I tap my menu, pointing to a picture of a chocolate, maple, bacon, and whipped cream waffle monstrosity. “I’m telling you now, this is the one she’d get. And then her mom would freak that I let her have sugar.”

He laughs. “Well, take a damn pic of it and text it to her. Tell her Uncle Maven is going to treat her when she comes to visit.”

“Done.”

“Two coffees,” our waitress says. She slides our steaming mugs on the table and pulls out a small notebook. “Have you had a chance to look at the menu?”

“We’ll need a minute,” Maven says. He gives her a lascivious once-over. “Everything looks so good.”

The waitress blushes. “I’ll be right back, then.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Really? You can’t make it through breakfast without hitting on our damn waitress?”

Maven grins. “I mean, I could, but why would I want to?”

I grunt and look back down to my menu, only to see a familiar form in my periphery. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Maven follows my gaze—obvious as hell, but I don’t actually care. “What?”

Professor Douche slides into the booth across from us. Fucking awesome. This is exactly how I want to spend my morning.

“Who’s that?”

“Professor Douche,” I mutter. “What the hell is he doing here?”

Maven’s eyes go wide, and he gives Shay’s guy a dismissive once-over before turning back to me. “Speaking of, how is the love life?”

I tear my attention off George and focus on Mav. “What love life?”

“Oh, now you’re going to pretend you weren’t hoping to get back together with the best friend’s little sister? What’s wrong? Did it turn out she’s serious about Mr. Manbun?”

“Serious enough about him that she won’t talk to me.” I squeeze the back of my neck. Hell, Shay’s refusal to talk to me probably has nothing to do with George Alby and everything to do with how I fucked up.

A flash of blond hair in my periphery sends my attention back to Professor Douche’s table. He stands to greet her and . . . holy fucking shit, he’s kissing her. Like, open-mouth, face-eating, should-probably-get-a-room kissing.

Mav’s attention slides to the table across from us before coming back to me. “But that’s not your girl.”

“No,” I say. “That is not Shay.” Fuck. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Can I take a picture? Would that be going too far?

“Well, score one for Team Easton. Does she know?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Holy shit, man. You’re gonna tell her, though, right?”

My jaw ticks. “I think I have to, but I doubt she’ll believe me.” She certainly didn’t appreciate it when I told her about Buttercup.

He hisses. “What a fucking mess.”