Page 21 of You Owe Me

I stare at him. Then shrug. “Maybe I just don’t like being interrupted during peak pinniped focus time.”

He chuckles, clearly thinking he’s charming. “Fair enough.”

I go back to my notes like I didn’t just mentally relive the entire couch argument in painful, high-definition detail. Carter doesn’t ask again, which is for the best. Because if I start ranting about Maverick and the Great Furniture Betrayal, I won’t stop until I’ve emotionally indicted him in front of a jury of baristas and confused undergrads.

But Carter doesn’t leave.

Instead, he flags down the barista with the kind of confident entitlement that makes me irrationally angry. “I’ll take an icedmatcha with oat milk.” He says it like he drinks exclusively green things and thinks sugar is a moral failing.

I glance up from my textbook just long enough to deadpan, “You’re the reason decaf was invented.”

Carter grins, pleased with himself. “I like our dynamic.”

“I don’t.”

He folds his hands on the table like we’re in a business meeting and not me actively trying to study marine mammal circulation. “You know, I’ve always thought you were the most interesting woman on campus.”

“Oh, no,” I say flatly. “Please tell me this isn’t the opening line to a misguided flirtation. I’m not in the mood to reenact a rejectedGilmore Girlssubplot.”

He leans in slightly. “Just making conversation.”

“Try someone else’s table. This one’s booked by someone with a strong sense of boundaries and an even stronger gag reflex.”

But he doesn’t move. Just sits there smiling like a fox in a very well-pressedVineyard Vinesshirt.

“I heard about your relationship.” His voice is so casual, like we’re 100 years old and talking about the weather. “With Lexington.”

Not this again. “Aw, you keep a scrapbook of campus gossip. That’s so cute.”

“He’s... an interesting choice for you, don’t you think?”

“He’s my choice,” I snap, annoyed at how fast my protective instinct kicks in. “And unless this conversation is about pinnipeds, I don’t care for your opinion.”

Carter’s drink arrives. He sips it like this is all foreplay for whatever power play he’s warming up to. “I was hoping you’d join me for dinner tomorrow.”

I blink. “Let me get this straight. You want to take me, Maverick Lexington’s girlfriend, to dinner? Do you have a death wish? Or are you just terminally stupid?”

“Neither. I’m ambitious.”

Oh, no. This is worse than flirting.

“You’re out of your mind.”

“I prefer strategic,” he replies. “I think you’re sharp, passionate, and loyal. And I respect that. But loyalty to someone like Lexington comes at a cost.”

The air shifts. My heartbeat picks up.

“I’m not sure what you think you’re implying,” I say, voice low and tight, “but Maverick is ten times the man you’ll ever be.”

His smile doesn’t crack. It never does. “And yet, you’re sitting here like something’s already unraveling.”

I still.

He sips his drink again, like this is just an amusing observation and not a loaded grenade tossed at my feet.

“I mean,” he adds, with fake sympathy, “how much longer can you really keep carrying the weight of someone else’s chaos?”

That’s when I know this isn’t flirtation. It’s an ambush dressed in a pastel polo.

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