Page 64 of Rule Breaker

Fuck yes.

“Sort of.” I looked over and he was still half naked. “Put a shirt on already.”

“Hey, I’m the bitchy one,” he reminded me. “Knock it off.”

“I’ll knock it off when you put some clothes on,” I grumbled.

When Maddox turned away, I quickly adjusted myself. But I couldn’t calm my dick down. I grabbed a fleece blanket and pulled it over my lap. Maddox glanced back over his shoulder and gave me a pointed look. Nothing new there.

“Show me your test results,” he barked.

“No.” I shook my head. “No way. It’s humiliating enough that I barely passed. What did you get? A hundred?”

Maddox paused. “We’re not talking about me.”

“Is this a pity project for you?” I snapped.

“We’ve already been through this. Shut up already and listen to me.”

Maddox pulled out my favorite T-shirt, one that I’d had forever. The original navy blue was now grey, and it sported a lobster holding a beer in its claws. The shirt fit me perfectly, but it was big on him. Still, I swallowed hard when he put it on. It looked good, better than on me. Like it was made for him. Then again, he could wear anything and make it look cool.

He sauntered over and sat down beside me.

“I got ninety-seven, alright,” he admitted. “And you’re not a fucking pity project. I…I want to help you. I might be a cranky pain in the ass, but I’m not a monster.”

I stared into his eyes, intense as always. Dark, and full of secrets. He was wary. Of me? Of letting people see the kindness in him? Why?

“I never said you were,” I muttered. “But I feel so dumb compared to you.”

“Don’t ever use that word to describe yourself,” Maddox implored, leaning closer. “And remember Coach’s latest speech? I’m not into the rah-rah, woo-woo shit, but he’s right. If you go into a game with a defeatist mindset, it’s already over. You might as well stay home.”

“Hockey’s different,” I argued. “I’m good at that.”

“You’re going to get your eighty-five. We just need to sit down and focus on the methods that make it easier for you to interpret the material. That’s all.”

I nodded, his insistence sparking hope. Maybe Mad was right.

“You should consider changing your major from computer science to psychology,” I offered.

Maddox snorted. “No thanks. I’ve had enough therapy to know I’m not the empathetic kind.”

Therapy? For what? Then I remembered the tattoos on his shoulders. Remembrance. Vigilance. Every time I learned something new about him, I wanted to learn more. One question always led to another.

Maddox leaned back on my bed, lying down, hands under his head. He looked damn good on my bed. What would it feel like if I was stretched out naked over him? Kissing him? Coming with him?

I began sweating. A lot. Was it my hormones or was I coming down with a bug?

“Are we going to talk about, you know, that night?” he mumbled.

He rolled over, facing me, and the bed shook. Then I imagined the bed shaking for a much filthier reason.

“What?”

“Kay.”

I ran a hand through my hair, holding my head again.

“You said you couldn’t. That’s why I left you alone. I figured you wanted to forget. That you didn’t like what we did.”

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