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My cheeks flush in embarrassment and my stomach grows hotter. I’ve never really felt something like this before. Sure, I’ve been embarrassed, but this feels different. My heart squeezes, my knees feel weak, and my ears are burning.

“God, I’m sorry, okay?” I choke out in frustration. “I’ve been awake three days studying for an exam, and now the administration is pressuring students to come to this event oninclusivitywhen half of the campus still uses the f-slur and the majority of the faculty is white. It’s seven in the morning, so excuse me if I’m so exhausted that I bumped into you.”

I start to move around Dante, no longer in the mood for his complaining. I leave my coffee cup on the ground.

Before I can get around him, a large, warm hand wraps around my wrist, and suddenly I’m yanked back toward him.

“What the—” I gasp, and stumble backward slightly as I pull my arm from Dante’s hold.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he practically growls at me.

“You’ve got to me kidding me,” I say as I’m catching my breath. “Get over yourself, Dante.”

He blinks. “You know my name?”

I scoff. “Obviously. Doesn’t everyone? Your reputation is hard to ignore,” I mumble as I rub at my wrist. My hand is mostly dry now, but the skin still burns.

“Since you know my name, what’s yours?” he asks.

“Ethan. What do you want from me? Do you want me to pay for the dry cleaning or not?” I ask him, even though at this point I’m pretty sure I don’t owe him shit.

“Let me get you another coffee,” Dante says.

I stare at him. “What?”

“Don’t make it weird, just accept it,” he says, his intense gaze boring into mine and making it difficult to think, much less get any words out. The sudden change in his demeanor confuses me, but I find myself nodding and taking a step closer to him anyway.

“Good boy,” he hums, his voice low and raspy. My cock twitches in my jeans and my thoughts turn cloudy with surprise.

What the fuck was that?

I ignore it, because the only explanation is too much for me to handle right now.

Dante leads me into the small local coffee shop, where four other people are waiting in line. I stop when we get to the end of the line, but Dante keeps walking.

“Uh.” I look around for a moment, noticing the people in front of me giving Dante dirty looks.

“Come on,” Dante motions, looking at me with even more annoyance.

I’m caught between social etiquette and not wanting to upset him further.

“Sorry,” I mumble to the person in front of me, then follow Dante to the front of the line.

“Hey,” the woman at the front of the line complains, but as soon as her gaze lands on Dante, recognition crosses her face. “Oh.”

“You need to wait your turn, sir,” the barista, Rachel, who I know is new, says with a frown.

“It’s fine; he can go first,” the woman at the front of the line insists as she takes a step back.

The tension in the room is only growing thicker, but something about it feels exciting.Cutting the line with Dante Romano. It’s silly, really. But I don’t stop it.

“What do you want?” Dante asks me.

I clear my throat. “One medium coffee with oat milk and two pumps vanilla.” I’m not sure if I’m telling him or Rachel, but either way she nods and taps it into the order screen.

“Large coffee, black,” Dante orders.

I can’t help the way my face scrunches in disgust, but I quickly try to hide it as he looks at me, making my expression as neutral as possible.