Chapter 52 Is Your Friend Getting Anything?
Andrew finally turned his head, meeting Josh’s eyes. One brow arched. “And what makes you think that?”
Josh leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “For one, she’s hella rich. Her dad’s one of the chief judges in this state. So I don’t think she’ll want to have anything to do with people like us. Most especially you.”
Andrew’s brow climbed higher. “What do you mean, most especially me?”
Josh grinned, teasing. “Well… have you ever tasted wealth?”
“Fuck you.” Andrew’s laugh came out quick and quiet.
Josh sobered slightly, though the smile lingered. “But seriously, I don’t think she’ll want to deal with someone like you.”
Andrew’s expression shifted— smile fading into something sharper, more focused. His gaze slid back to Maggie. “Is that a challenge?”
Josh noticed the change in tone immediately. “What makes you think you can ever have a chance with her?”
Andrew’s smile returned— slow, dangerous, eyes still locked on the front row. “Because we spoke yesterday. At F&S club— the one my uncle DJs at. And she was really cool.”
Josh’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“Yes. Really.” Andrew nodded once, decisive. “I saw her with some dude who seemed to be bothering her. I stepped in. Chased the dude off.”
Josh adjusted in his seat, turning fully toward Andrew now. “Really?”
Andrew leaned in, voice barely above breath. “Deadass. She was in the hallway near the VIP stairs— guy had her wrist, wasn’t letting go. She looked pissed. I walked up, asked if he was bothering her. She said yes. I squared up. Told him to let her go or find out what happens next. He let go. Tried to play it off like she could walk home. She told him she would. Then she asked if she knew me. I said we’re classmates. Shook hands. Offered to walk her home— she said no. But I could tell she was feeling me.”
"Feeling you?" Josh stared at him, mouth slightly open. “You’re telling me you played knight in shining armor for Maggie— and you felt she was into you?”
Andrew’s grin turned smug. “She took my hand. Shook it. Smiled— small, but real. Said ‘I knew I knew this face.’ Then she walked out. I know if i had pressed harder yesterday, she'd have allowed me to walk her home.”
Josh exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slowly. “Bro…”
“What?” Andrew’s eyes sparkled.
“You might actually have a shot.”
Andrew leaned back, arms folding across his chest, gaze drifting back to the front row where Maggie’s pen never stopped moving.
“I know,” he murmured. “I know I do.”
Up front, Professor Wilfred circled back to the podium. “Next case— Herring v. United States. Who can tell me the holding?”
Maggie’s hand rose first— clean, confident.
Andrew watched her arm lift, watched the way her ponytail swayed slightly with the motion, watched the professor nod at her in that approving way he reserved for only a handful of students.
Josh nudged him again— gentle this time. “You’re staring.”
Andrew didn’t deny it. “I know.”
They both fell quiet after that— pens scratching, Wilfred’s voice rolling on— but Andrew’s smile stayed: small, private, unshakable.
The lecture continued. The clock above the door ticked toward 8:50.
And somewhere in the front row, Maggie turned one page, started another, completely unaware that two rows back, someone had already decided she was worth every risk.
\---
'TWO MONTHS LATER – AFTER ANDREW AND JOSH’S DISCUSSION IN CLASS ABOUT MAGGIE – A FIVE-STAR RESTAURANT ON CAMPUS – ANDREW’S POV'
The 5-star restaurant smelled of seared beef, melted cheddar, fresh-cut fries, and the faint citrus tang of house-made lemonade. At 4:03 p.m. sunlight slanted through tall windows in long golden bars, warming the dark-wood tables and catching on the polished chrome edges of the counter. Soft jazz drifted from hidden speakers— Billie Holiday’s voice curling around the low murmur of student conversations and the occasional clink of cutlery.
Andrew and Josh pushed through the glass doors together, shoulders brushing. Andrew wore his usual ash-grey hoodie and black cargo pants; Josh had on a white tee and navy joggers, both carrying the faint scent of dorm-room body spray and the crisp October air outside. They wove past a cluster of undergrads sharing sweet-potato fries and reached the counter.
Josh immediately turned, leaned his back against the polished edge, elbows hooked on the marble, and scanned the room with casual interest. Andrew stepped up to order.
“Good afternoon, sir. What will you be having today?” The cashier— mid-twenties, black, braids pulled into a neat high bun, name tag reading “Aisha”— offered a warm, practiced smile.
Andrew returned a faint one of his own. “I’ll have a Double Cheeseburger, please. Everything on it— lettuce, tomato, onions, pickles— and could you add some ketchup and mustard?”
“Sure thing.” Aisha’s fingers flew across the touchscreen register. “Is your friend getting anything?”