Winging it, p.14
Winging It, page 14
“You offering life advice now?” I teased, bumping my shoulder lightly against his.
He smirked, faint and fleeting. “Someone’s gotta keep you from setting yourself on fire.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I quipped back, nudging him again, this time on purpose.
For the briefest second, something in him eased.
Not enough to call it peace.
But enough to call it progress.
“You’re not walking,” Eren said as we reached the lobby doors, already fishing his keys out of his pocket like the matter was decided.
I blinked at him, caught between amusement and exasperation. “It’s two blocks.”
“Don’t care,” he said, voice like steel. “Get in the car.”
I stared for a second longer, searching his face for a crack, maybe a trace of teasing.
Nope.
Just stubborn, relentless Eren Thorne—professional brooder and part-time bodyguard, apparently.
“Fine.” I sighed, throwing my hands up in surrender. “But for the record, you’re being ridiculous.”
“Noted,” he said flatly, already unlocking the vehicle like he was herding a wayward cat.
The drive was predictably short and predictably silent. The campus lights smeared across the windows, painting us both in a patchwork of golds and shadows. Despite myself, the edges of my mouth tugged upward.
As we pulled up outside the third-year dorms, I turned toward him, cradling his jacket closer around me.
“Thanks for coming,” I said, meaning it.
Even if he’d acted like I was the biggest inconvenience since Dominion flare-ups.
“Sorry I ruined any social life you may or may not have.”
He shot me a sideways glare, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to scowl but couldn’t quite summon the energy.
“Don’t do it again,” he groused.
I laughed under my breath; the sound muffled against the fleece collar of his jacket.
Speaking of…
I slid my arms free and started to fold it neatly, reaching across the console to hand it back.
He just shook his head, one hand still on the wheel.
“Keep it,” he said, tone gruff but not unkind. “You can bring it back tomorrow.”
There was something about the way he said it—rough, careless—but it warmed something deep in my chest all the same.
I smiled, small and genuine, and pushed the door open.
The night air bit at my skin, crisp and cool after the stale warmth of the archives. I tugged his jacket tighter around me as I jogged up the steps, feeling his gaze on my back like a silent tether.
Only once I reached the second-floor window of my dorm room, light spilling into the dark, did I dare turn and glance out.
Eren’s car was still there, headlights idling like a silent sentinel.
It wasn’t until I flipped my room light on—casting myself fully into view—that he finally pulled away, the engine humming low as he disappeared into the night.
I stood there for a long moment, jacket heavy across my shoulders, wondering why the sight of his taillights vanishing down the street left me feeling so achingly seen.
Chapter
Nineteen
The next morning, I made my now ritualistic stop at Cinders & Steam, the bell above the door chiming in that cheerful way that always made my heart do a tiny skip. The familiar warmth hit me instantly—the rich scent of fresh coffee, baked goods, and something that always smelled faintly like cinnamon dreams and good decisions. I let it wrap around me, sinking into the feeling like it was a second skin.
Tawny looked up from behind the counter, her hair piled messily on top of her head and a fresh dusting of flour smudged across her apron like a badge of honor. Her grin was instant and knowing.
“Back for more?” she called out, already reaching for a mug. “What’s it today? Chai and a muffin?”
“Obviously,” I said, sliding onto my usual barstool like I owned it. “But I also need something for my very special sunshine friend.”
Tawny snorted. “Let me guess. Grumpier flavor?”
I pressed a hand to my heart, mock-offended. “You get me.”
She laughed and disappeared into the kitchen. I leaned against the counter, inhaling the thick, sweet air, trying not to think too hard about the extra item tucked into my bag—Eren’s jacket. Still smelling faintly like him. Still causing my brain to short-circuit if I thought about it for more than two seconds.
Tawny returned and slid a cup of steaming chai in front of me. The scent hit me first—comfort wrapped in clove and cardamom—and I almost sighed right there. Beside it, she placed a muffin so dark and chocolatey it practically glared at me.
