Page 97 of Hate to Love You

We spend the next hour going over the cards. The upcoming test covers a lot of ground and some of the concepts are tricky. I gave him the materials more than a week ago so he would have enough time to study instead of trying to cram it in at the last moment.

Leaning back on his chair, Brody lifts his arms over his head and stretches his body. The graphic tee he’s wearing rides up his belly, showing a tantalizing strip of tight abs. My eyes arrow to the sun-kissed flesh.

“I think we could both use a study break right about now,” he says, closing his textbook.

My eyes snap to his. A sexy smirk curves his lips upward. He obviously caught me staring at his perfectly chiseled body. Before I can respond, he grabs my fingers and pulls me up and around the table until I tumble onto his lap. Brody wraps his arms around me and slants his mouth over mine.

Unable to resist, especially after the brutal conversation with his dad, I open immediately, and his tongue slips inside my mouth before stroking against mine. His hands go to the sides of my face, holding me in place.

After a few breathless minutes, I break away.

Even though I could spend the rest of the night kissing Brody, I don’t want to get off task. It’s important that he does well on this test. So much is riding on it. If he bombs it or even gets a D, that will pull his grade down even further, and then he’ll end up benched. “We should probably get back to studying,” I remind him.

“Not yet,” he grumbles. “I haven’t seen you all day. I’ve missed you.”

His words make my heart ache. “Okay,” I give in. “But only a few more minutes. We have to make sure you ace this exam.”

He huffs out a breath. “That’s not going to happen. I’ll be ecstatic if I pull off a B.”

“If we study a little bit harder, you can do it. I know you can.”

“I’d rather study you,” he murmurs right before his lips coast over the column of my neck. As soon as his mouth makes contact, my eyelids feather closed. He nips at my throat before his tongue darts out to sooth the area.

“God, but I just want to get you alone,” he growls as his hands delve under my shirt, zeroing in on my breasts.

I groan as he palms the soft flesh and teases my nipples.

“Brody, you need to focus.” I’m barely able to get the words out.

“Trust me, sweetheart, I’m focused.”

His father’s words ring unwantedly in my head, leaving me cold. This is exactly what John was talking about. Instead of studying for an important exam, Brody would rather be making out with me.

Even though I would never do anything to intentionally hurt him, I can’t help but wonder if that’s what is going on. Am I nothing more than a distraction that pulls his focus from what’s truly important? Am I jeopardizing his future?

I tug his hands from under my shirt and jump off his lap. My body trembles as I slump on the chair across from him. “You have to study,” I repeat. “You need to do well on this exam. It’s important.”

Annoyance flashes across his face. “Chill out, Davies. You don’t need to remind me that it’s important. I know it is.” He adds, “My dad rides me enough. I don’t need to hear it from you, too.”

I wince. His words feel like a slap in the face.

Unable to meet his eyes, I stare sightlessly at the book splayed open in front of me. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I just want you to do well. That’s all.”

He sighs. His fingers slide across the table until they’re able to tangle with mine. He brings them to his lips and gently presses a kiss against my knuckles. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I know you’re just trying to help, and I appreciate it. I’m under a lot of pressure right now.”

I glance at him. “I know.” My heart feels like it’s about to crack wide open.

Maybe his dad is right.

Maybe I’m just in the way.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Brody

I grab Natalie’s fingers as we leave campus and head to my truck parked nearby in a lot by Campbell Hall.

“Are you hungry?” I ask. “Want to grab something to eat?” I’m always starving. Between two-a-days practice on the ice and lifting in the gym, I burn through calories. I may not be eating the crazy amount that Michael Phelps does when he’s training, but it’s not that far off either.

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