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"S’cuse me?"
The guy looks up from his book, pulling off the giant glasses to the bluest pair of eyes Zach has ever seen. It’s like California sky and ocean and sandy beaches and tans and the quasi-prep grunge scene all wrapped up in one mess of an adorable human being.
"Did you want something?" the guy asks, raising his eyebrows, widening those eyes like Zach’s been staring and not talking for like five minutes.
"Uh. Sorry." Zach shakes himself. "You just… you look like a student here, so."
The guy hitches a smile, glancing down at the obvious Berkeley tee he’s wearing. Jesus.
"Um. Do you know where the registration office is?"
The guy looks off to his right, pointing, “You gotta go down 8th street all the way to the end of the block.”
"Okay." Zach doesn’t want to leave. "Is this the best place to get coffee?"
Cali Boy laughs, “Not really, it’s sort of weak here, but all the ones on campus are always crowded. You a transfer?”
"Yeah," Zach smiles. He leans across the coffeeshop railing. "Hey, where do people normally hang out? Are there good restaurants somewhere?"
"Telegraph Ave," the guy says, thumb pointing over his shoulder. "Basically Berkeley hangout central."
Zach hums, looking over the guys table, three Lit books, a moleskin and a backpack, with a plaid flannel draped over the chair behind him. “But not for you?”
"Sorry?"
Zach shrugs, “Well, I figure you’re a local, you go here, but you’re not up on Telegraph Ave, you’d rather drink weak coffee and have a quiet table and not get bothered by dorky kids from the Pitts who can’t find their fool way around.”
"Well, I could say I don’t get hit on as much down here, but I guess I’d be wrong." Joe College grins full on, and shit, Zach is gone. Ass over tits. Oh, he’s in trouble.