“Black coffee chocolate chip,” Tawny said, winking. “Moody flavor profile. Perfect for your brooder.”
I grinned, carefully arranging both drinks and muffins. “You’re a lifesaver. Seriously.”
She gave me a little shooing motion. “Go. Charm the grump.”
I hesitated, smoothing my hands over Eren’s jacket one last time before folding it neatly over my arm. The faint smoky scent clung stubbornly to the fabric—warm, a little wild, nothing like Eli’s sharp cologne and crisp edges.
It was ridiculous how something so small could feel so personal.
Tucking everything carefully into my arms, I shot Tawny a grateful smile and called, “Thanks! I’ll let you know if he survives the muffin.”
Her laughter followed me out into the chilly morning, and I set off toward DAA headquarters, jacket secure in one hand, chai warming the other.
There was a strange kind of lightness in my chest—like maybe, just maybe, today wouldn’t be so bad after all.
I breezed into our shared workspace like a girl on a mission, sunlight practically trailing behind me, a chai in one hand and Eren’s jacket folded neatly over my arm. Victory muffins secured. Operation: Charm the Brooder was officially underway.
I plopped the muffin and drink onto his desk with a flourish. “Good morning, Agent Thorne!” I sang, too bright for the dim storm cloud currently hunched over his datapad. “I brought you a little something to help with that award-winning scowl.”
Nothing. Not even a twitch of acknowledgment. Eren just kept glowering at whatever report he was strangling with his eyeballs. He grunted—something that sounded vaguely like thanks—but honestly, it might’ve been leave me to die.
Not that I was deterred. If anything, it made me more determined.
“Didn’t sleep well?” I asked, setting the chai down gently next to him, like it might detonate if I moved too fast. “You know, science says muffins cure brooding. True story.”
He shifted in his chair, and I caught the way his shoulders tensed, tight coils of frustration he wasn’t even trying to hide.
“Too many reports,” he muttered finally, the words rough and scratchy, like they scraped their way out of him.
“Oh? Which ones?” I peered dramatically over his shoulder, stretching onto my tiptoes. “Because I’m pretty sure—”
Thud.
He snapped his datapad shut with enough force to make me flinch. The sound echoed between us, sharp and final.
The air in the room thickened, heavy with all the words he wasn’t saying. I leaned a hip against his desk, refusing to let the mood drag me under with it.
“You know,” I said lightly, fingers drumming against the wood, “you could let me in on your top-secret Grump Files. Maybe even let me help. Crazy thought, right?”
Eren finally turned his head, leveling a look at me so flat and cold it could’ve flash-frozen the sun. “I don’t need your help,” he said, each word clipped and final.
“But wouldn’t it be more fun if you did?” I flashed him my brightest, most infuriating smile, just to see if I could crack the armor today.
He didn’t answer. Just turned away and reopened his datapad, stonewalling harder than ever.
The silence buzzed around us like static. Heavy. Charged.
I exhaled slowly, picking up the muffin and plopping it even closer to his elbow with exaggerated care. If he was going to be stubborn, he was at least going to be stubborn with snacks.
I didn’t even blink when Eren finally snapped and hurled a stack of paperwork across the desk at me. Honestly, I was impressed. The papers fluttered through the air like wounded birds before landing with a sad little flop in front of me. Neatly stacked, because of course even his frustration was aggressively organized.
“If you have so much energy,” he said, voice sharp enough to slice through steel, “put it somewhere useful.”
I peered down at the offending pile. Protocol forms. Assessment templates. Budget breakdowns. Basically, the holy trinity of mind-numbing doom. I gave the stack a dramatic sigh, like it had personally betrayed me.
“Oh, thrilling,” I muttered under my breath, flipping through a few pages like I was searching for a hidden escape hatch. “Truly, I dreamed of this moment my whole life. Drowning in paperwork.”
Eren didn’t even dignify that with a glance. Just kept scowling at his datapad like it owed him money.
