"It was amazing, Rivas," Baker sighed dreamily, her voice muffled by passing cars as she made her way to class. "They had so many tips."

I sat in my favorite button-tufted seat with my legs folded comfortably beneath me. A hefty textbook lay in my lap, desecrated with margin notes and highlighter streaks, and a 16-ounce coffee cup leaned against my thigh. A few feet away, the fireplace fed me the most pleasurable heat, fogging up the old windows around me and blocking the view of a hazardous, icy parking lot.

"I'm really happy to hear that, B," I said, tucking my phone between my ear and shoulder so I could turn to the next page of my book. "Did you get all your questions answered?"

Baker had just attended a USAC event with students from previous study abroad programs, including the University of Pau. I tried my best to sound enthusiastic and supportive of her endeavor—because I was genuinely happy for her—but it was difficult to keep my selfish thoughts at bay. The last thing I wanted was for her to detect a splash of resentment or jealousy on my tongue. I refused to taint her excitement.

"Yeah, mostly. Except all the other students were interested in academia and travel destinations, and I was the only one asking about the night life and where to find the best bars. They all think I'm an alcoholic now."

"Are you not?"

"Only on the weekends."

I snorted and brushed gazes with Theo from across the shop. He manned the entire coffee bar this afternoon, smiling at me every few minutes and occasionally walking by to clean off tables or deliver pastries to customers.

Since we started hooking up, he'd stopped writing insults on my cup sleeves, choosing to torture me with extremely dirty and provocative comments instead. Determined to get a rise out of me, erotic or otherwise.

"Anyway. How's your boy toy?"

"Honestly...pretty great. We've been meeting up every Friday night, and as much as it pains me to admit it, the whole thing has been really fun." We always treated ourselves to good food and entertainment, and of course, marathons of stimulating sex. And the best part was, I never left his house feeling used or hollow. Theo was an expert at aftercare, and he never failed to brew me a giant cup of coffee in the morning—with extra sugar and cream, exactly how I liked it.

I spent all week looking forward to the following weekend, and the sparse texts we exchanged between our meetups had my stomach doing backflips.

"Wow. I can't believe you've actually found yourself a fuck buddy, Mona. That's crazier than the killer clown attacks of '16. Or a global pandemic. Or a bunch of maniacs storming the capitol building." She stopped to swear at something, then kept walking. "Sometimes I think the world ended in 2012, and we've all just been living in purgatory, you know? How else do you explain the government confirming the existence of aliens? Or murder hornets? You remember those?" I could picture her shaking her head at the mystery of it all. "Something is wrong with the universe, I'm telling ya."

"It's absolutely crazy," I agreed, amused by my friend's chaotic mind. "You were right, though. This fling has been...exactly what I needed. So, thanks for the nudge."

I heard her smiling through her next words. "Yeah, well, that's what ace women were born to do. Advise people on their sexual habits and love affairs." She paused. "Just remember to keep the mawkish couple-y stuff out of it. That's how you ruin a good fling."

I took a long, thoughtful sip of coffee. "Yeah, I'm way ahead of you."

Theo and I had already begun drawing boundaries for anything that felt too intimate or romantic for a 'peers with privileges' dynamic. So far, we'd established that I could not, under any circumstances, softly scratch his back, wrists, or biceps during our post-sex cuddle. He said Alyssa used to do that, and it was a surefire way to make him fall in love with me.

And then last week, after sex, Theo had leaned over to kiss me on the forehead. The loving gesture had freaked me out, so I'd deemed it "overkill"—our code word for a boundary crossed.

Forehead kisses, really? he'd teased. That's the key to your heart?

And I'd promptly shoved him off the bed.

"Well, you let him know that if he pulls anything shady, I'm not above vandalism," Baker disclosed. "Or food adulteration. Or—"

"I'll be sure to pass it on, B." My eyes wandered back to the handsome barista. "By the way, Theo says he'll make you a free coffee this month. Said it would serve as a 'thank you' for planting the whole casual hookup idea in my head."

She was quiet for a few seconds. "Bribery, huh? What a manipulative piece of shit."

"But effective, hm?"

"Oh, most definitely."

A few days later, it was well past midnight when my phone started vibrating obnoxiously, pulling me from my slumber. I sleepily fumbled for the device, then squinted at the contact displayed on the screen.

What the hell?

"Hello?" I mumbled, blinking away the drowsiness.

"Hey. You up?" came Theo's wobbly reply.

My brow creased. "I am now. What's going on? Are you okay?"

