Dante lounged in the DanCo break room, feet shamelessly propped on the coffee table. A half-empty mug of coffee rested between his fingers, steam curling lazily upward. Monday mornings dragged, but Dante seemed unfazed—too smug to care, too cool to try.
Cole stepped in, impeccably dressed in a navy suit. Sharp, clean. He looked like he'd just walked out of an ad—fresh, alert, every detail in place.
Dante's grin widened.
"Well, well. Look who survived the weekend. You look like you just sidestepped a wedding proposal."
Cole smirked, heading straight for the coffee machine. "Lifelong commitments? Not my style. Except for espresso."
Dante raised a brow. "So, what's the story? You disappeared with that caramel-cutie—Naya, right?"
Cole paused mid-pour. His jaw ticked.
"Naya. Yeah. I offered to get her home. That's all."
Dante nearly choked on his drink. "Wait, you didn't make a move? You? What's going on with you?"
Cole shrugged. "She's not like the others. She's… different. I used a call as an excuse. But I almost."
Dante leaned back, eyes sharpening. "Big words coming from Mr. One-Night-Only." He took a slow sip. "Meanwhile, your boy Dante here had a lapse in judgment. Jenny's texting me 'good morning' with sparkles and stars."
Cole chuckled. "You're a walking disaster, man."
"I'm the wild card," Dante said with a smirk. "But you? You're catching feelings. Should I be worried?"
Cole's smile faded into something quieter, heavier. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just waiting for the right kind of fire."
Dante whistled. "That sounds dangerously poetic. You okay, boss?"