I slid into the chair across from him with a heavy flop, letting my chai thunk onto the desk. Fine. If he wanted petty? I could do petty spectacularly.
I started humming. Not just any song either—a disgustingly upbeat pop anthem about dancing under the stars and falling headfirst into a dream. Loud enough to be heard. Soft enough to be infuriating.
Eren’s gaze flicked up, narrowed. “Are you serious?”
“Always,” I said sweetly, tapping my fingers in time to the melody.
I picked up the first form and filled it out with the flourish of a wronged artist, each dramatic pen stroke punctuated by another off-key hum. When I got to a particularly boring section about inventory logs, I even threw in a little shoulder shimmy for good measure.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like why me.
I grinned wider, doubling down. “When you’re out on your own—” I sang under my breath, giving him a meaningful look, “—you gotta learn how to flyyyyy!”
He leaned back in his chair like he was seriously contemplating if he could legally leave me locked in this room forever.
Honestly? Best morning ever.
Somewhere between filing reports and weaponized pop ballads, I realized—maybe boring paperwork wasn’t so bad if you made it a battlefield. And judging by the way Eren kept sighing and glancing up from his datapad like I was personally shortening his lifespan, I was winning.
Mid-morning sunlight streamed through the office windows, casting sharp lines across the mess of reports and abandoned coffee cups. I sat cross-legged in my chair, flipping through another boring inventory sheet, humming one of my go-to peppy tunes just loud enough to make Eren’s eye twitch.
I hovered awkwardly by Eren’s desk, his jacket folded neatly in my arms. It felt heavier than it should’ve, like it was still carrying the weight of the night before — the quiet kindness he’d tried so hard not to show.
“Uh, here,” I said, clearing my throat and holding it out to him like a peace offering. “Your jacket. Thanks for… y’know. Last night.”
Eren barely looked up from his datapad, but he reached out and took it from me, his fingers brushing mine for the briefest second — just a whisper of contact that sent a weird, fluttery jolt through my chest. He gave a grunt of acknowledgment, folding the jacket once and tossing it onto the back of his chair without ceremony.
For a second, I just stood there, feeling stupidly warm and out of place, like I’d brought a bouquet of emotions to a funeral. But if Eren noticed my awkwardness, he didn’t say anything. He just shifted his focus back to whatever endless report he was pretending to read.
Still, as I turned away to retreat to my side of the room, I caught it — the tiniest glance he threw at the jacket, like maybe it wasn’t just a jacket after all.
And then, finally—finally—he let out a low grunt that sounded halfway between murder and surrender. “We’re wasting time.”
I perked up immediately, abandoning the paperwork like it had personally offended me. “Oh? What’s next? More thrilling budget reviews? Filing cabinet spelunking?”
He shot me a glare sharp enough to cut glass, but I just smiled wider, ready for whatever was coming.
“We need to refocus on the woman from Pulse,” he said, setting down his datapad with a definitive thunk. His voice dropped into that low, serious register that always made my pulse skip. “The one the neighbor mentioned. If we push too hard, she’ll spook.”
I leaned forward, instantly hooked. “You’re thinking undercover.”
Eren nodded once, crisp and decisive. “Low-key. No badges. No pressure.”
My heart raced—not from nerves, but from the thrill of it all. “Undercover?” I repeated, savoring the word like it was spun sugar. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
He didn’t share my enthusiasm. Shocker.
“What’s the cover?” I asked, already half-dreaming up costumes and accents. “Am I your bodyguard? Your secret admirer? Your devastatingly charming partner who makes you question all your life choices?”
Eren stared at me, completely deadpan. “You’re a nosy bar patron. Blend in. Don’t talk unless you have to.”
I gasped, clutching my imaginary pearls. “Reduced to background noise? How tragic. My talents—wasted.”
He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face like he regretted every choice that had led him here. But—there, just for a second—a flicker of something else. Amusement. Maybe even fondness.
