Page 27 of Tessa and Nash

There it is.

The old heat flares, fast and familiar. Lockers slamming. Debate podiums. Test scores posted on the wall. Him grinning like none of it mattered. Me caring enough for both of us.

“At least I finished things,” I shoot back.

His smile turns dangerous. “You still think I don’t?”

For one reckless second, I want to step closer. To close the space myself, just to see if the pull eases or snaps.

The thought is so startling I physically still.

I open my mouth.

Stop.

Because the way he’s looking at me now, not joking at all, does something deeply inconvenient to my breathing.

We’re too close. I can smell him. Cedar and citrus. Unmistakably Nash. The bar noise dulls, or maybe I just stop noticing it. This is how mistakes happen, I think dimly. One breath at a time.

Neither of us speaks.

Then he exhales, running a hand over his face. “Look. I’m not doing this tonight.”

“Doing what?” I ask.

“This.” He gestures vaguely between us. “Whatever this is. Because if we keep going, someone’s gonna bring up the calculus exam incident.”

“You cheated,” I say instantly.

“I collaborated.”

“You wrote on your arm.”

“In pencil.”

I bite back a smile.

“Good,” I say, lifting my chin. “Because I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

His brow arches. “Really?”

“No,” I admit. “I came for answers.”

He studies me for a long beat, then shakes his head. “Figures.”

The tension shifts, not gone, never gone, but redirected. The sharp edge dulls just enough to breathe around.

“Drink?” he asks abruptly.

I blink. “Is that your idea of crowd control?”

“Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe I just don’t want the entire bar thinking we’re about to reenact senior year.”

I snort. “You still lost that argument.”

He grins, quick and real this time. “Only because you cheated.”

“I cited sources.”