Page 3 of Study Games

“I'm surprised you know what Scooby Doo is.” I frowned at him, my mind whirling. “Let me guess. You think you're Freddie Jones.”

"The preppie school kid cradling his V-card because Daphne won’t put out? Hell, no. I’m Shaggy."

I snorted. “You want to be a guy called Norville?”

He shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest in a self-conscious maneuver that would have been positively charming—if he hadn’t also claimed the asshole factor to go along with it. “I don't need to pretend to know how to act, bee girl. I know exactly who I am and what I want out of the world.”

“See, that's the difference between us.” I folded my arms and mimicked his posture. “I'm waiting for a world that knows what it wants out of me.”

“That's an ass-about way to view life." Jax tilted his head, throwing his face half into the shade. All sharp angles and straight lines leading to pale, arched lips. With his black hair and thick lashes, he could've had a touch of Korean heritage.

Not that I would ever know; this was the only sort of meaningful conversation Jax and I’d ever had. If I manage to shut him out or myself without my mouth running on, we might actually get a few minutes of study. Him, that was. Not for me.

Plus, I had assignments waiting in my room, and my bees had buzzed off into the hive for the night. The sun dipped on the horizon, the peaks behind Rippton U as the evening sky flared with a plethora of color.

I closed my eyes. Perfect. I wanted to spit out more curses, but my heart was all too aware of Jax watching me. He’s already called me filthy…and that brought totally different connotations to mind.

Like him with his shirt open, leaning in to brush his lips over mine… I squeaked and slapped a hand over my mouth. He was right there while I fantasized about him. What was wrong with me?

Career. Homework. Assignments.

Being bullied by males far too good looking for my own good.

Damnit. I wanted to cover my face with my hands and wail into the flower bed.

Parting my fingers, I peeked through them. Jax gave me a wide grin and a little wave. He was enjoying this.

Asshat.

Fine. Tutoring. Bees. Assignments.

Sleep, rinse, repeat.

I could do this. My study hours were fast running short, and all I wanted was to study my goddam bees. Was that too much to ask? No. Brain, please focus. Not on the steamy hot artist we can’t have. Please and thank you, Waverly.

“All right. Let's get this thing going.” I breathed out and made the descent back to my situpon piece of orange plastic that matched my turtleneck, and folded my legs beneath me. My bag toppled sideways a few paces away and I lunged for it to extract textbooks. “Where were we up to?” I flicked through the pages, finding the chapter, but I couldn't for the life of me remember where I’d left off last.

Nor did I ask again, knowing I would just end up reacting to his teasing, or the latest round of his personal brand of bullying. At least it was more civilized and tasteful than others. Even flirtatious, like before. Jax was the ultimate destruction, and my time was already so short.

Or maybe that was destruction, which was somehow worse.

I had so much to do and reacting to his teasing–not flirting, clearly, because Jax wouldn't flirt with the likes of my unflirtworthy peach–more than I already had wasn't on the cards at all. I glanced at my watch where it had slipped to the inside of my wrist. Nothing snazzy like his Swiss fancy-nancy timepiece.

My next lab wasn’t until seven…which meant I had a few hours, technically, to spend helping him. Plus, the pittance I got paid by the college for tutoring made up for it in some small way.

At least my roomie, Celia, and I would end up eating a bit better this week rather than noodles and toast, and I’d have something I could actually rant about while she gossed me up on social life around the college–the sort others had at the most elite private university in the US where most student’s private bank account balances rivaled the GDP of not so small nations.

Except for the small handful of not so wealthy scholarship students who go by without all the usual extras for a chance at networking and a degree heralded by Ripton’s crest that could open doors as fast as an Ivy League college.

In some circles, faster.

Jax, however, wasn’t to be deterred by my little side serve of distraction.

“I'll start anywhere,” he breathed. Leaning forward he braced on his forearms in the dewy grass that hadn’t dried from last night.

I squinted at him through my lashes, unable to pull my attention away, despite his obvious show ponying. Any other time he might have been laughable. But in person.... A glint of something dark lit his strange yellow that was absolutely undecipherable.

A glint of passion that went into everything he obsessed over, like his art. Passionate, creative and a touch dangerous.

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