“You were.”

He gives me a rueful grin. “Well at least we can agree on something. So can we reschedule the tutoring?”

I should say no, but I can’t. I’m his tutor. The whole point of this is to help Brody in any way I can. And we both need to start taking it more seriously. “Thursday night,” I tell him. “My apartment.”

Brody exhales sharply. Rescheduling was obviously a chore he’s happy to be done with. “Great. Now will you tell me what Lindsay said to you on Saturday?”

“She didn’t say anything I can’t handle.”

His jaw ticks. Obviously it’s not the answer he wants. “Tell me what she said, Jordan.”

I shift my leg from underneath his grip and his hand falls away. “Brody, you’re a popular guy. There are a lot of girls who aren’t going to be happy with the idea of you dating me. They’ll get over it, so just let it go.”

Brody stands slowly, his wide shoulders looming over me. “I’ll let it go. For now. But if anyone ever threatens you, you tell me and I’ll handle it.”

“I can handle myself. Don’t treat me like I belong to you.”

He leans over and takes my face in his hand, the other he props on the arm of my chair. His palm is calloused and scrapes my cheek, but his touch is gentle.

When he speaks, his voice is low and his eyes dark. “How should I treat you?”

Want makes me shake. I have to fist my hands so they don’t reach for him. “Like your tutor.”

Brody’s palm slides away, but his gaze on me remains, eyes hungry. The heat in them swamps me like a blanket, so thick and heavy I can’t get any air. “That’s no fun at all.”

“Neither is pretending to date someone.”

“Speaking of, maybe we should drop the pretense and make it real.” He straightens and takes a couple of steps back. “See you Thursday.”

There’s only one thought flying around in my head as my eyes follow him from the room.

I’m in trouble.

Big trouble.

Brody

“Hat and sunglasses, Mr. Madden.”

I slouch back in my seat and glare at my uncle as I take them off. I set them on the desk and when my gaze returns to the front, he’s staring hard at my bruised eye, his expression grim. Thursday afternoon and it’s still a riot of color, but at least the swelling has gone down some.

He gives the room his back and shuffles some papers on his desk before pausing for a moment. When he faces his class again, he speaks quietly, beginning his lecture.

Jaxon passes across the attendance sheet, and I scratch out my name with a quick hurried movement. The desk beside me is empty. Has Jordan forgotten where the room is again? Already my lips begin to twitch. I hang on to the sheet so she can sign it when she arrives.

When I realize I’m sitting forward in my seat like an eager student, my eyes on the doorway, I sit back and fold my arms. Totally cool. Abso-fucking-lutely.

“Miss Elliott.”

My eyes cut to the door so fast I get whiplash. The fact that she’s rushing through the entryway with flushed cheeks and a harassed expression doesn’t surprise me. She must feel my hot and heavy stare, because her eyes make immediate contact with mine across the room. Jordan Matilda Elliott is ice cream in the middle of a heat wave. I want to lick every golden inch of skin I can get my tongue on. Her cheeks redden further, and I know everything I’m thinking is written on my face for the whole world to see.

Jordan looks away and I draw a breath, feeling lightheaded. All the blood in my body has headed south, and from what … seeing her walk in a room? I’m toast. Cindered, charcoal-covered toast. What happens if I actually manage to touch her for more than just a second? Will I pass the fuck out? I need to get a hold of myself.

“Sorry, Professor,” she begins. Her hair is freshly washed. It keeps falling like a shiny, damp curtain in her eyes. She tucks it behind her ear with impatience. Is it really as soft as it looks? “I got—”

“Save your excuses and take a seat,” he interrupts.

My pretend girl has not learned her lesson from last class, but our Professor has let her off easy. I catch her eye again, and jerk my head at the free seat beside me. Her gaze sweeps the room and my brows furrow. Is she planning on sitting somewhere else? There are only two other seats in the class. One is three rows down by the window, next to a girl tapping a pen in time with her foot and drinking a can of Red Bull. The other is in touching distance of Kyle Davis. So help me God if she sits there I will cause a scene.

Her gaze comes back to mine and my brows rise coolly. Dating, remember?

Without benefits, her narrowed eyes reply as she starts toward me.

I grin. We’ll see.

“So you and Jordan really are a thing?” Jaxon asks from beside me.

“All you need to know is that we’re exclusive,” I reply, my eyes on Jordan. She shifts between seats, dodging books and discarded bags with ease as she makes her way toward us. Her legs are deliciously bare thanks to a skimpy pair of shorts the color of the sun. They’re definitely soccer legs, and I can’t wait to see how she uses them on the field … and in bed.

I glance across at Jax, reminded of the way he acted with Jordan at that damn party. He’s got a gleam in his eye. The one that usually takes out a female at a hundred paces and leaves her begging for more. My eyes narrow. “And so help me god,” I add, “if I catch you putting your hands on her, you’ll wake up an amputee.”

Jaxon’s mouth falls open, incredulity bright in his eyes. “Are you listening to yourself?”

Of course I am. I sound completely irrational. I don’t care. My eyes return to Jordan, giving my cousin my back. It’s then that I notice she’s favoring her left ankle. There’s a small hitch in her stride and a pinch between her brows. She’s hurting.

“Are you okay?” I ask when she slides into the vacant seat beside me.

“Good morning to you too, Brody,” Jordan replies and puts her bag on the floor beside her. She leans over and tugs out her books, notes, and a pen.

“Good morning, Jordan. Are you okay?”

When she straightens, I place a palm on her bare thigh, letting it slide inwards and tighten possessively. Her skin feels just how it looks—warm and smooth. I bite back a groan.

Jordan jerks with surprise the instant I make contact. Her knee cracks the desk above it, and she shoots me a glare. “What the hell?”

“We’re dating remember?” My hand lowers to rub her banged knee soothingly. At least I hope it’s soothing for her, because it’s not for me. I have no doubt I’m the only student to ever get a boner in Business Law and Ethics. I lean her way, keeping my voice low. “You’re supposed to like me touching you.”

“I wasn’t expecting it,” she hisses, glancing quickly around the room before looking back at me. “You just groped me out of nowhere with your octopus hands and now everyone is staring at us.”

“Newsflash. They were already staring at us, so hurry up and kiss me hello.”

“Um … what?” She’s looking at me like I just asked her to get up close with an alligator.

I let go of her leg and straighten in my seat. My retreat comes with an audible sigh of relief from Jordan.

“Am I not your type?” I ask quietly, sliding the attendance sheet across her desk.

She picks up her pen and signs her name below mine. Her handwriting is neat and tidy, a complete contrast to my messy, illegible scrawl. “I don’t have a type.”

“All women have a type.” My grin is smug. “I’m yours, aren’t I?”

With a roll of her eyes, Jordan passes the attendance sheet to the guy sitting on her right. “No, you’re not my type at all.”

“Ha!” I jab my finger at her in victory. “So you totally do have a type.”

She pauses and gives me her full focus. “Perhaps I do, and conceited jocks aren’t it.”