Page 34 of Limbo

But it’s Valentine’s Day.

Shit.I check the date before I groan. How inconveniently poetic.

“Good morning, beautiful.” Jordan knocks on his way into my room.

I grab my bag off the bed and stop in front of him, sliding the coffee from his grip. Before he says another word, I ask, “Want to give me a ride to class?”

His head jerks back, his eyebrows pull in, and I take a sip to keep from laughing.

It takes a second for the disbelief to fade and his usual level of confidence to resurface.

“More than anything,” he says.

As we walk through the common area together, a choking sound draws my attention to Jess on the couch. She nearly spits out the “coffee” she’s drinking, the sight of us leaving together as shocking to her as me asking for a ride was to Jordan. I wink, just to further mess with her.

She shakes her head and mouths,Legend.

By the time I shut the door of his Jeep, my phone starts vibrating. It continues for the duration of the drive, but I already know what waits for me. A group message from everyone who feels invested in the will-they-won’t-they saga of Callie Henders and Jordan Waters. Maybe I should checktheirnotebooks for heart doodles.

“You’re popular this morning,” Jordan says, breaking a comfortable silence.

I shrug, putting my phone away. “I’m popular every morning. You just leave before the other suitors arrive.”

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, turning into the parking lot. “Names and class schedules, and I’ll take care of them all.”

I smile, climbing out. “Thanks for the ride.”

“I’ll see you after class, beautiful.” Then he adds, “Don’t accept any rides from the others until I get here.”

On my way into the lecture hall, I check my phone. Sixteen messages pop up. I find a seat and scroll through them, most from a freaked-out Jess. Neither Felicia nor Cam believe her, both demanding I confirm or deny her story. Rather than doing either, I return the phone to my bag.

Even if the whole thing wasn’t in a trial period with nothing guaranteed past the next few days, I wouldn’t respond. Whatever happens from this point on is none of their damn business.

I’m lying on the couch, attempting to finish a novel for lit, but the constant tapping has me reading the same sentence for the third time in a row. The book drops to my chest.

“Pen,” I demand.

From the floor in front of me, Jordan reaches back with the pen he’s been pounding on his textbook, not even looking up. “Sorry, I thought tapping would be less distracting than pacing.”

My fingers graze his as I take it away. The momentary contact of his skin on mine more than makes up for all his irritating study habits. Which happens to be every single one imaginable. Pen-tapping, pacing, reading and thinking out loud. I could pass a pop quiz on metaphysics, thanks to his ten-minute rant while walking in circles around the couch.

Since he insists on maintaining his outrageous schedule, I’m attempting to at least minimize the conflicts. I asked him to stay between the end of my afternoon class and the start of his next one to keep him from driving back and forth across campus multiple times in an hour. Benji’s at least right about one thing; the kid has committed to his cause.

Another few pages, and his index finger resumes a rhythm on the page.

My book falls again. “Jordan.”

Silence, and then he offers up his hand. “Better take it. It’s the only way to stop me.”

I smile at his solution to the problem, and he glances over his shoulder.

“Now you’re distracting me,” he says. He snaps his book shut and twists around to lean on the couch.

I lose interest in the story that has already come to pass in the book, preferring to experience the one playing out in real time. His emerald eyes trace over my face, never stopping anywhere long.

“What are you thinking?” I ask.

He squints, contemplating. “Would you like the smooth answer or the real one?”

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