Setting my beer back down, I hit reply and slowly type my response.

Jordan,

Sounds like fun. Can’t wait.

But we should go on our date first.

When do you want to do that?

Brody

PS What are you wearing???

Hitting send, I go in search of reading material. I don’t have any trouble. There are so many erotic stories available on the internet I don’t know where to start. I click on the first one I find that doesn’t include weird or creepy fetishes and begin to read. I get through it, coming to the slow realization my plan has backfired. My chest is damp with sweat, and I’m hard like an iron bar. I let out a harsh breath and type out my summary. It’s uncensored and wildly inappropriate, but that doesn’t stop me sending it.

Her reply comes through soon after and makes me chuckle.

Brody,

Your choice of reading material is inspired and your summary graphic. Kudos for making me blush. Unfortunately, it needs work. I’ve included my corrections. Please look them over. Interested to see what you choose to read next …

How do you feel about sushi?

Jordan

PS Clothes.

Pleased she isn’t trying to wriggle out of our date, I write back immediately.

Jordan,

I hear every sushi restaurant in the greater Austin area got shut down. It’s unfortunate, but what do you expect? This is cow country.

You prefer steak? Good. Let’s do that.

Tuesday night.

Brody

PS What kind?

I yawn and stretch. After finishing off the bottle beside me, I toss it toward the trashcan in the corner. It hits with a loud clang. I holler a victory at the same time Jordan’s next email comes through.

Brody,

Pizza it is. Thursday night.

Jordan

PS The kind that is none of your business.

Unwilling to concede a single inch. I shake my head.

Jordan,

Done.

Brody

PS From now on, everything about you is my business.

That will get her hackles rising. Another yawn overtakes me. The screen blurs before my eyes. If Jordan writes a response it will have to wait for morning. I close the lid of my laptop and set it on the floor.

My eyes blink open when the alarm pierces my deep sleep. Picking up my phone, I switch it off with one hand and rub my face with the other. It’s dark out but it’s Monday morning and gym time.

Before getting dressed, I take an extra minute to check my computer. Jordan’s first on my mind this morning and seeing a new email in my inbox brightens me instantly.

Brody,

I should let you know I won’t be in class this week. I’m doing course work from home so I can rest my ankle. It’s not healing like it should and has me a little worried.

See you Thursday. Shall I pick you up?

Jordan

PS That kind of caveman talk could see you lose a couple of teeth. Just sayin’.

I chuckle under my breath as I drag on my workout gear. I can’t reply right now but I will later. Jordan’s not the only one concerned about her ankle. I’m happy she’s taking the week to rest it. That kind of simple injury can escalate from a molehill to a mountain if it’s not dealt with quickly, and in the right way.

My day goes fast but it’s not until later in the night I get a chance to send her my reply.

Jordan,

I’ll give you one word about resting your ankle. Good.

Two words about seeing you Thursday. Can’t wait.

Three words about picking me up. No fricking way.

Brody

PS Threats of violence get me hot. Just sayin’.

Tuesday night comes and I’m tired, irritable, and can’t focus. I want Jordan. Badly. I feel like a tightly coiled spring ready to explode.

Already in bed, I reach over and pick up my phone, scrolling my contacts. I’ve kicked off my sheets. My skin is hot and too itchy for me to find sleep. I put the phone to my ear and wait, not having a clue what the time is and not bothering to check. It could be late. It could be early morning. I don’t care. I just want to hear Jordan’s voice.

“Hello? Brody?”

There it is. That low, husky accent. It almost centers me it’s that good. I breathe it in like I’m drawing Jordan inside my lungs. I exhale slowly and say, “Hey.”

There’s a pause.

“How are you?” I ask and then wince, covering my eyes with my hand. So stilted and polite. Usually I’m a lot smoother than this, but I don’t want to be that guy with her. I don’t want to hide behind a wall of confidence that I’m not feeling.

“Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” I assure her. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Another pause follows. It’s long and its silence is louder than a herd of elephants.

“Brody, that’s …” Jordan sighs, the sound soft and silky. “I like hearing yours too.”

I rub fingers across my lips. I can feel the smile on them. “Were you sleeping?”

“Not really. I’ve been sitting around for days. It’s making me crazy.”

Her tone is one of frustration. I know it well. Waiting for injuries to heal is an excruciatingly slow process. “How’s your ankle?”

“Much better. How’s your reading?” she shoots back.

“You tell me. I sent through my summary earlier. You didn’t get it?”

The sound of movement comes through the phone and the beep of a computer coming online echoes. After a few taps I hear her chuckle. “Oh you mean this one, your ‘Ode to Frosty Flakes’?”

I grin. “That’s the one.”

A few minutes of silence follow. It’s a comfortable silence because I know she’s reading. I can hear her breathing softly when I close my eyes and press the phone hard to my ear. It’s soothing and I drift a little. She jerks me out of it when she speaks. “Have you ever tried reading upside down?”

“Ummm …”

“I know spellcheck is your friend, but it doesn’t stop you getting your words mixed up. Next time try reading your work upside down and let me know if that helps.”

“Is this some kind of wax-on wax-off mumbo jumbo?”

Her laughter comes through the phone. The sound heats my skin like a brush fire. “That’s right,” she replies as I snuggle further down on my bed. “Just call me Mr. Miyagi.”

“I’ll call you whatever you want as long as I can do wicked things to you.”

My tone is teasing, but Jordan’s sharp indrawn breath tells me she knows I mean every word. She’s thinking about those wicked things. And wants them.

“Wicked things?” she echoes.

Are we venturing into phone sex territory? My lips dry out. I run my tongue over them. “You want me to list them?”

Another pause comes, this one setting me on edge.

“I don’t think so. Night, Brody.”

Disappointment slams me harder than a defensive linebacker. Damn.

“I’d rather you show me one of those wicked things Thursday night,” she adds before cutting the call and leaving me with nothing but a dial tone in my ear.

Jordan

Brody’s palm is splayed on the small of my back. It’s all I’m aware of as he steers me down the back of the restaurant, mindful of my injury. His proximity makes it hard to breathe. When I’m directed to the last available booth, his hand falls away and I slide in with a sigh of relief.

I scan the room while he takes the seat opposite. It’s small and aged but it’s bursting with college students—most with curious eyes that watch us with interest. The floor is black and white check, the tabletops Formica, and the booth seats bright red and a little worn. It’s unpretentious and the noise loud. It puts me at ease and I shoot Brody a smile as our waitress arrives to take drink orders. I look up into the sullen face of Lindsay. Suddenly I’m thankful of the short, sexy dress Leah bought for me and the soft waves she helped put through my hair.