Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
PENELOPE
By the time my last class ends, I’m running on caffeine fumes and pure spite.
It’s Monday, which already feels like punishment, and the students apparently made a blood pact to test my patience today. One spilled a smoothie on my notes. A freshman asked if period cramps are contagious.
By four o’clock, I’m ready to fake my own death.
Instead, I grab my bag and head toward the little coffee shop off campus—the one with the chipped blue paint and over-caffeinated college kids permanently attached to their laptops. The air outside smells like burned leaves and espresso, and my brain is already chanting iced latte or homicide.
The bell over the door jingles when I step inside, and the familiar hum of indie music greets me. Warm air and coffee wrap around me as I step inside, the line moving just fast enough to keep me from throwing hands—a kind of heaven-adjacent reprieve after the day I’ve had.
Talon’s already here, sitting near the back. Hoodie, messy brown hair, the exact brand of cocky grin that screams trouble wrapped in dimples. He’s got his laptop open, a half-empty cup of coffee beside it, and an expression that says he’s either studying or plotting a minor felony.
“Look who finally showed,” he says, leaning back in his chair like he owns the place.
“Some of us actually try when we’re at college,” I say, sliding into the seat across from him. “You’d know that if your worksheet didn’t look like a drunk toddler wrote it.”
He clutches his chest in mock pain. “You wound me.”
“Not as much as your spelling wounds the English language.” I pull out the crumpled packet he turned in Friday and wave it like evidence. “You butchered intersectionality three times and somehow turned social stratification into ‘social satisfaction.’”
“Sounds like something worth researching,” he says with a smirk. “Maybe we can start tonight.”
I roll my eyes. “Keep flirting, and I’ll assign you extra homework just for that.”
“Promise?”
The man has no shame.
Before I can respond, the barista wanders over.
I order a double-shot iced latte, a chipotle hash brown bowl, and avocado toast with bacon because I’m starving and tired of pretending I survive on salad and dreams. Talon orders another black coffee because apparently he’s committed to his caffeine addiction.
“You’re not eating?” I ask.
“Watching you eat’s entertainment enough.”
“Gross.”
He grins. “Compliment.”
I shake my head, but a laugh slips out anyway. I hate that he can make me laugh so easily.
When my food’s placed before me, the smell alone makes me feral. The hash brown bowl is steaming, drizzled with chipotle aioli; the avocado toast looks like art, all green and gold and crunch. I dig in without hesitation, humming when the first bite hits.
Talon watches me over the rim of his coffee cup, eyes glinting. “You always make that sound when something’s good?”
I pause mid-bite, deadpan. “Focus on your worksheet before I grade you into oblivion.”
He laughs, loud enough to earn a look from the couple studying nearby. I hide my smile behind my cup.
“Hey,” he says after a minute, quieter now. “About Friday night.”
I look up. His tone’s different—less teasing, more cautious.
“Yeah?”
“I was a dick. Said some shit I shouldn’t have.”
“You did,” I say, still eating. “But it’s fine.”
He exhales, nodding. “Still sorry.”
I stab another piece of avocado toast, then sigh. “Yeah. Well… I wasn’t exactly a saint either.” I flick my eyes up to meet his. “I said some shit too.”
His brows lift, surprised but soft. “So we’re both idiots?”
“Apparently.”
A tiny smile tugs at his mouth.
“Don’t make a habit of it,” I warn.
“Of apologizing?”
“Of saying stupid shit.”
He laughs again; the tension broken.
I flip through his notes, marking a few answers with my pen. His handwriting’s criminal, but there’s effort under the chaos. “Okay,” I say, tapping a page. “You actually understood this part.”
He leans forward, peering at my handwriting. His arm brushes mine, casual but deliberate. “So I’m not a total lost cause?”
“Don’t push it.”
“You wound me again.”
“Good. Builds character.”
He grins, that dangerous boyish charm lighting up his face. “You like wounding me.”
“Only when you deserve it.”
“I always deserve it.”
He stretches, and that’s when I notice his knuckles are still split, raw, dusted with fading bruises. I narrow my eyes.
“Talon,” I say slowly. “Why do your hands look like you lost a fight with a brick wall?”
He glances down, flexing his fingers. “Would you believe me if I said I tripped?”
“No.”
He smirks. “Then don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”
My brow lifts. “So it’s true. Brose’s face looks like it got reacquainted with someone’s fist, and now I’m staring at the matching knuckles.”
“Coincidence,” he says lightly, sipping his coffee.
“Uh-huh. Purely ironic that you’re bruised, and he looks like a Picasso painting.”
“Ironic’s a good word for it.”
