Fifteen minutes late. Typical me. My so-called friends wouldn’t stop running their mouths about how this blind date was “exactly what I needed.” Like hell they know me. Like hell anyone does. Still… I showed up. Maybe out of boredom, maybe out of curiosity. Maybe because deep down I just wanted a distraction.

The restaurant’s warm glow hits me as I walk in, and for a second I think this won’t be too bad. Dim lights, couples whispering over wine, the faint sound of laughter romantic enough for whoever I was supposed to charm tonight.

I scan the tables, already planning the smirk I’ll throw when I spot my date. And then..

I freeze.

Because there she is. Sitting with her arms crossed so tight it looks like she’s holding herself together. Her jaw’s set, her brows drawn, and that storm brewing in her eyes? Yeah, I’ve seen it a thousand times, directed right at me. And God, I live for it.

For half a second, I think my friends are playing some cruel joke. Then it clicks no, this is worse. Fate itself is laughing at me. My blind date? My enemy? The girl who’s been under my skin since middle school?

I can’t help it the grin spreads across my face before I even move. I should walk away. I should bail. But that’s never been my style. No, I want to see that look on her face when she realizes she’s stuck here. With me.

I stroll over, slow and deliberate, like I’ve got all the time in the world. When she finally notices, her eyes widen just enough to give her away before she slams her mask back on. That little crack? Yeah, it’s all mine. Sliding into the seat across from her, I lean back, making myself comfortable, letting my gaze sweep over her from head to toe just to watch her bristle.

“Well, well,” I say, dragging out the words, low and amused.

“What’s grumpy pants doing here? Don’t tell me you’re my blind date.”

Of all the people in the world… it had to be her. My favorite argument. My favorite fight. The girl who never lets me win without a battle. This night just stopped being boring.