Chapter 27: The Diner Study

"Take your hands off her," Knox said, "before I break your fingers."

Chase’s arm went rigid. He gasped sharply as Knox tightened his grip on his wrist, his knuckles turning white as he squeezed hard.

"Who the hell..." Chase started, trying to yank his arm back.

He didn’t get an inch as Knox didn’t even flinch. He just stood there, towering over the booth, his broad shoulders blocking out the diner’s neon light, his dark eyes fixed on Chase with an expression so cold it made the air in the room feel ten degrees colder.

"I said," Knox repeated in a low, dangerously calm voice, "take your hands off her."

Chase’s fingers snapped open, letting go of my wrist completely. He scrambled back against the red vinyl seat, clutching his forearm where red marks were already forming.

The quiet guy at the end of the booth was already sliding toward the edge. "Chase, man, that’s Sheridan. Briar’s captain. Let’s go."

Chase swallowed hard, his bravado evaporating into thin air as he looked up into Knox’s face. He tried to scowl, but his eyes darted nervously to the front door. "We were just ordering food, man. No big deal."

"You’re in the wrong town to make trouble," Knox said quietly, not taking his eyes off him. "Get out."

Nobody argued.

The four Kingston guys slid out of the booth so fast one of them almost tripped over his own boots. They didn’t even grab their menus. They just shuffled past Knox, keeping a wide berth, and practically sprinted out into the cold night.

The front door banged shut behind them, leaving the diner dead quiet once more.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, pulling my wrist close to my chest. My skin was still throbbing where Chase had squeezed it; going red and warm.

Knox turned his head, his gaze dropping straight to my wrist. The coldness on his face didn’t fade, but something shifted in his eyes.

"Did he hurt you?" he asked.

"I’m fine," I said in a surprisingly steady voice as I rubbed my wrist with my thumb. "Just a jerk who couldn’t take a hint."

Knox didn’t look convinced. His eyes lingered on the red marks for a second longer before he looked up into my face with a tight jaw. "Why didn’t you text me?"

"I did text you," I pointed out, gesturing to my apron pocket. "At five o’clock. When Denise had to leave."

"I was on the ice until seven," Knox said flatly. "When I got to 4C and you weren’t there, I checked your schedule."

I blinked. "You checked my work schedule?"

Knox didn’t answer.

Instead, he unslung his gym bag from his shoulder and tossed it onto the empty table of the booth Chase had just vacated. He unzipped it, pulled out a thick, black leather-bound binder and a stack of printed macroeconomics charts, and set them squarely on the laminate top.

Then he slid into the vinyl seat and looked up at me.

"What are you doing?" I asked, staring at him.

"Sitting down," Knox said, pulling out a pen. "You owe me two hours, Bennett. We’re doing them now."

"Sheridan, it’s almost ten o’clock," I said, gesturing around the empty diner. "I have to flip the chairs, wipe the counters, and lock up."

"Then get a move on," Knox replied, uncapping his pen without looking up. "And bring me a black coffee while you’re at it. Cold pot is fine."

I stared at him for three full seconds, waiting for the punchline. But Knox just opened his binder and started reviewing his notes like this was the most normal place in the world to hold a study session.

I let out a dry laugh, shaking my head, but I walked back behind the counter anyway.

For the next forty-five minutes, Rusty’s Diner became the weirdest study hall on campus. While I swept the linoleum floors, stacked chairs onto the tables, and wiped down the soda fountain,

Knox sat in the corner booth, sipping lukewarm coffee and throwing economics questions at me across the room.

"Bennett. Explain marginal utility relative to price elasticity."

"If the ratio of marginal utility to price isn’t equal across goods, the consumer can reallocate spending to increase total utility," I called back over the sound of the broom, sweeping a pile of napkins into a dustpan. "And drink your coffee before it gets any worse."

He didn’t reply, but when I looked up, he was quietly watching me over the top of his binder with a hard to read expression.

By eleven o’clock, the counters were spotless, the register was cleared, and the front door was deadbolted.

I took off my yellow apron, hung it on the back hook, and grabbed my canvas coat. Knox stood up, zipped his binder back into his bag, and held the back door open as we stepped out into the freezing midnight air.

The walk Back to my apartment was quiet. The autumn wind bit at us, swirling dry leaves along the sidewalk. Knox stayed on the street side, his hands shoved deep into his varsity jacket pockets. He slowed his long strides just enough to match my tired pace.

We reached the front steps of my building, the yellow porch light casting a warm glow over the concrete.

"Thanks," I said softly, pulling my collar tight against the cold. "For... back at the diner."

"He was an idiot," Knox said simply.

He unzipped his gym bag again, but this time he didn’t pull out a textbook. He reached deep into the bottom and pulled out a folded mass of fabric, holding it out to me.

I looked down at it. It was his official Briar home jersey... deep purple mesh with silver-white trim, the bold number 19 stitched across the chest in thick tackle twill, and SHERIDAN arched across the back.

"What’s this?" I asked, looking up at him.

"Your pass for tomorrow night," Knox said in a quiet voice. "The home opener. Section 102, second row."

"Knox, I can’t wear this," I said, hesitating as I looked at the giant 19. "Everyone in the arena is going to see me wearing your jersey. The boosters, the students...."

Knox stepped closer, coming up the first concrete step until he was looking right down into my eyes. The faint smell of clean cedar and cold air drifted off him, completely surrounding me.

"That’s the point, Bookworm," Knox replied, holding my gaze. "I want everyone in that arena... including my father to know who you belong to."