Page 2 of The Study Session

“What's the last thing you remember about your English class at your old school?” I ask, redirecting the conversation to studying. I don't want to have to tell him our boundaries outright because it feels like I'd be assuming something, and if I'm wrong, that would be humiliating. But I'm hoping he can at the very least take a hint.

“So no boyfriend, then?” Jax says, leaning forward as his eyes darken. The smile on his lips becomes more playful, and I don't know what to think about it. “The men in the school really must have no taste.”

God, why can't I stop blushing? This is so unfair...

“You'll have to take that up with them, not me,” I say, trying not to stammer over my words as a rush of heat moves through my body and lands between my legs. I don't understand what is happening to me. Regardless, I can't take this anymore, so I straighten my spine and press my palms flat against the table while I stare at him. “Now, either you tell me what you know or I have to end the session. I'm serious.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I need to know where you're from, what course you were taking, and what you remember,” I say, almost relieved that we're finally getting somewhere.

He leans forward, taking a sharp inhale and momentarily looking away from me as he studies his hands on the table.“I just transferred from Glendale. Honestly, I don't remember anything about my English class.”

I expect to be more irritated about the fact that he clearly wasn't paying attention at his old school, but I'm too preoccupied by the fact he told me he's from Glendale College to care.

Glendale is notorious around here. Their football team has had a historic rivalry with our own, and I hear a lot about it thanks to Sawyer and Rowen talking about it all the time. Glendale is brutal. They don't hold back on or off the field. Everything I know about them has encouraged me to stay as far away from their side of town and their campus as possible.

Looking at Jax now, I can see how his darkened eyes and bad-boy exterior came from a place like that. My stomach twists at the idea of him being in one of the brutalist groups, almost functioning like a gang. I've heard a lot of rumors about men like him, and I don't know how I feel spending every Tuesday and Thursday locked away in a study room across the table from him.

And the fact that every time his gaze falls from my eyes to my lips, a shiver washes over my body, landing between my legs, scares me. I shouldn't be interested in him at all—and I swear that I'm not. Someone like him doesn't work with someone like me.

A student worker knocks on the door and jolts my attention away from Jax. Another student is behind them, immediately telling me that this room has been reserved for someone else, and we have to leave.

Even though Jax is bad news, I can’t help being a little excited for our next session.

CHAPTER TWO

The football flies through the air, and my eyes lock on it as I run as fast as I can, pushing every muscle in my body to its absolute limit. It glides into my arms as if a magnet pulled it directly to me, and I ignore the feet pattering behind me as others from the team practicing try to tackle me to the ground.

For a while, I was worried I wouldn't fit in here and find my place on the team. But now that we're officially practicing on the field, I know I'llearnmy place just like I had to earn everything else in my life. My eyes are on the end zone, and I pant heavily under my helmet as I run as fast as I can toward it.

Talon appears in my vision, and I ignore the men running at me from either side. I raise the ball in the air, throwing it hard so it cuts through any wind resistance and meets his hands. Mere moments later, I dodge nimbly out of the way as Sawyer tries to tackle me to the ground.

The quarterback catches the ball and runs it into the end zone, followed by a sharp whistle from Coach Emerson. “Take five, everyone!” he shouts, clapping his hands with a wide smile on his face.

I walk back to Sawyer and hold a hand out to help him up. He was one of the first guys on the team to take me in andtry to make me feel welcome here. Even though I am a part of the team, a lot of them are skeptical of me, knowing I'm from Glendale. Sawyer doesn't seem to care, and I'm thankful for that.

“Good job out there,” he says, clapping me on the back. We head toward the bleachers to grab our water.

He says something else that I don't quite register as my eyes scan the side of the field to see the band all walking around with their instruments in their hands.She'sthere.

Her long blond hair is pulled back in a high ponytail that sways back and forth as she laughs with her friends. Her baby-blue eyes are squinted shut to hold out the afternoon sun rays as she raises a hand to her forehead to attempt to see the faces of the people she's talking to. It feels like everything else vanishes, and I zero in on her as her laughter seems to dance through the air to meet me.

Corinne turns away from the group she's talking to, and her eyes meet mine briefly. I raise a hand to wave at her, and the smile falls as she nods slowly, only quietly acknowledging me. I don't know what I expected from her, but it definitely wasn't her immediately turning toward a guy in the band behind her and laughing as he playfully shoves her shoulder.

My mood shifts seeing that. I don't make any effort talking to the other guys on the team as we all joke about what happened on the field and drink our water. My eyes are steady on Corinne as she stands next to a tall, lanky man with shaggy brown hair and jokes with him. What could he be saying that's so funny, huh?

I don't even realize the break is over until the shrill sound of the whistle catches my attention, and everyone around me jumps to their feet to get back to the field. We run the same play over again, and I try my best to focus on the ball and our offensive maneuvers.

This time, as the ball is tossed to me, I grab it and run as quickly as I can toward the end zone. But my eyes linger on the sidelines as Corinne continues practically doubling over with laughter. I'm so distracted that I don't notice our linebacker running at my left side until he tackles me to the ground.

The whistle blows, sounding the end of that practice play. Gerard jumps to his feet with an amused smile, holding a hand out to help me up as I try to wrap my brain around what just happened. My eyes narrow, and I slap his hand away, jumping to my feet and standing in front of him with my spine as straight as an arrow.

“Who the fuck do you think you're playing with?” I ask Gerard, ripping my helmet off and tossing it to the ground. His eyes widen in fear, clearly not expecting me to lash out at him like this.

“I'm just—I’m—” he stammers, trying to come to terms with my reaction.

My hands are in front of me, crashing into his shoulders before I know what's happening. I'm shoving him and he's backing away, still upright because he's built like a brick house, but he has a clearly offended look on his face.

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