“Not everyone on the sports team is a scholarship recipient, and not everyone at the school is blessed with nepotism. Are you beating around the bush trying to figure me out? If so, you’ll have to give up just as much information as you’d like to pry from me. Starting with my question. Does your boyfriend know you’re here?” I laid my chin on my knuckles, propping my head up at the table, and looking directly in those bright blue eyes.

Those eyes looked like a deer in headlights before she recomposed herself without breaking eye contact.

“Fine. Deal,” she shot back. “As for my love life, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Then who’s the sucker following you around like a lost puppy?”

“None of your business,” she spat.

“Are you a nepo baby or scholarship kid?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Nepotism. You?” I wondered if she would lie about herself. I knew who she was, but that was neither here nor there. So far, she told the truth.

“Same.” I took a sip of my coffee, clacking my rings on the handle. Her gaze shifted to my hand, probably curious about them. I wore two rings on my right hand and one on my left; she took full notice.

Her eyes narrowed. “Why did you bring me here?”

“For the food,” I replied between sips of bitter coffee. “Why did you come?”

“For the food,” she parroted.

Martha saved my life by interrupting us with multiple large plates of food. She looked between us and furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “You two look like you’re in a heated debate. I hope it's not about bacon or sausage, because I brought both.” She set them down and gave me a warning glare.

It was true I never brought a girl here, and Martha knew my reputation. I wasn’t a good guy by any standard. Answering to why I brought Fallon here would be a future Brent problem. I waved off the look Martha gave me.

“Thank you Martha,” we said in unison.

“You’re welcome, my darlings. Eat up and I’ll bring some pie afterward.”

Fallon took in the full display of food and she looked like a kid in a candy store. A wave of softness came over her face as she looked over everything displayed in front of her, and I wondered how much she actually liked diner breakfast foods. Her eyes grazed over it all–pancakes, bacon, eggs, sausage, and hashbrowns were prominently displayed with fruit and Texas toast.

She immediately started in. Shoving a piece of bacon into her mouth, she asked, “What year are you?”

“Junior,” I replied, poking around my plate to stack up my fork with a large bite.

“I’m a sophomore.”

I looked up at her. “Yeah, I know.”

Her eyes grew suspicious. “And how do you know?”