Page 82 of Don't Puck the Wrong Brother

"Shit," I say, but I can't help the stupid smile spreading across my face. "It's just coffee."

"Sure, it is," Rodriguez winks.

"So, what's the play here?" Peterson asks, suddenly all business. "You bring the coffee, charm her study group, walk her back to her dorm after…"

"And then he doesn't kiss her goodnight," Miller interjects. "Leave her wanting more."

"Are you insane?" Cory looks at Miller like he's suggested I show up naked. "Of course he kisses her goodnight. But just a kiss. No tongue. Make her chase you a little."

"I'm not taking dating advice from a guy who confused twins at a party and called them both the wrong name," I say, shoving my gear into my bag.

"That was one time!" Cory protests. "And they were identical!"

"Jessica and Jennifer look nothing alike," Rodriguez points out. "One's blonde, one's brunette."

"They were both wearing hats!" Cory defends himself. "And it was dark!"

"Keep telling yourself that," Peterson laughs.

I finish packing up, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "As entertaining as this is, I have a coffee date to prepare for."

"It's not a date," Miller corrects me, mimicking my earlier tone. "It's just coffee."

"Exactly," I say, pointing at him. "See, you can be taught."

"Are you wearing that?" Cory asks, eyeing my jeans and team t-shirt critically.

"I'm bringing her coffee during a study session, not taking her to prom," I say. "This is fine."

"At least put on a button-down," Peterson suggests. "Show some effort."

"And cologne," Rodriguez adds. "But not too much. Like, one spray, max."

"Do you guys hear yourselves right now?" I ask, genuinely amused. "Since when did you all become the Queer Eye guys?"

"Since you started mooning over a girl who's clearly special enough to make you risk your relationship with your brother," Miller says, suddenly serious. "This isn't your usual hookup, so maybe don't treat it like one."

Damn. He has a point.

"I'm not taking fashion advice from a guy wearing mismatched socks."

Miller looks down at his feet—one sock navy, one black. "They were both dark! It was early!"

"Uh-huh," I head for the door, the guys' laughter following me out. "See you puckers tomorrow."

"Text updates!" Cory calls after me. "We're invested now!"

"Not a chance," I call back, but I'm smiling as I push through the doors and head out into the afternoon sun.

As I walk to my car, I check the time—4:30, plenty of time to go home, clean up, and map out the best strategy for this coffee delivery. I know it's just a small thing, bringing her caffeine during a study session. But somehow it feels significant, this chance to see her in her element, to be supportive rather than disruptive.

It's not a grand gesture. It's not a formal date. But it's a step, another piece in whatever we're doing. And right now, that's enough.

My phone buzzes with a text from the team group chat.

Miller:Operation Get Sandy Laid is officially a go.

Cory:Phase 1: Coffee Delivery. Phase 2: ??? Phase 3: PROFIT

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