“You wanted to know why me, well … I want to know, why now? Why wait to get tutored so late in the game?”

I shrug. “I’ve never been officially diagnosed. It’s not something we acknowledge in my house.” Instead, my parents have chosen to sweep the embarrassment under the carpet. “And I’ve never been tutored.” Her eyes widen, and I know she’s wondering how I got this far on my own. Sheer force of will, maybe? “What’s the point? My brain is wired all wrong. You can’t just rewire it to make it work like everyone else’s does.” I pause for a moment, my jaw tensing, and I tell her what I’ve been told for as long as I can remember. “You can’t fix stupid.”

Jordan’s brows draw together and her lips part, and I know she’s ready to protest my statement. She has to. She’s my tutor. But I don’t want to hear it. I just don’t. For a moment I hate myself. I hate the way I am. That I can’t meet someone like her and feel like an equal. My hands curl into fists. I’m the cliché dumb jock that everyone likes to joke about and it frustrates me beyond all belief.

Thankfully her phone starts blaring a song I’m unfamiliar with and diverts her attention. She lets it ring out.

“Kyle …” she starts and I wince, because I’d actually forgotten she thought I was someone else.

Her phone starts up again and she exhales with an annoyed huff.

I raise my brows. “You gonna get that?”

“Wait here,” she orders and leaves the room.

Not likely. That’s my cue to call it a night. To go home to my apartment and tuck those angry little demons into bed. God knows they need their rest. I check my watch. Our session was supposed to finish half an hour ago.

I roll out of Jordan’s bed and meet her in the kitchen where she’s arguing with someone on the phone. After slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I get her attention.

“I’m not wearing the purple dress,” she gripes into the phone and meets my eyes. “It’s too loud.”

“I have to go,” I mouth silently.

Jordan shakes her head at me, holding up a palm for me to wait. “What’s it saying?” she says into the phone. “Here I am. Fuck me. That’s what it’s saying.”

I wave and she frowns. “I have to go,” she says. “I’ll pick you up.”

That comment seems to cause a lot of loud protesting from the other end.

“Fine. Pick me up then. See you in a bit.”

I’m already at the door when she hangs up.

“Party?” I ask.

“My first frat party.”

Jordan says it with a grimace, and while she isn’t broadcasting naïve innocence, she doesn’t really have a party animal vibe about her either, meaning it’s likely she’s a bit clueless as to how wild they can get. I have to stop myself from offering to take her because that would be a lunatic move on my part. I’m on a girl hiatus. That means no dick near, on, or in, any girl’s pussy. It’s supposed to stop me from being distracted and keep me focused on football, but I’m a healthy, horny, twenty-one-year-old male. That pretty much means I’m a walking boner. So in actual fact, this break is going to kill me instead. Or blister my right hand.

Color floods Jordan’s cheeks, and I realize I’ve been standing there holding her eyes for longer than necessary. Her tongue darts out to lick along her lower lip and my gaze drops to her mouth. It’s lush and pink, like cotton candy, and my sweet tooth is craving a taste something fierce.

“Well, enjoy,” I tell her and wrench open the front door before I do something rash, like pin her to the wall and feast on her mouth like a starving man. I pause before I step outside her apartment. “Can I offer a word of advice from a guy who’s been going to frat parties since forever?”

“Sure,” she replies, and the solitary word comes out a little breathy, like she wants me feasting on her mouth too.

I bite back a groan. “Don’t accept a drink from anyone you don’t trust with your life. Okay?”

I leave then, already halfway down the hall when she sticks her head out and yells, “Wait! What about our next—”

Turning, I walk backwards for a second. “My uncle gave me your number. I’ll call you.”

After jogging down the stairwell, I open the zipper on my bag and take out my baseball cap and sunglasses, putting them both on. It’s early evening as I thread my way around the parking lot, but there’s still a tinge of light in the sky and the air is fresh. It’s just what I need to cool the lust punching through my body as if there’s an animal under my skin waiting to be unleashed.

The hand that tugs the keys from my pocket is a little shaky, and shit I need to get home and have a cold shower. Ice cold.

Students are coming and going everywhere, the area dense with partygoers in various stages of getting where they need to be. My car stands out amongst the others. A brand-new tricked-out Chevrolet Suburban in black. Pretty much everyone on campus knows it’s mine, as do most off campus.

“’Sup, Madden!” someone calls out.

I wave but move quickly to my car, pausing to take two slips of paper from beneath the windshield wiper. Wild squeals come from nearby when I pocket them. I don’t read the notes but I know they’re phone numbers with sexually suggestive words attached. A quick glance around shows a group of blushing girls staring my way. I wonder how long they’ve been standing near my car. Jordan is the sole focus on my mind right now, so all I can do is flash them an absentminded grin as I beep the locks on my SUV.

“Yo, Brody!” A couple of junior fraternity brothers jog over, and I pause. “You coming to the party tonight?”

“Can’t. Leaving for the away game tomorrow.”

They nod their heads in tandem. “Cool.”

My phone vibrates in my shorts, so I tug it out, glancing at the screen. My father. If I don’t answer, he’ll just keep ringing until I do. Self-absorbed prick. He can’t seem to understand that the world doesn’t revolve around people kissing his ass. “I gotta get this, guys. See you later, yeah?”

They jog off in the direction they came, and I slide inside my car as I answer the phone. “Dad.”

“Your mother says you haven’t been by in two weeks. Dinner at the house, Sunday at six.”

My jaw ticks. Hello, Son, how are you? I saw you kick ass at the game this weekend. I’m so fucking proud. “We have an away game. I’m not sure I’ll be home by then.”

I will be, but I’m going to be too exhausted to deal with family drama.

“Monday then. Make sure you win,” is his parting comment before hanging up. I toss it angrily in the center cup holder and start the car, backing out quickly. When I arrive back at my apartment, Jaxon is spread out on the navy leather couch, scrolling on his phone, and Eddie’s there yelling at a game of baseball playing out on ESPN. He’s one of our outside linebackers and the biggest guy on the entire team. His elbows are resting on his knees, and he’s leaning close as though they can actually hear his screaming insults.

Eddie tears his eyes from the screen to glance at me. “Where the fuck you been?”

Jaxon looks up from his phone, the same question in his eyes.

“Sorry, Mom. Is it past curfew?”

“Not yet, Son,” he replies, smirking, and returns his eyes to the television as he speaks, “because Damien bought beer and we’re all going to the house tonight for the party.”

“I’m not going,” I tell them and veer off, dumping my bag in my room. It’s a toss-up between a cold shower or jacking off, when my stomach growls. I head for the kitchen to make a sandwich instead.

Damien’s in there. He’s got a girl pressed up against the counter, his hands up her tiny skirt and his lips attached to her neck. Her head’s thrown back, one leg around his waist as he grinds himself against her.

I reach around them and grab a loaf of bread. My head is stuck in the fridge when the girl lets out a deep moan. I turn, my arms loaded with cheese, tomato, and thick slices of ham. Damien has his fingers shoved deep inside her, and it’s all on display.