Page 75 of Don't Puck the Wrong Brother

"Too much," she finishes, but she's smiling. "I don't know what came over me. I’m sorry."

"I'm not complaining." I reach for her hand, threading our fingers together. "Though I'd prefer no interruptions next time."

"Next time?" she repeats, her expression turning serious. "Are we really doing this, Sanderson?"

I lift our joined hands, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "I want to. The question is, do you?"

She considers for a moment, then nods slowly. "I think I do. But we need to be careful."

I would do anything to kiss her again. I lean in and whisper, "What's happening between us is just for us. No one else."

Relief softens her features, a soft blush on her cheeks. "Good…and we're still taking it slow."

I can't help the laugh that escapes me. "That was slow?"

She blushes, glancing down. "Slower than it would have been if Lennox hadn't shown up."

"True." I tilt her chin up, holding her gaze. "We go at your pace, Hannah. Okay?"

She smiles, that real, unguarded smile that I've come to crave. "I'd like that."

"Me too." I lean in for one more kiss, this one gentle, a promise rather than a demand. "I'll text you later?"

"You better."

With that, I force myself to walk away, though everything in me wants to stay. The door closes softly behind her, and I pause in the hallway, collecting myself before heading back into the world.

And right now, I have the hardest boner I’ve had in weeks that needs to be relieved.

Chapter 21

I lean against my closed door for a moment, collecting myself, feeling the lingering warmth of Sanderson's lips on mine. My heart is still racing, my body humming with unfulfilled desire. The memory of his hands, his mouth, his weight pressing me into the mattress sends a fresh wave of heat through me.

Taking a deep breath, I cut the corner where Lennox is unpacking Chinese takeout containers with a smirk that could only be described as insufferable.

"Statistics, huh?" she says, not even looking up as she arranges the food on my desk.

"Stop," I mutter, but I can't stop the smile spreading across my face.

"Your shirt's on inside out," she points out casually, passing me a container of lo mein.

I glance down in horror and yes—there's the tag, proudly displayed at my collarbone. "Oh my god."

"And your hair looks like someone ran their fingers through it. Repeatedly." She demonstrates with exaggerated motions. "Oh, and your lips are swollen, and there's a flush on your neck that's definitely not from studying, and—"

"Okay, okay!" I grab my pillow and bury my face in it, half-mortified, half-laughing. "Point made."

"So," she says, settling cross-legged on my bed and stabbing a piece of orange chicken with her fork. "Are we going to talk about how I just caught you in a very heated statistics session with Sanderson Connolly? The same guy you've been avoiding for days? The brother of your ex? That Sanderson who threw punches over you?"

I peek over the pillow, unable to contain my smile despite my embarrassment. "Yes, that Sanderson."

"What happened to 'I need space' and 'It's too complicated' and 'I'm becoming a nun and dedicating my life to academia'?"

"I never said that last one," I protest.

"You didn't need to. It was implied by the fortress of textbooks and unwashed coffee mugs you've been living in. I walked into a dump yesterday when I came here." She takes another bite, watching me expectantly. "So? Spill."

I hug the pillow to my chest, not even trying to fight the blush I can feel spreading across my cheeks. "He showed up at my door. Said he wanted to make sure I was okay. And then…I don't know. We were talking, and he was being all sincere and vulnerable, and I just…"

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