Page 12 of A Favor Owed

“Do you have family? A support system of some kind?”

“I’m fine,” I say, not exactly answering the question.

“Try to relax a little, okay? You’ve got this. Keep doing what you’re doing, but try to have some fun while you’re at it.”

Right. Fun. “Yes, okay.”

She turns my laptop back around toward me, and I shut it. Despite Professor Kim’s reassurance, my anxiety is through the roof. What I wouldn’t do for a Xanax right now.

“Thanks for your help, Professor.”

I take my close-to-hyperventilating self out of her office and walk blindly down the hall to the elevators.

You’re getting it, Angela. You’re fine. You’re going to keep your scholarship. You’re going to do this.

I push the down button several times, even though it was already lit.

“You in a hurry, princess?”

I jump. “Jesus, Brady.”

“I would love to hear you say that in some context other than me scaring the crap out of you.”

I smirk a little at his innuendo. “Is that so?”

“Better believe it.” His eyes travel down my body but don’t linger anywhere inappropriate. “Why don’t you come get a coffee with me? You’re looking a little rattled there.”

I smooth my hair nervously, wondering what tipped him off.

“You look fine,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I just meant you seem distracted or something.”

“Oh. Yeah. Okay,” I say lamely.

We get on the elevator and ride down to the lobby. There’s the usual chorus of, “Hi, Brady,” and, “What’s up, man?” as we pass through the law school lobby and out to the front courtyard. We walk down the street, bypassing a couple of Dos Torres’s busier coffee shops for one that’s more off the beaten path. Brady holds the door open for me, and we go inside. It’s cool and inviting, with leather chairs and sofas scattered around and just enough stainless-steel accents to maintain a hipster vibe.

“What’s your poison?” he asks me when we go up to the counter.

“Oh, um, a triple espresso,” I say. “But I can get it.”

“It’s on me, princess. And don’t give me that deer-in-the-headlights look. I’m allowed to buy you a coffee without triggering some elaborate debt repayment scheme, okay?”

I smile. I can’t help it. He’s just familiar enough to make me homesick and just different enough to make him fun. “Okay. Thanks.”

When we’re seated with our coffees on one of the sofas, I have an excuse to look at those pretty green eyes, complete with long, reddish-brown lashes. Freckles and dimples compete with broad shoulders and a body that’s a mile long. He’s a fighter, a protector, but somehow maintains the air of a ten-year-old about to get into trouble on the playground.

Brady takes off his Yankees cap, brushes a hand through the short copper waves topping his head, and replaces his cap, backward this time. Holy mother of all things adorable. I could eat him with a spoon.

“I was dead sure Property couldn’t get more boring, but Baker proved me wrong today,” he says, sipping his cold brew, doused with a healthy dose of cream and sugar. I can just see him ordering a light and sweet coffee from the Dunkin’ Donuts on Fordham Avenue in the Bronx. Probably with a breakfast sandwich and at least one doughnut.

“Yeah,” I agree. “Property is almost as boring as baseball.”

Brady clutches his chest. “Tell me you didn’t say that.” I shrug, grin, and sip my espresso. “You just shattered my heart, Pines. Here I was planning our wedding and how many kids we’d have, and you go and ruin it. Nothing can top this heartbreak.”

I laugh. “Just wait, McDaniels. When I do watch baseball, I root for the Red Sox.”

He hangs his head. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “I might cry.”

I’m giggling like a teenager drunk on cheap liquor. “I’m kidding,” I say. “I’ll confess I don’t like watching it on television, but I’ve always wanted to go to a game. And I don’t have a favorite team.”

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