“We'll meet at Pulse tonight,” he said, already tapping something into his datapad like he couldn’t escape fast enough.
“Tonight?” I cried dramatically. “But what will I wear? It needs to say, ‘mysterious yet approachable,’ while still hinting at my unparalleled charm and razor-sharp instincts.”
“Wear whatever doesn’t attract attention,” he muttered without looking up.
Challenge accepted.
I leaned back in my chair, grinning to myself. If Eren thought I couldn’t blend in while still being me, he was about to be very surprised.
The day dragged by in slow, mind-numbing tedium. I’d spent hours hunched over my desk, inputting Dominion records and updating case files until the words blurred into meaningless shapes. The soft clack of keyboards echoed through our mostly empty workspace, broken only by the occasional rustle of Eren flipping through his datapad or scribbling terse notes.
By midafternoon, I’d reached my limit.
I shoved back from my desk and swiveled toward him. “Okay,” I said, resting my chin in my hand. “Serious question.”
Eren didn’t look up. “No, you can’t fake your own death to escape paperwork.”
I huffed a laugh but pressed on. “I meant about tonight. Going undercover at Pulse. Any advice? Tips from the master of brooding in public?”
He finally glanced over, slow and unimpressed. “Blend in,” he said simply. “Observe. Don’t draw attention.”
I waited for more. When it didn’t come, I frowned. “That’s it? No secret agent tricks? No undercover hacks you want to pass down to your eager young protégé?”
He set his tablet down with a pointed sigh, like I was personally responsible for ruining his afternoon. “You’re overcomplicating it, Vale. It’s not about pretending. It’s about not standing out. Watch how people move, not just what they say. Keep your head down unless you have a reason to speak.”
I tapped my pen against my thigh, thinking. “But what if someone approaches me? Should I act… cool? Mysterious? Like I know a secret?”
Eren gave me a look so dry it could have started a brushfire. “Act like you’re there to drink. That’s it. No secret missions, no tragic backstories, no pretending to be a runaway princess. Just… be normal.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Define normal.”
“Not you,” he deadpanned.
I gasped, pressing a hand to my chest in mock offense. “Rude.”
“You asked,” he muttered, picking up his tablet again like he was officially done with me.
But I caught the flicker of amusement he tried to hide—and the faintest upward tug at the corner of his mouth before he turned away.
And somehow, even after a full day of mind-numbing drudgery, that tiny reaction made me feel like I’d won something important.
Chapter
Twenty
I stood in front of my mirror, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt as the soft light above my dresser buzzed and cast a lazy halo around me. Tonight was different. This wasn’t just slipping into Pulse for a drink and a few laughs. Tonight, I was going undercover — with Eren Thorne, of all people.
No pressure.
I dragged my fingers through my hair, letting it fall into loose, soft waves that felt just unruly enough to pass for effortless. Blend in, Eren had said. Blend in, don’t stand out. No Dominion sparkle, no angelic glow — just another girl nursing a drink and blending into the music-soaked crowd.
My dark green top clung to my frame just enough to feel confident but not enough to scream look at me. Paired it with my favorite dark jeans — snug, slightly distressed, and blessedly comfortable. As I twisted in front of the mirror, checking the outfit from every angle, I told myself it was enough.
Simple. Unremarkable. Perfect.
Except my heart was doing that annoying fluttery thing, half nerves and half anticipation. Not just because of the mission. Because of Eren, too. Because part of me — the completely irrational, traitorous part — wanted to prove I wasn't weak.
I straightened my posture and gave myself a once-over. This was fine. Totally normal. No big deal. I looked exactly like the type of person who had no secrets. Exactly like someone who wasn’t buzzing with the need to prove herself.
I grabbed my jacket, shoved my nerves down deep where they belonged, and smiled at my reflection — a wry little grin that said, You’ve survived worse. You can survive a night with Eren Thorne and the way he thinks you aren't good enough.
