Page 2 of Study Games

“Are you apologizing to me?” Jax tilted his head to one side, the corners of his lips curling in something that might have been a smile, or sneer. Either way the curl at the corners of his mouth only enhanced that bad-boy persona he–for any lack of a better term–literally rocked. Dimples, yesterday’s evening shadow before five o’clock, and hand-drawn eyeliner with ragged edges and all. A touch of ink peeked out from beneath his trademark, calf-length leather jacket. “I didn't think we'd reach this point. You're late.”

Just as I thought I might have broken through with one of those students who were so far out of my league both creative and socially, he said something that snapped me back to reality.

“I'm late?” I blinked at him and wished my brain would churn a little faster. “How am I late?” I mentally penciled in a lobotomy. Jury was out for who the recipient was at this point. One of us for sure.

Jax eased his lithe frame a little closer, the scent of smoke and leather pluming from the folds of his long leather jacket and boots and waved his designer watch that matched perfectly to his razored hair that hung in my face. “Half an hour ago. Bar? Mentoring? Ring any bells?”

“Tutoring,” I automatically corrected him, staring at the luridly colored watch hands that told an undeniable truth. I’d gotten carried away with my own studies. “Fuck, I'm so sorry.” The curse slipped out but I carried on cussing to myself inside the private space of my brain where he couldn’t hear me.

I pressed my lips together, annoyed at myself for not displaying more control. If I gave Jax any sign of weakness, he was guaranteed to use it to spank my ass pink. The obnoxious thought worked its way into my mind and stayed there, marinating while the rest of me flushed as pink as the image in my mind.

“She keeps apologizing. I'm not even sure why.” He watched me with slitted eyes even though he was the one with his back to the sun. “But swearing is sexy on you, hive girl.”

I waved away his incessant, meaningless flirting. “Because I'm supposed to be the responsible one, and I’m meant to be upping your grades.”

“There's nothing wrong with my grades.” Jax arched a manicured eyebrow decorated with a lime green pointed stud and a scar, his particular brand of familiar arrogance blaring my way.

If I didn't know better, I would’ve said he was on the defense.

But Jax Palmer had nothing to be scared of from little old me. Nor did he have the right to tell me anything about myself. As usual my hackles rose and I bit out the first pathetic come back that tumbled from my lips like I’d been confronted by my grade school bully.

Only my seventh grade bully hadn’t worn leather or smelled of smoke and whiskey. Or had an evening shadow my palms itched to discover, or see if his skin was as soft as I hoped.

What in all the honey hells is wrong with me?

“You don't know the first thing about me, Jaxson Palmer.” I pushed up to standing, ignoring my screaming muscles, bunched from crouching too long.

I managed to twist my feet around and backed up right into a wall of muscle and heat that left a ripple running over my skin long after I jumped away from him.

“Why are you getting up? Here's a perfectly good place to study.” He laughed at me, though his slitted eyes never changed or shuttered, holding me in their thrall the entire time he studied me.

My stomach knotted as I wracked my blank brain. “I thought you preferred the bar.”

“I do. But… It's peaceful here. Quiet.”

“I can think here.” Another automatic response that slipped out without my permission. Dammit. I really had to get a handle on that foot and mouth thing. “Okay. Where would you like to start?”

Jax stepped forward, invading the space that was all too open and far too close all at once. “Oh, I know where I'd like to start,” he purred, though amusement lit his golden eyes as he teased me.

“What are you, six?” I shook my head and held out a hand palm extended like a stop sign. “We’re meant to be preparing for careers and a life that will follow us for the next decade and beyond. I don't have time to waste on flirting or– or–”

Jax closed the distance between us until his warmth eradicated the cool afternoon air where the sun didn’t reach, and my brain ceased to function altogether.

His knuckles brushed my cheek, grazing over my jawline as he slid the crook of his knuckle along my throat to tilt my chin up. My body froze along with my brain as I stared up at him, trying to ignore the way my body flushed and tingled at his proximity.

This wasn't what I was here for, and I had enough trouble already without getting involved with the college’s bad boy in my second semester.

“Do you think I'm flirting with you?" He dipped his head lowered, stealing the oxygen in the sliver of space between our skin until I swore he was going to kiss me.

“Fuck me,” I whispered, totally out of my depth and out of control in a second.

My eyes tried to close on their own, drifting shut as my head tipped back to meet his in an automated sequence I had zero control over, but I managed to keep them open. I sucked in a breath to say something-hopefully witty, but with my mind, who knew what that would actually be–but he beat me to it.

Jax tapped my nose with his pointer finger and stepped back, his eyes gleaming with an uncontested victory. “Who knew those bookish little turtlenecks were covering something so filthy mouthed?”

I pursed my lips rather than letting anything else slip out, stopping short of gulping in desperately needed air. “You think I should dress differently?” I frowned. This conversation and session wasn't going anywhere it should be. I need to get it back on track to start.

“Is that all you got out of what I said?” He laughed at me again, his eyes shifting this time with real humor, taking another step back. Jax sank onto the grass, probably half soaking himself in the damp blades. “Style wise? You’re a geek. I get it. Science nerd and all that jazz. It’s cool. But, you know.” He gestured at my thick black tights and my below the knee length blown skirt and matching brown and orange turtleneck. “You do dress like Thelma.”

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