She rolled her eyes. “The box I drank on the night of the drunken donuts. How long had you been stalking me before then?”

“I wasn’t stalking you,” I protested, but the words sounded weak even to my ears. “I was … researching.”

She giggled and took another sip. I watched, mesmerised, as a droplet of wine trembled on her bottom lip before her tongue darted out to lick it up. I barely stifled my groan. What if I just leaned across the table and licked her where her tongue had just been. Tasted the wine in her mouth. It would be so much sweeter, sampled from her lips.

“Uh, I might be a little tipsy,” she remarked, setting down her glass. “I really do think it’s time to order some food.”

That jerked me right out of my indulgent fantasies.

“Why did you never finish your art degree?” I blurted, desperate to delay the inevitable.

She coughed, snatching up her wine and taking another big drink. “I … I told you, the other day in the bathroom. The professor who kicked me out of his class told me I was never welcome back again. His subject is compulsory.”

“Compulsory, as in …”

“As in, I have to pass his class to receive my degree. And I’m not welcome back because I’m a ‘cheating plagiarist, who should be ashamed of myself’…” She looked down at the table, her hands falling into her lap.

My chest thrummed in time with the Token in my pocket.

“Is there not another teacher of this subject?” I asked softly. She shook her head, eyes still downcast. “Or another university you could …” My words cut off when the Token heated suddenly.

“I lost all my confidence, after that. I haven’t painted since. Except, you know, when I’m with the girls … which doesn’t count.”

“Why does it not count?”

She sighed. “That’s just for fun. And I don’t make money out of it, so … there’s no pressure.” Her eyes finally found mine, and they were so despondent that my chest squeezed.

“It’s funny. While at uni, I never once thought about art therapy as a career. In my head, I was going to be discovered, become a renowned artist, travel the world.” She glanced over at the hellish piece on the wall. “But even stealing my ideas to finish his degree, Chad still hasn’t amounted to anything much.”

A growl rumbled low in my throat at the mention of pathetic Ratty-Man. “His lack has nothing to do with you,” I told her firmly.