Page 14 of Habits

“I won’t let him affect me.”

I chant those words over and over again, not even sure who I’m trying to fool, because I, for sure, am not fooling myself.

Andrew

I walk into the class, stopping the teacher mid-sentence.

She frowns at me, her forehead wrinkling in disapproval. I lift my eyebrow, daring her to say something, but of course she doesn’t. Her lips press in a tight line as she watches me pass by. Even if I wasn’t one of the Wolves, I’d still be Andrew Hill. And you don’t mess with Hills.

Smirking, I leave my pink pass on her desk and walk to my seat.

Although morning practice is usually spent in the gym lifting weights, today coach asked a few of us to stay behind so we could discuss this week’s opponent and some new plays he created. We got some new additions to the team this year—our most valuable being Max Sanders. So the coach is trying to come up with something new and unexpected that we can use as leverage in the upcoming season.

The Wolves are stronger this year than they have been for a long time, and since this is the final year for some of the key players, me included, we’ll do everything in our power to bring the trophy back home. So a free pass on some classes for the greater good is the least coach could do.

Guys fist-bump me as I pass by and girls giggle if our eyes connect for more than two seconds. So predictable, all of them.

Well, all except for her.

Jeanette Sanders.

She looks straight ahead, her face impassive. Her stormy eyes don’t stray my way. She doesn’t blink or give me a side gaze. She doesn’t smile or twirl her shiny black hair.

Jeanette Sanders is something else.

My fingers itch to touch that hair, dark as night and soft as silk. But I clench my hand into a fist by my side to stop myself. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she isn’t breathing at all. And since that’s not possible, I can only assume she’s good at keeping herself in check.

I pass next to her, and imagine that, slide into the only available spot that’s right behind her.

It’s my lucky day.

I don’t know what it is about her, but her calmness irritates me almost as much as all those other girls throwing themselves at me.

I let the backpack slide off my shoulder with a loud thud, and I watch her shoulders stiffen.

Jeannette knows exactly who’s behind her.

Good.

Our teacher gives me another dirty look before she resumes with her class. Rolling my eyes at her, I pull books out of my backpack and open them on today’s lesson.

Leaning forward, only enough so she can hear me but not enough to touch her, I whisper softly, “Hey, Princess, let me see your notebook.”

Jeanette doesn’t acknowledge me, but I can see her shoulders getting even stiffer, if possible.

Which is the complete opposite of her skin. She’s wearing one of those big sweaters that falls off one shoulder, revealing the thin, lacy strap of her bra and her skin. Lots of creamy, sensitive, covered-in-goosebumps skin.

“I know you can hear me.”

She continues staring forward, scribbling in her notebook and completely ignoring me.

Despite my better judgment, I trace her exposed skin with the back of my fingers. The current of electricityzingsbetween us, burning my flesh, but I swallow the hiss.

I try to pretend I don’t remember, but there is no way in hell I could ever forget that night in the library with Jeanette Sanders. Her soft, toned, curvy body draped over my lap. The silkiness of her skin beneath my hands when I traced her naked thighs to pull her closer so her heat could press against my groin and release some of that pent-up tension in my body. Little did I know in that moment that having her in my arms would be like all the missing pieces falling into place. That having her, kissing her, being with her would bring a lot of things but not what I need.

“Princess…” I drawl in warning, my voice dangerously low.

She pulls her shoulder out of my reach, pulling the fallen material to cover her exposed skin. Gray eyes, pissed and stormy, look at me over her shoulder.

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