I fight to win

To conquer

I will persevere

and use my fear

And with the grace of God

I will triumph

over failure

Rise

beneath defeat

And I will

fly

I watch her silently. Jordan lifts her arm and my lungs constrict when her fingers touch my bare skin. Her fingers trail across the swirl of black letters as she reads them. Her simple touch is intimate. Reverent. It sends goose bumps skittering across my chest. Her pretty blue eyes lift to meet mine and a wordless understanding passes between us. “You fly too?”

I nod, struggling to ignore the heavy pounding of my heart. “Out there on the field, the game is everything. It builds you up, breaks you down, and it bleeds you dry. But I love it. It’s the only place I’m free.”

Jordan’s eyes drop again to the tattoo. She covers it with the flat of her palm as though absorbing the words into her very skin.

“Who wrote it?”

She’s the first person to ever ask the question. “I did.”

“It’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful.

I shift closer. I feel like I’m falling. The weightless sensation is all her. Jordan is all I can see. My hands take hold of her hips, fingers tightening as I fight the feeling. I take a deep breath and count to ten. It doesn’t work. When I try again I reach fifteen before giving up. It’s not working because I don’t want it to. I don’t want to stop the way she makes me feel.

“You believe in God?” she asks me.

“Of course.” I lean in, breathing softly against Jordan’s lips, and nudge her nose with mine. Her body trembles, revealing her nerves. “I need to believe in something.”

Her fingertips touch the soft curls of my hair before sliding around the nape of my neck, firm and warm. She holds my eyes and I can’t look away. “Then believe in yourself.”

“You can’t say shit like that.” Her bottom lip is lush and full. I nip it sharply with my teeth, relishing her sharp intake of breath.

“Brody.” She pulls back, her rejection coming through louder than a boom of thunder. It makes me want to pitch a tantrum like a kid who’s just been told Christmas is cancelled. “Why can’t I say stuff like that?”

I meet her eyes, staring into an ocean of blue. “Because I’ll only let myself down.”

Needing a minute, I push up off my knees and walk to the desk pressed up against the window. The blind is open but my eyes are drawn to the pile of books sitting neatly in the middle. On the top rests a copy of The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss. I pick it up and flick through the pages, letting it distract me.

“Bed time reading?” I glance over my shoulder at Jordan, waving the book.

Her expression becomes stern as if she just put on her tutor hat. In fact, I know she has when she follows it up with, “That’s your first lesson plan.”

“What?” My brows shoot skyward. I drop the book like a hot potato and turn around.

“You heard me.”

“I’m not sure I did. Is this some kind of joke?” I fold my arms, tension pinching my expression. “Give the dumbo a kid’s book and have a laugh while he stumbles over the easy words?”

Jordan’s brows form a thundercloud on her forehead. “That’s not it at all,” she snaps. “Easy and similar sounding words are often the hardest to read. It’s a book that will give me an understanding of where you stand with your reading levels.”

“So you can judge my levels of stupidity, you mean?”

“Brody!”

I draw in a breath, letting it out in a sharp huff through my nostrils. Jordan’s eyes are steady and resolute. She’s not backing down on this. Best just to get the next excruciating hour over with and leave, tail tucked firmly between my legs.

“Fine.” I pick up the damn book. “Let’s do this.”

With the book in hand, I move over to the bed. Jordan’s reclined against a couple of pillows but shifts sideways, freeing up space. I know she expects me to simply take a seat beside her. I don’t. If I have to read Dr. Seuss, I’m going to do my best to enjoy it. Before she can blink I’m stretched out beside her. It’s a risk. Jordan no doubt has a kick on her that could send me flying clear across the room. But she’s also injured, so I’m taking advantage.

Turning my head, I offer a grin.

“Comfy?” she asks, sarcasm loaded in her tone.

My boxer briefs are getting tighter by the second so that’s a no. Her vanilla scent surrounds me, and I press my nose into her neck and breath deep. Giggles erupt from deep in her chest and she pushes me away.

“Ah ha! She’s ticklish.”

The book is forgotten in an instant. Grabbing a fistful of hair, I yank it out of the way and lick her neck in one long stroke. Instead of a laugh, her eyes flutter closed and I get a deep, husky moan. For a moment I’m stuck, riveted in the sound. I’m not falling for Jordan. I’m plummeting hard and fast, and the feeling is indescribable.

“Brody.” My name is a rasp on her lips, and I rock my hips against her side, instinctively seeking relief. She tilts her head, giving my mouth access to the long line of her throat. “The book.”

“Fuck the book,” I say on a groan and take her earlobe between my teeth, nibbling as my hips rock harder. The book drops carelessly to the floor, and I cup her jaw, holding her to me so I can taste her skin.

“Stop,” she gasps.

I freeze, biting back a groan of frustration. Drawing away reluctantly, my hand slides from Jordan’s face. She turns her head on the pillow, her cheeks flushed.

“I’m your tutor. I have a responsibility to help you, not make out with you.”

Begging is a first for me, but today I’ve discovered I’m all for it. “You can do both.”

“Come on out, kids!” Leah’s holler echoes through the closed bedroom door. My head drops to Jordan’s shoulder and I’m ready to cry. “Dinner’s ready and it ain’t gonna eat itself.”

“Be there in a minute!” Jordan shouts before looking back at me. “I’m not going to be one in a long line of your girls, Brody. I’ll help you with your grades, but you can find some other girl to suck your dick.”

Her words are a slap in the face. Is that all she thinks I care about?

“I’m sorry,” Jordan says instantly. “I didn’t mean that. I just … I can’t do this.”

She’s out the door before I can reply. I follow her out, my stomach in knots as we sit down to dinner.

“What’s wrong?” Leah asks. I look up from my dinner plate. Leah sits opposite me at the tiny table, brows high. I’ve been pushing food around, tuning out their chatter. “You got a beef with the beef?”

“No, it’s great,” I lie. It tastes like week old sweat socks, or would if I’d ever chewed on a pair, but it’s no worse then anything Jaxon or Damien would ever cook so I’m not complaining.

Leah’s expression is doubtful. “You think so?”

Jordan snorts. “If Brody likes the taste of leather.”

Leah juts her chin out and jabs her fork at Jordan before turning it on me. “I was out here slaving over a hot stove while you two got your freak on behind closed doors. I hope y’all choke on it.”

Jordan and I share a quick glance while Leah stabs at her beef, shoving it in her mouth and chewing furiously. After a long moment and an audible swallow, she stands and grabs at our plates. “Who wants pizza?”

With dinner settling in my stomach, I’m reading through the Dr. Seuss classic at Jordan’s desk. My pace is painfully slow and the book is tricky. I grit my teeth every time I stumble, which is often. It has a snowball effect, leaving me tripping over every sentence.

Midway through I slam it closed and spin around in the chair. Jordan’s reclined on the bed with her ankle elevated on a pillow, clueless to all the dirty thoughts that hit me just from staring at her.

“Break time?” she asks.

“You think?” I roll shoulders damp with sweat. I was already agitated. Now I’ve had enough. I’m so done. I toss the book on the desk and turn back to Jordan. “What’s the verdict?”