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Kiernan

He takes my hand as we walk into the restaurant, and I grimace as the hostess does a double take.

Yeah, yeah. He’s hot. We know.

Her eyes slide over to me and then down to our hands, and she looks a bit surprised, glancing back up at his face and then blushing.

“Hi,” he says after a long beat of awkward silence. “Table for two? Under McGrath.”

“Yes, um, right this way please,” she mumbles.

“Well this is fun,” I mutter.

“What’s fun?”

“Being stared at.”

He shrugs. “It happens.”

“You’re used to people staring at you for a living. I much prefer to hide behind an abnormally large textbook at the back of the room, thank you.”

He squeezes my hand as we slide into the booth, letting it go slowly like he’s reluctant. I’m having kind of a hard time keeping up with his moods, but I feel like that has more to do with who he is as a person than with me. I have no context for boys except Connor who has always just been the boy from down the street with the purple mulberry stains on his cheeks, to me, and I definitely have no context for men, but I’m not stupid. I know he’s . . . a lot.

I like this place. It’s moody, like him, with black floors and black walls and black booths lit only by glowing orange candles and sparkling chandeliers. I make a mental note to thank SJ ferociously for her outfit choice; I’d have looked like a fucking peasant if I’d worn my jeans.

A server shows up at the table staring at him expectantly and based on her expression, I’d say she isn’t disappointed. Cool.

“Hi, my name is—”

“I’ll have a negroni,” he interrupts her without looking at her. “Kiernan?”

I’m not old enough to drink here, I scream mentally, but he rolls his eyes at my face like he can tell what I’m thinking.

“She’ll have a glass of sauvignon blanc. Thank you.”

The girl gapes at him, and I stifle a snort. Yeah. He’s definitely a lot. She picks up what he’s putting down, which is very clearly a fuck off and leave us alone, I’ll let you know when I’m ready for you vibe, and scurries away with her head down.

“Well, at least I know you’re this mean to everyone.”

“I’m not here to have a conversation with her,” he says. “I’m here to have a conversation with you.”

“You know you’re kind of impressively romantic for a complete and total dick.”

He ignores my comment. “You should apply for exemptions to the introductory prerequisites so you can just start in the upper-level courses next fall when you come full-time. Most of the first-year classes aren’t like this. They’re all review and fluff. I guarantee you none of the students in those classes are reading peer reviewed journals on mathematics over breakfast.”

“I can’t get out of the prerequisites, James. They’re prerequisites. ”

“You can. And you will.”

“How?”

“Prior knowledge challenge. Just write the test and you’ll get the credit.”

I chew on my lip. It would be nice to start with some of the classes I’m actually interested in, but . . .

“I don’t really want to fast-track the entire experience. The point of a four-year degree is to spend four years in school. If I challenge the first two years of my degree, I’ll be twenty when I graduate. Who would even hire me?”

“I would,” he says without hesitation, but he waves it off like it’s nothing. “Get your undergrad in two and do your master’s. Same number of years, twice the merit.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Isn’t getting into a master’s degree in this field kind of hard? I’ve heard it’s next to impossible.”

His eyes sparkle. “The admissions board is very . . . particular.”

“Is a blowjob in a park all it takes? Girls will be lining up for that deal.”

“Kiernan,” he says harshly, “I am particular about who I accept into the program because most students can’t handle the workload.”

“What if I can’t handle it either? I haven’t even taken one of your tests yet!”

“Yes, you have,” he says, pinning me with a stare.

We’re interrupted by the server dropping off our drinks. She moves so quickly it’s basically a drive-by, unwilling to linger, since we clearly haven’t touched our menus yet.

I pick up the glass and take a small sip.

“Oh!” I say, and take another. “This is nice.”

He makes a funny face. “You’ve never had wine?”

I shake my head. “High school parties are more of a vodka and cream soda crowd. Not many wine connoisseurs in twelfth grade.”

He grimaces. “Vodka and cream soda?”

I shrug. “Or beer.”

“You’re all heathens.”

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

I smile as I sip the wine again, reaching for the menu and flipping it open. I don’t know what I expected out of university, but it definitely wasn’t this.

“Kiernan?”

“Hm?”

“Challenge the prerequisites.”

I glance up at him over my menu. “Yes, sir.”

He chokes on his negroni.