With my messenger bag lugged over one shoulder, I dragged myself out of the classroom and the College of Communications building, the warm morning defrosting my limbs frozen from the air-conditioning. I was on auto-pilot as I shuffled toward Rum & Roasters, pushing through the door just as a yawn stretched my mouth open.

I stood in line like a zombie, ordering a caffè Americano with an extra shot of espresso. I had the life-giver cupped between my palms as I walked toward my usual table.

Only to find it occupied.

Shawn sat bent in my usual chair, one ankle balanced on the opposite knee, guitar in his arms and brow furrowed as he thumbed the strings quietly. His dark hair fell into his eyes slightly, and the way the morning light was streaming through the windows washed him in gold. He looked like the cover of a soft rock album, and when he flicked his hair out of the way and looked up to find me standing in front of him, the sexiest, smoothest smile spread on his dusty pink lips.

“Well, good morning, Angel.”

I flushed, glancing over my shoulder as if I wondered if it was me he was talking to. When I looked back at him, he chuckled, setting his guitar to the side.

“You’ve got a halo right now, the way the light is coming in,” he explained.

I smiled. “Hiding the horns holding it up, no doubt.”

Shawn gestured to the seat across from him.

I took it hesitantly — mostly because I was debating if I was too tired to even hold a conversation, let alone a flirty one with intention. But one sip from my espresso had me optimistic that I could turn it around.

What would Clay do?

He’d tell me to suck it up and play the game, that’s what.

I hadn’t seen Shawn since the party on Saturday night, and my stomach flipped the longer he watched me with a curious gaze.

“What?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing. You just… forgive me if this is too forward, but you look beautiful right now.”

My cheeks were hot enough to rival my coffee as I looked down at my hands. “I highly doubt that, considering how tired I am at the moment.”

“Late night?”

I sighed. “Very. I’m working with my boss on an upcoming charity event for the football team, and it’s taking more time and energy than all of my classes combined.”

“I still can’t get over you being in public relations,” he assessed with a smile.

“What would you peg me as, if I hadn’t told you otherwise?”

“Librarian.”

I laughed. “It’s the glasses, huh?”