“Fine!” I heave a frustrated sigh, knowing I’ll regret this decision when the haze of alcohol wears off. “I’ll do it your way.”
Brody’s lips curve.
“On one condition,” I add.
The smile falls and resignation weights his voice. “What do you want?”
Your shirt, I think reflexively. I want it off. I want to tutor you without your shirt.
What am I thinking?
God, but whatever I’m getting myself into is not going to be good. I close my eyes and drag in a lungful of air. When I open them Brody is watching me, his expression now unreadable. “I want you to stop calling yourself stupid. Being dyslexic doesn’t affect how smart you are, it affects your ability to learn. You just need more time.”
Brody huffs sharply, frustrated. “I don’t have time.”
“I know,” I reply simply. “That’s why you have me.”
Brody
“Do I?”
Do I have you?
Because damn, there’s want inside me, crowding out every other emotion, like sense and self-preservation.
My heart bangs in my chest and it won’t slow down. I tell myself it’s because it’s been too long. Celibacy isn’t natural. My dick is craving hot, wet friction, not this abnormal prison I’ve sentenced it to. But deep down inside, something is different. Jordan is smart. Determined and talented. Real. With the same drive to succeed that I have. I’m responding to all that on some fundamental level that I can’t begin to acknowledge.
“Yes. As your tutor.” Jordan licks her lips. She’s read the innuendo in my tone and it’s unnerved her.
I take a deep breath, inhaling her vanilla scent. It must be her shampoo because I can smell it in her hair. God, it’s good.
“As my tutor,” I reiterate.
“Okay then.” She gives a nod and reaches behind her back. “I need to get back to my friends.” Twisting the handle, the door opens and she’s through it before I can explain she can’t just leave like that. She’s throwing herself to the wolves. I don’t date. I never have. My relationship-free status is common knowledge. There’s going to be gossip and bitchy speculation, and she needs to know how to handle it.
“Jordan, wait!” I call out.
But it’s too late. She’s already reached the bottom of the stairs where her friends are waiting. I’ve met Hayden a few times. He’s one of the good guys, and I know he and Leah have been tight since high school. We’ve always acknowledged each other on campus and had a mutual beer once or twice at parties, but now his eyes are tracking me down the stairs, his brow furrowed in a suspicious glower.
It deepens when I come up behind Jordan. She gives a quiet little squeak when I take hold of her hips, tugging her close so her back aligns with my chest. It’s a proprietary gesture and speaks volumes.
I give him a nod. “Hayden Crosby.”
“Brody Madden.” His voice is cooler than I’ve ever heard it. “You remember Leah?”
My gaze shifts to his girlfriend. I register her same suspicious glower and offer a guileless grin. “You play soccer like Jordan, right?”
Some of the tension leaves her shoulders. “I play fullback, but Jordan,” Leah replies with a nod at her friend, “is our superstar forward.”
Of course she is. I’m getting the impression that Jordan Elliott is fast becoming Colton Park University’s shiny new diamond, complete with an all-around good girl reputation to back it up. How far will I have to dig to reach the wicked layers that lie beneath? I’ve seen glimpses so I know they’re there.
“And new to the team,” I say to Leah, interrupting a conversation between her and Jordan that appears to involve nothing but facial expressions. “You always haze your teammates with chocolate syrup?”
The silent communication stops and Jordan groans. It vibrates through my chest and makes me want to rub against her. Before I embarrass myself by doing just that, I drop my hold and move to her side, yet I still find myself taking hold of her hand like a ship needing an anchor point. Her palm is small and damp, betraying her discomfort. Is it the situation that unnerves her, or me?
“I’m sure it’s nothing on what you do to your new teammates, Brody,” Leah retorts, and even though she’s holding a cup of beer, her eyes are sharp on mine and Jordan’s physical connection.
“We don’t haze our teammates. It’s a completely demoralizing and uncivilized activity.” I manage to say that with a straight face until Hayden snorts loudly and we both laugh.
A quick glance at my watch shows it’s getting late. We have an away game tomorrow, and I need to be up early, sharp and fresh. I give Jordan’s hand a squeeze to get her attention. Our eyes meet and I’m struck anew at their clarity. “Ready to leave?”
“Leave?”
“I’ve got an early start tomorrow. I’d like to see you home first.”
Jordan jolts with surprise. Has she forgotten our dating arrangement entirely? There are girls who would jump at a chance like this, even if it’s just a pretense, so her reluctance is a blow to my ego.
“Yes, Jordan. You should let Brody see you home,” Leah adds.
Jordan’s eyes narrow at her friend’s interference. “Actually, I think I’m just going to walk home in a little bit. It’s nice out and it’s not far.” She smiles at me, polite and a little frosty. Jordan doesn’t like being pushed. “Don’t let me keep you from leaving.”
I lean in until my lips brush her ear, pushing through the distance she’s trying to create. She shivers and it takes considerable restraint not to tongue her lobe and take it in my mouth.
“Is this how you treat the guys you date? Because you need to work on that or no one’s going to believe you’re hot for me at all.”
“And what am I supposed to do,” she hisses back. “Stick my tongue down your throat in front of everyone?”
Hell yes. I want to sit up and beg for those luscious lips. Instead, I shrug like it’s neither here nor there. “If you think it will help.”
“We need some rules,” she mutters.
Jordan is talking about drawing lines in the sand that I’m not allowed to cross. It sounds smart in theory, but I don’t like idea. “Let me drive you home and we can talk about it.”
I manage to extract her from her friends, but we don’t get five steps before I’m bailed up by my teammate. Jordan comes to a stop beside me, her shoulder brushing mine because the room is a crush of people.
“What happened to my tequila shots, bro?” Carter looks at me, his expression wounded and legs unsteady. It’s not like our star quarterback to drink the night before a game, but his on again/off again relationship is on a slippery slope and it’s fucking with his head.
“I had them in my hands but there was a pretty girl in desperate need,” I say, reminded of how Jordan had slammed them back with impressive speed. “What was I to do?”
Carter’s eyes fall on Jordan and that quickly, I want to gouge them from his head. They leer and then widen when they trail over her legs. Slim, toned, endless. He’s taking it all in like he needs to ace a test on it later. They’re my fucking legs, I itch to tell him. Go find your own. But this isn’t the schoolyard and last I checked, I wasn’t ten years old and guarding a shiny new toy.
“I can see your dilemma,” he says and drags his eyes away and back to mine. “Early night for you then, huh, bro?”
“You know it,” I say before thinking the words through.
Jordan tenses beside me.
“Dude.” Carter fist bumps me. “Score.”
When we finally make it outside, she rips off her lei and tosses it angrily away. It floats carelessly in the air before fluttering to the ground without a sound. All the while she’s stalking along the front path ahead of me, her long-legged stride eating up the distance quickly. I jog to catch up and she halts, spinning back around to glare at me. I almost duck from the sparks shooting from her eyes.