“What?”
“You told me you struggle with the words sinking in. Learning to summarize what you read will help you with that.”
Read the back of a cereal box for all she cares? I hide a smirk. If that’s what she wants, I’m going to find the most downright raunchy erotic story I can find.
Let’s see you look over that.
Jordan edges gingerly off the bed. Her expression is less pained, but I half stand from my seat, ready to help. “What do you need?”
“The bathroom,” she pants, rising to her feet and putting all the pressure on her right foot.
“Do you need help?”
“Do I … No!” She waves me away, limping steadily out the bedroom door. She’s only gone a minute when the laptop on her desk begins dinging relentlessly. Is it some kind of alarm? I swivel around and lift the lid. When it opens, the screen lights up and a guys face appears on Skype. Shit. I press a couple of buttons, not knowing how I’ve managed to answer a call just by opening her laptop.
“Hello?”
The voice is Australian, deep, and suspicious, and lines of irritation decorate his forehead. Jordan said she wasn’t dating anybody, but I never considered the idea of her having a guy back home waiting for her return. I’m considering it right now and it’s not sitting well with me.
“Who are you?” he demands to know, his tone rude and growly.
I reach up and tilt the screen. All the better for him to see my glare. “I’m the guy Jordan’s dating. Who the hell are you?”
He rears back like I just punched him clean in the face. It’s semi-satisfying in a virtual kind of way. “You’re what?”
His eyes shift to somewhere over my right shoulder, and I feel Jordan at my back. “Jordan who the hell is this guy?”
“Nicky?”
There’s a lot of love and happiness in that single word. It sets me on edge.
“Were you limping just then?” he asks, his brows drawn with concern.
“Just a little,” Jordan replies, leaning over my shoulder to speak with him. “I rolled my ankle. Not bad or anything,” she adds hastily when he opens his mouth. “I’ll be fine to play tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow night?” I swivel sideways in my chair, an oh hell no expression on my face. “Baby, are you crazy?”
Jordan’s eyes go wide at the endearment. I admit it slipped out unintentionally but I can’t deny its brilliant timing.
“Baby?” comes the echoing growl from the computer.
My grin is slow and lazy. Jordan’s gaze drops to my mouth, those wide eyes now narrowing to slits.
“Jordan?” We both turn back to the computer. Frosty blue eyes glare back at us from the bright screen. “You let this asshole near you?” Nicky’s voice gets louder as he directs it on me. “You touch my little sister and I will reach right through this motherfucking computer and punch your goddamn dick off!”
Little sister?
I scratch uncomfortably at the back of my neck. This has now officially moved into awkward territory. I really should feel a situation out before I charge right into it like an ignorant asshole.
“Nicky!” Jordan snaps. Her face looks hotter than the sun. If I touched her cheek right now I’m sure it would scorch the skin clean off my fingers. “Brody, this is my twin brother, Nicolas Elliott. Nicky, this is Brody Madden. He’s a senior here at CPU. And we’re not dating,” she adds. “I’m his …” Jordan breaks off, right before she can spit the word tutor out. She fixes me a look of hard-eyed frustration.
“You’re his what?” Nicky prompts.
I clear my throat and face the screen. “We’re working on an assignment together.”
“And you need to do that in Jordan’s room?”
Who does he think he is? Her father? I lean back in my seat, arms folded and casualness oozing from every pore. “That’s right.”
“Oh good lord,” Jordan mutters from beside me. Putting both hands on the back of my chair, she rolls me to the side and out of view of the webcam.
“Hey!” My arms unfold, flailing as I careen across the floor. I set my feet down and halt the momentum.
Jordan doesn’t even spare me a glance. “Nicky is everything okay?”
“I don’t know. Is it?”
She lays her palms flat on the desk, the move taking the weight off her injured ankle. “Why are you being such an ass?”
“Because I don’t like you having strange guys in your room. You need to focus on school and soccer. Not Texan dickheads who go to college just so they can make notches on their bedposts.”
I’m already rolling my way back toward the desk when he lays out his insult. Grabbing the laptop, I turn it in my direction. Nicky’s face comes into view. “Texan dickhead?” I growl.
Jordan grabs it back, turning this ridiculous conversation into a laptop tug-of-war. “I’m working my ass off here on my grades and soccer.” She bites off each word, her temper straining on a very short leash. “You need to trust that I’m doing the right thing.”
“I’m sorry you think I don’t trust you, sweetheart.” His fingers trail down the screen as though he’s tracing the contours of her face. That one gesture reveals the enormous depth of love he has with his sister. For a moment I envy it. My time with Annabelle is rare and limited, and I wish it were more. “It’s everyone else I don’t trust.”
He says the words to Jordan, but he’s looking at me when he says them.
“I have to go, Nicky. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Jordan—”
She shuts the lid of the laptop, cutting off the call. The room is silent while she hovers over the desk like she’s taking a minute to regroup. When she’s gone through whatever’s in her head, she lifts it and looks at me.
“You know this whole dating farce is ridiculous.”
I shrug. “You’re right. It is.”
She blinks. I’ve thrown her with my agreement.
“People won’t care that you’re being tutored.”
“I care.” I fold my arms, my jaw set. “My life isn’t fodder for everyone to speculate on.”
“But dating me is?”
“Not if it’s real.”
“Brody—”
“You took a huge risk travelling halfway around the world for something you believe in. You won’t take a risk on me?”
Indecision fills Jordan’s expression and she sinks to the bed behind her. She chews on her bottom lip. “It’s not a good idea.”
My lips curve slowly. “Some of the best ideas never are.”
Jordan
Brody: Tell me ur not playing.
I read the text message, my stomach in flutters just from seeing his name pop up on the screen of my phone. Arriving in Texas, I had a plan that didn’t include sexy, haunted football players. I’m strong and determined. Ambitious. With Brody I’m weak and that burns me. I tried aloofness and cool detachment, but it was a last ditch effort, like scooping water out of a sinking ship with my bare hands. It was when I read the words inked so beautifully onto his skin that the water closed over my head. My ship was sunk.
Now we’re officially going on a date. When or where, I don’t yet know. But it’s happening. The thought makes my pulse pound anew and my head throb with foreboding. No good can come of this.
Jordan: I’m not playing.
Shoving the phone back in my bag, I take a seat at the bench in the locker room and begin the process of strapping my ankle for tonight’s game. I wind the sports tape thick and tight, doing it fast in case anyone starts asking questions. Grabbing my socks, I slide the left sock on first, pulling it up to my knee. I jam my shin guard inside, resting it firm and snug beneath the tight-fitting sock. Then I repeat the process on my right leg. After sliding on my cleats and tying the laces, I stand, stomping hard on each boot to get my feet comfortable and check the solidity of my ankle tape.