“Huh,” she mutters as if I’ve confused her.

Jordan spends the drive home looking everywhere but at me, and when I pull to a stop in the parking lot, she’s thanking me for the ride and out the door before I can stop her.

“Wait up!” Getting out, I beep the locks and jog after her. “I’ll walk you up.” Snatching the card from her hand, I swipe us into the building and hold open the door. “Ladies first.”

My eyes are on her ass the entire trek up the stairwell. I’m not religious but hers is an ass deserving of prayerful thanks. It’s high and round, and biteable like juicy apples. I watch it undulate hypnotically until we emerge onto the third floor.

By the time we reach her door, my dick is straining against my shorts. Jordan uses her key to unlock it, stepping inside as I reach down to adjust it. Turning around, she catches me and arches a brow. I shrug without shame.

“Goodnight, Brody.”

This is the part where I’m supposed to leave, but my feet are super-glued to the hallway floor. It seems I can’t move until I get some solid reassurance of when I’m seeing her again.

“So, Monday night?” I ask casually.

“I’ll check my schedule.”

“Really? You’re telling me you don’t have it memorized back to front?”

“Fine. Monday night.”

“Great. See you then. I’ve got dinner with my parents, so I’ll swing by after that.” She gives me a nod, and I force myself to leave. “Night, Jordan.”

Halfway to the stairs I glance back. Jordan is standing in the doorway, a flush high on her cheeks and honey-colored hair spilling over her bare shoulders. I turn and walk backwards, giving her a wink. “Sweet dreams.”

It’s a smooth move, and a total fail when her eyes widen on something behind me. “Brody, look…” I smack into a pile of bodies behind me “…out.”

“Sorry, ladies,” I say, extracting myself from two sets of amorous limbs while trying to steady the drunk pair at the same time. The two girls manage to right themselves and continue around me in a giggling stumble on their high heels.

“Did you hear that?” one of them whispers loudly while the other squeals. “He said sweet dreams!”

Brody

Last night’s sleep was fitful, and I’m awake before the alarm goes off. My body is sluggish and my mind is on Jordan. Each time I try and focus on the upcoming game, it veers toward her like a car going off course. This is the exact distraction I don’t need, and I have no explanation for why I can’t seem to care. I’m anxious for Monday night when I can see her again.

Getting on the team bus, I pick a seat up front. Tired and irritable and in a weird headspace, I want to avoid my teammates and zone out instead. Slumping right down, I lift my legs up, resting my knees against the back of the seat in front of me. With my phone on my lap, I plug in my Beats headphones and set them over my head, fixing my current playlist to shuffle. The song kicks in just as the bus pulls out, and the way it begins to rock gently along the road soothes my irritation.

My gaze shifts out the window. The sun is just a mere glimpse of pink and orange over the horizon. I know it’s early, but I like the idea of Jordan waking up to a message from me. Picking up my phone from my lap, I type one out. I don’t usually like messaging because my words and spelling get messed up, but autocorrect fixes what I can’t, and Jordan knows I’m dyslexic so I figure there’s no need to hide.

Brody: I don’t like chocolate.

It’s a small fact about myself that’s neither here nor there, but last night she said she didn’t know me. If she responds in kind, then I know it’s possible she might want to.

After tapping the send button, I drop the phone to my lap and stare out the window. A rush of pleasure zings through me when it beeps an immediate response, highlighting the name I added her in as a contact.

SweetVanillaGirl: Who is this? And are you crazy?

I chuckle softly and type out another message.

Brody: Shame on u. This is no way to treat the guy ur dating.

I follow it up with another.

Brody: Ur up early?

Carter slams into the seat beside me, the force making my own seat shudder in response. To his credit he looks fresh and firing on all cylinders. Whatever’s going on in his life, he always manages to lock it down for the game. It’s the kind of player he is: dependable, enthusiastic, and oozing energy from every pore. Ryan Carter is a bottomless can of Red Bull.

I pause my song and pull back my headphones, leaving them to rest around my neck.

“How was that chick last night?” he greets me, along with a waggle of his eyebrows. Did I mention he’s also straight to the point? Carter doesn’t like to waste time on the smaller details. “Trust you to be the one bagging the hot Australian jock. She didn’t have much of a rack but those legs …” He trails off as though he’s picturing them in his mind. “Any good?”

My stomach knots in anger. I don’t like the way it sounds like he wants a turn, or that he checked out her rack. And so what if it’s small. I’m not greedy, just goddamn fucking horny. “Jordan’s not like that, so watch your mouth.”

Carter’s eyes round like saucers, and I know I’ve blindsided him with my response. I’ve never jumped down his throat over a girl before. For a moment he can’t compute. His mouth opens and closes before he speaks.

“You didn’t tap that sweet ass?”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, unwilling to spill any more details then absolutely necessary. “Jordan and I are dating.”

Carter laughs and I glare. He shuts up quickly, and after a moment cocks his head. “Holy shit, you’re serious. I heard last night you were supposedly dating some chick, but I thought it was just gossip.” Turning around in the seat beside me, my teammate gets up on his knees. Facing the back of the bus, he shouts, “Madden’s got himself a girl!”

All kinds of responses are called back alongside catcalls, but it’s the collective consensus of “bullshit!” that has me gritting my teeth.

“I shit you not!” he hollers. “Her name’s Jordan!”

The team breaks out into chants of “Jordan! Jordan! Jordan!” because they obviously have nothing better to do than act like a giant bunch of dicks.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sink lower in my seat with a muttered curse. If Jordan wants out of this, well … it’s too late now.

I tug my shiny dark blue headphones back on. They have epic noise cancellation. It’s just what I need right now. After hitting play and cranking the volume, I close my eyes against the blurring scenery.

A minute later, my phone vibrates from where it’s resting on my leg.

SweetVanillaGirl: I’m out jogging.

I can’t fight the tug at the corners of my lips as I type out a lengthy reply.

Brody: Don’t u no it’s dangerous to text and jog? You might run someone over or fall in a ditch.

A quick sideways glance tells me Carter’s decided to let it go. For now. He gets up and returns to his seat down back, leaving me alone. I return to my phone with a smile on my face when another message pops up. I flick it open.

SweetVanillaGirl: Well stop texting me!

Jordan’s message is a red flag waving at a bull.

Brody: Where’s the fun in that?

SweetVanillaGirl: You remind me of your cousin.

My brows draw together. After the events of last night, that comment is open to interpretation, and I want to know what she means.

Brody: In what way?

Jaxon and I might be similar on the surface, but underneath? Not so much. He’s the son my father always wanted. The benchmark. I’m constantly reminded that if only I applied myself like Jaxon does, I would have a respectable future—politics, medicine, law. Frankly, he’d just be happy with a son who could read, he tells me. But I know that’s not true. My father is the type of person who is never satisfied, and I know he expects me to fail at football too.