene volume of his voice, which was bound to summon a series of curious gazes. Their cohort did not know about their history, and Allison wanted to keep it that way.
She shushed him with a flap of her hand.
Colin arched a brow. “Are you ashamed of your love affair with pastry?”
“Please. There’s no shame in excellent taste.” Allison couldn’t stop herself from flipping her hair over her shoulder. It was a reflex born of too many bouts of flirting masked as arguments. “I’d just prefer to eat my croissant, not discuss it with you.” She tore off a corner and folded it into her mouth to prove her point.
Colin let loose one of those cacophonous laughs. Allison hated how it made her insides somersault. She couldn’t keep talking to him like this. It was too easy to fall back into old habits.
Old feelings.
She turned away, leaning across the table to get the attention of her other classmates. “Who did you all get for your TA assignments?”
Link adjusted his bowtie. “African American Writers with Morgan Sharpe. It’s the one I wanted, but it’s such bullshit that there aren’t more undergrad classes on writers of color here. I can’t wait until we get to create our own classes next year. I already have a whole reading list for an Afrofuturism course.”
“I demand to sit in on that class,” Allison said. Link beamed in response.
