I’m no stranger to flirting. There’s always been a reliable thrill to saying something suggestive or teasing to a girl. It’s a dance, a tease, a push and pull. But all I’m feeling now is uncomfortable. There’s nothing wrong with what she’s saying, but the tone is unmistakable. And it feels wrong that she’s talking that way to me in front of Cassia.

“Thanks,” I reply, tucking my card back into my wallet.

I know this isn’t a date and I know Cassia knows it isn’t a date, but that’s exactly what I assume it would look like to anyone else.

Our waffles are prepared and handed to us, along with a few napkins. Cassia heads for one of the tables, and I follow her over.

She dives into the dessert immediately. I can’t help but smile, my bad mood totally forgotten, as I watch her annihilate the mound of waffle and ice cream. Some whipped cream gets left in the corner of her mouth. I want to lean over and wipe it away, but I pass her a napkin instead.

The second napkin in the stack has a number scrawled on it.

Cassia glances at the series of neatly written digits. Scoffs. “I guess she assumed I was your sister.”

I clench my jaw, tempted to walk back over to the counter and ask for a new stack of napkins. I’m irritated by her presumptuousness.

But I don’t hate the way Cassia is close to snapping her plastic spoon. Another girl giving me her number bothers Cassia, and I like the glimpse of possessiveness far more than I should.

“You didn’t tell Sydney about me tutoring you.”

I smirk. “I wrote the paper while you did your math homework. You call that tutoring?”

Cassia rolls her eyes. “I made suggestions.”

“You didn’t tell her either.”

“I know.” She plays with her spoon, dragging it through the small pool of chocolate that’s all that remains of her dessert. I take the final bite of mine. “I was worried she’d think it meant something.”

“Me almost failing history?”

“Yep.” She smiles.

“I never thanked you properly.”

“For what?”

“Helping me with that paper.”

Her eyebrows rise. “You said you wrote it yourself.”

“I did. But you…I wasn’t going to waste your time.”

Cassia studies me for a minute, then nods.

“There are some scouts coming to tomorrow’s game.” I share the information unprompted, which is unheard of for me. For some reason, there’s an urge to share with her. To explain what I’m thinking and feeling.

“For schools you’d consider?”

“Yeah. One of them is my top choice.”

“Top choice, huh?”

“I mean, they have a good program. I have a shot of getting in, Coach thinks.”

“Which school?”

“Richmond.”

She looks away. “In Vermont?”

“Right.”

“That’s on my list.”