The drive off campus felt strangely illicit, like slipping past an invisible boundary neither of them had ever dared to test before. Scarlett sat in the passenger seat of Max’s car, posture straight even against the leather, hands folded neatly in her lap as if discipline could follow her beyond Walden’s gates. Outside, late afternoon light spilled across rolling pastures and white fencing that gradually gave way to winding country roads lined with bare winter trees. Max drove with one hand resting easily on the wheel, the other tapping idly against the console in rhythm with the low music humming through the speakers.
"You’re awfully quiet," he remarks, glancing sideways at her, sage-grey eyes warm with amusement. "I thought coffee dates came with at least three performance critiques."
"This isn’t a date," Scarlett replies smoothly, though she doesn’t quite meet his eyes. "It’s a beverage."
He grins. "Ah. A competitive beverage?"
She almost smiles at this - almost - but instead allows herself a small huff of breath as the car turns into a quiet brick-lined street just beyond campus. The café comes into view at the corner, soft golden lights glowing through wide windows fogged slightly from the warmth inside. Max pulls into a parking spot, cutting the engine as the world falls briefly still around them. For a moment, neither moves. Then he unbuckles his seatbelt and shoots her a sideways look.
"Ready to waste some time with me, Warrens?"
Inside the café, the air is warm with roasted espresso and low conversation, golden light catching in Scarlett’s blonde hair as she stirs her drink with precise, absent movements. Max should be listening to the story she is telling - something about Walden’s conditioning schedule and the absurdity of 5 a.m. flatwork sessions - but instead he finds himself watching the way her lips curve around certain words, the faint constellation of freckles across her sunkissed skin, the controlled elegance in even the smallest gestures. He doesn’t realize he’s gone quiet until she tilts her head slightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction over the rim of her cup.
"What?" she asks coolly.
"Nothing," he replies far too quickly, though his gaze doesn’t entirely retreat.
Scarlett pretends not to notice after that, continuing her explanation with immaculate composure, but there is a subtle stiffness to her shoulders now, a hyper-awareness in the way she avoids meeting his eyes for too long. She can feel it - his attention, steady and warm, tracing over her like sunlight she refused to acknowledge. So she keeps talking, keeps her chin lifted, keeps her tone level. As if ignoring the way his gaze lingered would somehow stop the faint, traitorous flutter in her chest.
"What's up with you? Usually you can't stop talking, now your dead silent. Were you not just teasing me earlier, Summers?" Scarlett finally meets his warm gaze, taking a sip of her cappuchino.
Max lifts a brow, caught - but not nearly embarrassed enough about it. He leans forward slightly, forearms resting on the table, fingers loosely wrapped around his cup.
"Wow," he says lightly, a crooked smile forming. "Took you long enough to call me out."
His gaze holds hers this time, steady and warm rather than overly playful.
"I was teasing you earlier," he admits. "But I didn’t expect you to actually relax for five minutes. It threw me off."
His eyes flick down to her cappuccino, then back up again.
"You’re different out here," he adds, tone softer but still threaded with humor. "Less perfection. More… human."
A beat.
"Don’t worry though," he smirks. "If my silence makes you uncomfortable, I can go back to annoying you. I’m very talented at it."
Scarlett lowers her cup slowly, eyes narrowing just slightly as she studies him over the rim.
"Relax?" she repeats, one brow arching. "Don’t flatter yourself, Summers. I’m not relaxed. I’m simply tolerating you in a setting that doesn’t involve a stopwatch."
She sets the cup down with deliberate care, brushing a nonexistent speck of foam from her lip before leaning back in her chair.
"And human?" she adds coolly. "I’ve always been human. You’re just usually too busy trying to impress me to notice."
Her gaze flicks over him - quick, assessing, almost daring.
"But by all means," she continues smoothly, a faint challenge threading through her tone, "go back to being annoying. I’d hate for you to lose the only skill you consistently outperform me in."
Max lets out a soft, incredulous laugh, shaking his head as he leans back in his chair again, completely unfazed.
"Impress you?" he repeats, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Scarlett, I’ve been under the impression that you’ve been trying to impress me this whole time."
His sage-grey eyes gleam with amusement as he leans forward slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make it feel intentional.
"And outperform you in annoyance?" he continues. "That’s not a skill. That’s strategy. Keeps you sharp."
He taps his fingers lightly against his coffee cup, studying her like she’s a particularly interesting puzzle.
"But let’s be honest," he adds with a slow grin. "If you really wanted me gone, you wouldn’t have gotten in the car."
Another beat.
"You like the competition," he says smoothly. "You just don’t like that I enjoy it too."
Scarlett’s fingers pause lightly against her cup, though her expression doesn’t falter. She tilts her head just slightly, studying him the way she studies a course walk - careful, strategic, never rushed.
"Enjoying competition and needing attention aren’t the same thing, Summers," she replies evenly. "I compete because I refuse to be second. You compete because you like the spotlight."