I stare at him for a beat, but he doesn’t flinch. His expression is a perfect mix of amusement and nonchalance. Eventually, I let it go. Not my circus, not my bruised boys.
My phone buzzes across the table. Gideon.
My stomach does that stupid flip again.
I swipe to answer. “Hey.”
“Hey, Little Menace.” His voice is low and gravelly, still warm even through the phone. Just hearing it makes me smile.
“How’s your day?”
“Better now.”
“Tired,” I admit. “Coffee’s my blood type at this point.”
He chuckles. “Where are you?”
“Coffeeshop. On a study date.”
“Study date?” His tone shifts—teasing, possessive under the humor.
“Relax,” I say, smiling. “It’s academic. I’m not stripping for test answers.”
“Pity.”
I laugh, ignoring the heat creeping up my neck. “I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Don’t make me wait too long.”
“Bye.”
“Bye, Little Menace.”
I hang up and set my phone down. Talon’s eyebrow is arched to the heavens.
“Sorry, that was the guy I’m seeing.”
“I thought you didn’t date.”
“I don’t,” I say, finishing the last of my toast. “At least not students. Or stepbrothers.”
He blinks, grinning. “Specific.”
“Very.”
He laughs, leaning in. “So what’s this guy think of you being out with me? You called it a study date. Emphasis on date.”
I shrug, stirring my latte. “Since we’re not monogamous and he already knows I’m seeing someone else, I don’t think he’d care.”
Talon’s mouth falls open. “Wait. So you’re seeing someone else too?”
“Yup.”
“Two guys?”
“Uh-huh.”
He whistles. “You don’t make things simple, do you?”
“Simple’s boring,” I say, smiling.
He shakes his head, grinning. “You’re something else, Penelope. So let me get this straight—you’re seeing two men, and now you’re here with me?”
“I don’t believe in monogamy, and this is a study date, as in we picked a date to study.”
He laughs again, but there’s something curious behind his eyes. “You really don’t believe in monogamy?”
“Nope.”
“Why?”
I lean back in my chair, studying him. The question isn’t judgmental—just curious. So I tell him the truth.
“Because people act like love’s this one-size-fits-all deal,” I say. “Like you’re supposed to find the one and never look at anyone else again. But that’s not how it works. You can love more than one person. Want more than one person. The heart’s not that small.”
He nods slowly, still watching me.
“If someone told you that you only get one great love in your life,” I continue, “then what? When they die, you’re done? You just… stop loving because your ‘one’ is gone?” I shake my head. “People heal. They move on. They fall again. That alone proves we’re not wired for just one connection.”
Talon drums his fingers on the table, thoughtful. “I guess that makes sense.”
“Guess?”
He shrugs, smiling. “I mean, I could try to share a woman. But I’m not touching a cock, though.”
I choke on my latte and burst out laughing. “NEVER?”
“Never,” he says, grinning wide. “I’ve got limits, sweetheart.”
“Good to know,” I manage between laughs. “We’ll file that under ‘no sword fights.’”
He groans, covering his face, but he’s laughing too. The barista glances over, smiling like she’s seen this kind of chaos before.
When I finally catch my breath, he’s still watching me, eyes soft around the edges now. “You know,” he says, “you make it hard not to like you.”
“Yeah,” I say with a grin. “I get that a lot.”
We finish the worksheet after that—well, I finish it while he keeps trying to make me laugh. The sun outside dips lower, spilling amber light across the windowpane. The shop’s crowd thins until it’s just us and a few stragglers typing essays they’ll hate in the morning.
I pack up my notes and stretch, feeling the satisfying crack of my spine.
“So,” he says, gathering his things. “When’s our next study date?”
I raise an eyebrow. “You think you survived this one?”
“Barely.”
“Then maybe let’s not test your luck.”
He smirks, standing as I pull on my coat. “What if I bribe you with dinner next time?”
“Still no.”
“Steak?”
“Tempting,” I say, slinging my bag over my shoulder, “but no.”
He falls into step beside me as we head for the door, the late autumn light painting his hair gold. “You know,” he says, “I like a challenge.”
“Good,” I tell him. “Because I am one.”
He laughs, holding the door open for me. “Yeah,” he says as I step outside into the cool evening air. “I figured that out on day one.”
I grin, tugging my coat tighter against the chill. “Then maybe you’re smarter than your worksheet suggests.”
He mock-bows. “Progress.”
“Barely,” I shoot back, already walking toward the parking lot.
Behind me, his voice carries on the breeze—warm, cocky, a little too confident. “Don’t pretend you don’t like me, Penelope!”
I glance over my shoulder, smirking. “Oh, I like you, Talon.”
He freezes for half a second, surprised.
“I just like other people more.”
His laugh follows me all the way to my car.