“What was all that about?” Jordan asks me.

“What, me and Davis?”

“Yeah.”

I stop suddenly and give her my back, leaning down a little. “Climb on.”

“What?”

“Climb on and I’ll tell you.”

“But—”

“Hey, Eddie!” I call out. “Catch!” I grab Jordan’s bag before she knows what I’m doing and toss it at him. He catches it without missing a beat. I do the same with mine and he shoulders both, waiting for us.

“Hurry up and do what the man says, Jordan,” Carter orders impatiently. “I’ve got a bet to win.”

“This better be a good story,” she mumbles and climbs on my back. Her small hands link around my shoulders, clutching me tight. I’m inhaling deeply as I grab underneath her thighs, holding her firm to my back as I straighten. Jordan smells so damn good.

“Don’t drop me.”

I grin and lean backwards, pretending to stumble. Jordan lets out a little squeak. Burying her face in the back of my neck, she clings tighter. I’m still chuckling as we come out of the underpass and into the quad. The grass is kept green and lush, and the sun is shining bright on the students milling around talking. Most are piled in groups as they sit on the ground eating lunch.

Jordan sighs when the warm sun hits us. It’s not a tired sound, but a peaceful one. I turn my head to look at her. Her profile is all I can see, but it’s enough. Her lashes are dark and long and her lips slightly parted, inviting a taste. I lick my own and try focusing on something else. “So how did you roll your ankle?”

A grimace forms. “How did you know?”

“You think I don’t notice those beautiful legs of yours when you walk in a room? I saw you favoring it. You know I told you not to text and jog.” I grin teasingly. “You fell in a ditch, didn’t you?”

“Something like that,” she mumbles and a flush lines her cheekbones. “So what’s the beef with you and Kyle Davis?”

Jordan’s rubbing against my back in the best possible way, with each step I take. I pause briefly to hitch her a bit higher. “We went to the same high school together. He used to play football—wide receiver like me—but he was never that great. He worked hard but the talent was never there. When someone started tampering with my gear, I had a fair idea it was him, but—”

“He tampered with your stuff?”

“Yeah. I’d find straps cut on my shoulder pads, my cleats missing, tears in my gloves. That kind of stuff. Not a huge deal, but enough to get me into shit with Coach because it made me late for training and games.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

I huff bitterly, shaking my head. “Is that what you’d do? Go running to your Coach?”

“No,” Jordan admits. “But I’d want to kick his ass.”

“And then I’d get cut from the team for fighting. A lose-lose situation.”

“So what did you do?” she asks, lifting an arm around my shoulder to brush hair from her face.

“I didn’t do anything. Carter did,” I reply, jerking my chin in his direction. His arm is slung around his on-and-off again girlfriend, Lara, as they walk across the quad. They’re off right now, or so I thought, but that doesn’t stop her looking up at him right now like he created Earth. “He got video of Davis in the act and threatened to put it on YouTube if he didn’t quit the team.”

“And he quit? Just like that?”

I nod. “He quit. But not just like that, because now he’s an eternal thorn in my side. He’s biding his time, nursing his grudge.” My jaw tightens, my expression grim. I didn’t miss the gleam when Davis looked at Jordan. He knew I saw it. “Stay away from him, okay?”

“That won’t be a hardship,” Jordan says. Her voice is close to my ear, and I fight a shiver. I like the husky way words roll from her lips, no matter what she’s saying.

“I mean it, Jordan.” My tone is rigid. The thought of him anywhere near her makes me tense.

“Of course.”

“Good.” I pause for a breath when we reach the other side of the quad. The dining hall is to the left, following a long sweeping path. To the right is the Liberal Arts building. “You having lunch with us?”

“I can’t. I have American History.” Jordan squirms a little, indicating she wants down. I have no intention of letting her go. Instead, I stand there, enjoying the wriggle of her body against my back. “You can put me down now, Brody.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” I say with grave seriousness, and my hands tighten around her firm, tanned legs. “You need to rest your ankle as much as possible.”

Preferably while attached to me.

“Well I have to get to class.”

“Eddie,” I shout because he has Jordan’s bag. He halts on the path toward the dining hall and half turns. I jerk my head in the other direction. “This way.”

He shrugs and heads for us.

“Why are you taking American History anyway?” I ask while we wait. “That’s a freshman class.”

“It’s part of my transfer.”

Eddie catches up and we head in the opposite direction. I have to hitch Jordan up a little again, and she protests.

“Want me to carry you, Elliott?” Eddie asks. “Madden looks plain tuckered out.”

“Are you calling me a heavyweight, Eddie?” Jordan loosens an arm from around my neck and punches him in the bicep.

“Arrghhh!” Eddie cries out like a wounded elephant and grabs his arm. He rubs it, his bottom lip poking out. “Your girl is vicious, Madden.” He gives Jordan a wink. “I was only trying to point out that I’m a way better ride then he is.”

I shove Eddie with my shoulder. With Jordan on my back it puts me off balance and we teeter precariously. Her hold on me tightens until I regain my footing. He teases her during the rest of the walk to the Liberal Arts building. When we arrive, my hands loosen on her legs, and she slides slowly down my back. I turn until we face each other.

I’ve placed Jordan right at the front door, and it forms a blockade at the entrance. Freshmen squeeze their way around us. All of them early and no doubt eager to make a good impression. I don’t notice them. My eyes are on the lock of hair that’s fallen on Jordan’s face. I reach out, my intent to tuck it behind her ear. The strands slide through my hand like water, glossy and sleek.

“Brody.” My name on her lips is breathy and her eyes on mine wide. Just that slight intimacy right out here in the middle of everyone is affecting her as much as me.

I can’t believe how easy she makes me lose focus.

My pulse is hammering.

It’s not good.

Not.

Good.

I force myself to back up a step.

At the same time, Eddie hands Jordan her bag. She takes it, clutching it to her chest. It’s a barrier, warning me from getting too close.

“I’ll see you tonight.” Jordan clears her throat. “For the tu— For the, you know. Tonight, okay?”

I give her a brief, casual salute, already walking backwards. “Tonight.”

Jordan

Paige comes at me hard, putting on the pressure and forcing me to make a move. With half an hour left in our Thursday afternoon training session, Coach has split the team in half and set us loose in a short scrimmage. Our team captain is taking scrimmage seriously. Off the field, Paige is funny and likeable. On the field she’s a goddamn ninja. Before you can blink she’s in your face, her eyes narrowed in a murderous glare—like the ball’s her baby and you’re a homicidal kidnapper. It’s intentionally off-putting, but I just grin at her as I dribble the ball toward the goal, cocky and confident on the field. I was born with a soccer ball at my feet. I grew up with my brother and his friends coming at me, trying to steal it away in our backyard games. Nothing Paige can ever do will put me off.

My ankle is strapped and Ibuprofen is busy taking care of the pain as I tap the soccer ball with the instep of my right foot, feinting left. It’s a classic move, but it’s one Paige anticipates. So when I actually go right, she comes with me like a buzzing mosquito out for blood.