Her eyes flick down to his tapping fingers, then back up again, cool but unmistakably engaged.
"And don’t mistake my presence here for indulgence," she adds smoothly. "I got in the car because I don’t back down from a challenge."
A faint, almost dangerous smile touches her lips.
"If you think this is about liking you," she murmurs, leaning back in her chair with quiet confidence, "you’re overestimating yourself."
But she doesn’t look away.
Max watches her for a long second after she finishes, that slow grin never quite leaving his face - but it softens, shifts, becomes something sharper.
"Overestimating myself?" he echoes lightly.
He leans forward, forearms resting on the table again, closing the space just enough to make the conversation feel private despite the quiet hum of the café around them.
"No," he says calmly. "I think I’ve estimated this pretty accurately."
His gaze drops briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes, unhurried.
"You don’t back down from challenges," he continues. "You run straight at them. Which means if I were just a distraction. . . you wouldn’t be sitting here proving you’re unaffected."
A subtle tilt of his head.
"And the spotlight?" he adds with a quiet huff. "Trust me, Warrens. If I wanted attention, I’d be performing."
His voice lowers just slightly.
"I’m not performing."
The words hang there - not heavy, not dramatic - but steady.
"So you think I'm giving you attention, is that is Summers?" she replies smoothly, eye brow raised at him.
Max doesn’t even hesitate.
He leans back slowly, one corner of his mouth lifting as if she’s just walked straight into something he’s been waiting for.
"Oh, I don’t think," he says lightly. "I know."
His fingers trace absent circles along the rim of his cup, eyes never leaving hers.
"You analyze my rides. You notice when I change my line. You call me out when I overtrust my mare." A small shrug. "You pay attention, Scarlett."
His grin softens into something more deliberate.
"And I’m not offended by it," he adds. "I just find it interesting that the girl who claims she doesn’t slow down for anyone keeps matching my pace."
A third beat.
"So no," he murmurs smoothly. "I don’t think you’re giving me attention."
He tilts his head slightly.
"I think you’re trying not to."
Scarlett lets out a soft, almost imperceptible laugh, though her eyes remain sharp and unreadable. She leans back just enough to cross her arms, posture perfect, but there’s a subtle tilt in her chin that betrays a hint of challenge.
"Trying not to?" she repeats, her voice smooth but edged with amusement. "Summers, I don’t try. I execute."
Her gaze flicks to his hands on the cup for a split second, then back up to meet his smirk head-on.
"And matching your pace?" she adds, tone carefully measured, "That’s just logistics. Efficiency. Nothing more."
She leans forward slightly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, voice dropping just enough to tease, "But keep telling yourself I’m trying. . . it seems to amuse you more than it should."
Her eyes glint faintly, daring him to argue, though her posture stays cool and controlled - the girl very much in command. . . for now.
Max chuckles low, shaking his head as he leans back in his chair, the grin on his face equal parts amusement and challenge.
"Efficiency, huh?" he repeats, letting the word roll off his tongue like it’s a secret joke only he gets. "I should’ve known. You make everything look effortless - even ignoring me."
He leans forward again, elbows on the table this time, eyes locked on hers with a teasing gleam.
"Amuse me?" he says, voice dropping slightly, slow and deliberate. "Scarlett, you have no idea. And honestly… I don’t think I want to either."
A crooked smile tugs at his lips as he tilts his head.
"So keep executing, Ice Queen. I’ll just… keep watching."
Scarlett, smiles - slow, dangerous and challenging.
"Ice queen, hm? Is that how you perceive me?"
Max leans back slightly, his grin widening as the words hang between them. His eyes glint with mischief, catching the light of the café just enough to make them seem sharper, more deliberate.
"Ice Queen, huh?" he repeats, slow and teasing, letting the syllables roll off his tongue like a dare. "Is that how you perceive me?"
He leans forward just a fraction, enough that the air between them feels charged but not crowded, his voice dropping a notch. "Because if that’s the case… I have a feeling your kind of frost is the exact thing I like chasing."
A brief pause, his gaze steady and challenging, a crooked smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "But don’t worry, I’m good at warming things up… strategically."
Scarlett’s lips curved into a small, calculating smile as she opened to reply, the words sharp and teasing on the tip of her tongue, ready to land another playful jab at Max. She leaned slightly forward, letting the tilt of her head and the narrowing of her icy blue eyes do half the work, savoring the spark in his gaze as she began to speak. Then, just as she was about to deliver the perfect comeback, her phone buzzed loudly against the table, cutting through the warmth and quiet of the café like a gunshot. She froze mid-word, fingers hovering over her cup, and the screen lit up with a name that immediately tightened her chest: Father. Her stomach dropped, and for a moment, the teasing smile faltered, replaced by the rigid, disciplined posture she had perfected over years of his scrutiny. The world of coffee, quiet conversation, and playful tension evaporated, leaving only the inevitable storm waiting at the other end of the line.
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