He waited an unbearable amount of time before responding. "I...this might be an overkill situation. But I need to talk to someone."

The fragility in his voice had me sitting up in bed, scowling into the darkness. "Yeah, of course. What's wrong?" I gathered the sheets to my chest, fighting off a shiver. This condo was as good as a cardboard box in the winter with its shitty insulation and ancient heating system. "Are you hurt?"

Again, he thought over his words too long, as if he were afraid to voice his concerns to me, as if we were about to unlock the inner gate of emotional baggage. "No. I'm not hurt." He sounded like he was on the verge of tears, and I didn't know what to do. All I could offer him was my attention and sympathy right now. "It's my mom's...it's the anniversary of when she passed," he said, and my heart tipped on its side.

Oh.

I turned on my lamp and waited for him to continue.

"It usually doesn't upset me this much, not anymore, but I used to have..." He swallowed. "Alyssa used to be there. Alyssa knew my mom, and I just..." He trailed off, and I clutched tight to my phone, listening to him grapple with his conflicted feelings. "Fuck, I'm sorry. This isn't part of our deal. Charlie's out having fun, and no one else was picking up. I just didn't know who to call—"

"Hey, it's okay," I assured him, aching at the thought of him feeling so lonely in his grief. "It's not overkill, Theo." My gaze slid to the window, wondering what brought this on all of a sudden, what he was doing, where he was at. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He let out a long, weary breath. "...No. I guess I just needed a distraction." Rustling and squeaking on the other end of the phone told me he was climbing back into bed, and I slumped against my headboard in relief. "Do you think you can just...talk?"

A small smile tugged at my lips. "A man asking me to talk his ear off about any subject? Now that's a first." I had no visual cues to work with, so I could only hope my humor was well-received. "Any preferences?"

"Anything but your obsession with period dramas."

I gasped into the phone. "What do you have against Jane Austen, Theo?"

"Everything," he griped, his trademark cynicism making a recovery. His tone was less brittle now. Less shaken. "Take Mr. Douche, for starters. He's a jerk. And then he flexes his hand, and suddenly all the girls love him and forgive his shitty attitude? What's with that?"

I rolled my eyes. "He's repressing his feelings, you neanderthal. There's yearning behind all that subtle body language."

"Is there."

"Yes," I groaned. "Besides, I thought you would relate to Darcy. He doesn't have any manners, and he's rude to the women he's attracted to. Ring a bell?"

He huffed, but I heard the grin on his lips. "I was never that rude to you."

"You once asked me if I was growing out my mustache for No-Shave November."

"I wrote that on a thousand coffee cups. Doesn't count."

"Okay, what about the time you followed me around with a mop?"

That one pulled a genuine laugh from his throat. "It's not my fault you spilled your coffee three times in a one week! I had to be vigilant."

I scoffed, grateful he couldn't see the amusement on my face. "Well, it was humiliating."

"And funny as hell."

I flopped on my side, suddenly less cold in my sheets and completely uninterested in returning to sleep. "So when you asked me to fill the silence, you really just wanted an opportunity to insult me, huh?"

"It's an unintended consequence of interacting with you."

"Ah."

We went on like that for a while, exchanging jabs and barbless jokes. Per his request, I recounted my day, along with the unfortunate reality that I'd become Elijah's Photoshop tutor and personal confidant. Theo told me the car fanatic was playing the long game, but I insisted he was simply an idiot.

"Theo?" I whispered after twenty minutes of directionless rambling.

"Yeah."

"...Are you okay?"

He took a moment to reflect, and then he mumbled, "I think so."

"Should I keep talking?"

"No...I'm getting pretty tired. But maybe you can just stay on the line for a while?"

I stared up at the ceiling, and his admission put a warm, fuzzy feeling in my chest. "I can do that. But if you start snoring, I'm hanging up."

"That's valid."

After turning off the light, I put him on speakerphone and burrowed into the blankets, listening to the rustle of soft fabric ten miles away.

"Thanks, Mona," he said a few minutes later, both of us barely hanging onto consciousness.

"You should call me Moe," I told him, fatigue lacing my words—and perhaps clouding my judgement. "My parents call me Mona, and it sounds weird in your mouth."

"That's how you introduced yourself," he complained.

"Well, I changed my mind. Baker calls me Rivas most of the time, and Jay...Jay calls me Roe because he likes to be different. But I've always liked Moe." And I'd always pictured my lover calling me that, even if Theo was a caricature of the pretty portrait in my head.

"Okay. Then...thanks, Moe."

I closed my eyes and smiled into my pillow. "Anytime."