Cole’s eyes went wide, and then he burst out laughing. “You know, I don’t think I’ve heard you curse before.”
“I usually keep it in my head. My mom is a professor, so she is very much of the belief that cursing is a lack of creativity or precision, or something like that.”
“And here my mom didn’t let me curse ’cause it was impolite, now look at me. Cursing left and fucking right like a goddamn sailor.”
“Doing it creatively and with precision, too,” Brennan said.
“You just need practice.”
Cole shifted in his seat, bringing one foot up on the booth so he was curled with one knee tucked to his chest. Brennan had never seen someone so unable to sit properly in a chair.
“Your mom’s a professor. Does she teach here?” he asked.
“Nah. New Hampshire,” Brennan said, souring. “Dartmouth.”
“Damn. Impressive.”
“Yeah,” Brennan said, but it was hard not to let bitterness creep into his voice. “She’s very good at academia.”
“Oof, and lemme guess, not so good at parenting?”
Head hung down, Brennan said, “Jeez, do I radiate mommy issues?”
Cole laughed again, sharp and loud.
“No! No, that’s how my dad is, so I caught the vibe. If I were todescribe him, I’d say he’s”—Cole wiggled his fingers—“‘very good at business.’ Same tone.”
“Oh. Well. Yeah.” Brennan shrugged. “School was always her priority.” With some years of therapy, Brennan was starting to accept that.
Cole lifted his coffee mug in a mock toast. “To shitty parents and generational trauma.”
Brennan clinked his empty mug against Cole’s and smiled.
The waitress returned to drop off their food and Brennan salivated. Their plates were full of oversized waffles, eggs, bacon, and hash browns. Even though he drank blood now, there was still something about the appeal of diner junk food.
“My brother used to put the hash browns, bacon, and eggs on the waffle, fold it in half, and eat it like a taco,” Cole offered as he started to dig into his food.
Brennan paused, took in his plate, imagining it. “Was it good?”
Cole shrugged and drowned his waffle in a syrupy death. “I have no idea.”
It seemed as good an opportunity as ever to find out. He piled everything onto his waffle, folded it, and took a bite. He put the taco down and chewed thoughtfully.
“It’s pretty good,” Brennan agreed, and only then noticed the stricken look on Cole’s face, as if Brennan had produced a copy ofTwilightand ripped it in half right in front of him.
“What?” Brennan asked. “Did I not do it right?”
“No that’s—exactly how he did it.” Cole blinked a few times until the faraway look in his eyes went away. “You should give the other vampires a chance. Dom included.”
Brennan’s brain tripped over the change in topic. “Uh,” he said. “Okay.”
“Because if she does mean well, and you don’t give her a chance,you’rethe one fucking up. And if you turn your back now, you might not get a shot to change your mind. I’d give a chance to someone who doesn’t deserve it over losing them for good, any day.”
Cole was too kind and good to be hanging out with Brennan, but he refrained from voicing the thought. Something in the pinch of Cole’s lips said he was speaking from experience. Brennan wanted to understandit—he was starting to worry he wanted to knoweverythingabout Cole—but instead he nodded and tucked into his food.
The conversation turned light again, Brennan telling Cole about the nightmarish pamphlet situation while Cole laughed and asked questions. It felt surprisingly normal, just two college kids at a waffle joint at three in the morning. No secrets or elephants in the room.
This was what making a new friend was like, Brennan realized. He’d forgotten.
