As though arriving at a decision, Jordan slams the text shut with a heavy thump and swivels in her chair, setting it on the desk.

When she turns back around, she pulls the band from the knot of hair on top of her head. It spills down, a cascade of honey over toned, golden shoulders. “What do you want?”

“What do I want?” It’s a wonder my voice doesn’t crack in two.

“Mmm hmm. What do you want?” she repeats, her voice low and full lips curved.

Jordan yielded too easily. A warning alert issues. It’s impossible to heed. My mind is already out of control, racing from so many options I don’t even know where to start. “Dealer’s choice.”

I want everything, so it’s better for Jordan to set the pace.

She stands and my chest tightens. “You want me to choose your reward?”

“I do.”

Her chin lifts in acceptance of my challenge. Reaching the end of her bed, she bends and climbs on. She lifts her eyes and the frosty blue is gone. In its place is a rich, dark lure as she stalks toward me on her hands and knees. Anticipation builds and I lick my lips.

Reaching my hips, Jordan draws back and sits. I wait, my blood a pounding roar in my ears.

“What reward could I possibly give Brody Madden that he’s never had before? I’m sure everyone you’ve ever known has bent over backwards to give you everything you ever wanted.”

Her words hit a nerve. All I’ve ever wanted is to prove I’m worth something, but no one can give me that. Worth can’t be bought, it has to be earned. “I don’t care about everyone giving me everything I want.”

“What do you care about?”

“You giving me what I want,” I quip, keeping it light because there are parts of me I’m not ready to expose.

Jordan lifts an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

“I care about football too.”

“Nothing else?” she asks me carefully.

I sit up, resting the backs of my hands on the bed behind me. It brings my face close to Jordan’s. Our chests align and her breath puffs softly against my lips. “I care about being the best.”

Jordan ducks her head and nips my bottom lip. It’s sharp and sweet, and I feel it everywhere. When she pulls back there’s a teasing light in her eyes. “The best at what?”

A grin tugs at the corners of my mouth. “Why the best at fucking you, sweet Jordan Matilda. I care about being so good you’ll never have anyone better.”

It’s a conceited declaration, and she tilts back her head and laughs, exposing the long line of her throat. “One day soon I want you to prove that. But not right now. You need to focus on midterms. Come on,” she says and grabs both my hands. Getting off the bed, she tugs at me, trying to pull me off.

My bottom lip pokes out. “What about my reward?”

She tugs again. “You said dealer’s choice and I’m hungry. So your reward is me cooking you dinner.”

“I thought you were going to give me something I’ve never had before?”

“I am. All we have in the cupboard is stale bread, so tonight I’m serving vegemite toast. You ever had that?”

I haven’t. And when we reach the kitchen, I seat myself up on the counter and watch while she takes a dark jar with a bright yellow label from the cupboard.

“Here.”

She hands it over. While I’m unscrewing the lid, she takes out a toaster and loaf of bread. With the lid off, I bring the jar to my nose and take a sniff. My lips curl with distaste. It’s foul. A black paste that looks dredged from the bottom of a sewer. It smells worse. My stomach rolls over with a slow, queasy thump when the stench sticks to the insides of my nostrils.

I look at Jordan, disbelieving. “You guys really eat this stuff?”

Popping bread in the toaster, she nods. “Yep. All the time.”

My eyes return to the sludge in the jar.

Jordan laughs. It’s a mocking sound. A dare. “It’s not going to bite you,” she chides. “Have a taste.”

I dip my finger in. The texture is firmer then it looks. Swiping up a decent sized amount, I bring it to my mouth and lick it off. My eyes water instantly and I screw them shut while I choke it down.

“Arrghhh.” The sound comes out guttural, the bitter paste killing off all my taste buds along with the ability to speak.

Jordan’s cackle is loud and evil. She takes the jar from my hand and replaces it with a glass of water. I snatch it up, water sloshing the rim as I gulp it down. “You’re not supposed to eat that much.”

Drawing the empty glass from my lips, I rasp, “You tell me that now?”

The toast pops. Jordan gets it out and starts spreading butter all the way to the corners. Done, she picks up the abandoned jar of vegemite.

I shake my head, watching her scrape it on like she’s creating a piece of art. “I’m not hungry.”

She puts the toast on a plate and offers it to me. “Don’t be a baby.”

“I’m not,” I tell her and take it from her hands. “I just don’t know why you’re trying to break my spirit. Between all the study and now this, I’m starting to think you have a sadistic side, and I don’t like it.”

Picking up her own piece of toast, Jordan takes a huge bite and chews slowly as if savoring the flavor. I’d rather she savor me. My legs are spread slightly where I sit on the counter and she steps in between them. Swallowing down her mouthful, she licks away the crumbs and leans in. The plate in my hands stops her from pressing too close. I discard it quickly and it hits the counter with a clatter. Now free to touch, I grab her hips in both hands and drag her in. She kisses me. I taste the vegemite on her lips and I don’t care.

Drawing back, Jordan looks me in the eye. “You’ve improved so much already, Brody. I don’t want to be the distraction that sets you back.” She sets her toast down and with both hands free, places them on my thighs, sliding them up slowly. I steal another kiss, this time swiping my tongue across her lips. A moan escapes and I’m not sure if it comes from her or me. “Let’s focus on midterms. When they’re done, whatever reward you want is yours.”

For weeks I put my faith in Jordan and focus like she asks. I study until I can’t think straight, reading late into the night until my brain bleeds. When I’m not hitting the books, I’m on the field, training myself to exhaustion. We become ships passing in the night and our away games alternate. On the weekends Jordan is home, I’m not, and vice versa. My need for her doesn’t diminish with the prolonged absences, it only grows hotter.

Jordan has more drive and determination then anyone I know. I feed from it. She makes me stronger and smarter, her faith giving me more confidence then I’ve ever had before. At our next home game I’m an unstoppable force, and it’s contagious. My energy spreads through the team, fueling them. The crowd feels it. It crackles through the hundred thousand spectators like a thousand volts of electricity. When the clock counts down its final minutes, our victory is almost sealed. Feet stomp fast and hard around the stadium, building to a thunderous crescendo that boosts us to greater heights.

“Hut!” Carter roars above the noise, his voice harsh and forceful, veins straining in his throat.

Sweat streams down my face, red from heat and exertion. It drips in my eyes. I don’t notice. I’m already moving when Carter takes possession of the ball. My teammates are battering rams, clearing my path. My cleats sink hard into the ground, turf flying up behind me when it rips from the field. Close to goal, I turn for the pass, my lungs screaming for air.

Carter doesn’t disappoint. It barrels toward me, high and curved as I run backwards. Using the last of my energy, I reach up, feet lifting off the ground as I make contact with the ball. It slides into my outstretched hands right where it belongs.

Before I find solid ground, I’m slammed from out of nowhere. The power of it rattles my bones and blurs my vision. Crushed sideways into the ground, my head hits hard. The crowd roars its approval because the hit came too late. The touchdown was made. I’m home. Fucking home.