Page 8

CHAPTER 8

Jordyn

I hurry up the steps of the Weston Grove building, heading to my first class of the day. As I grab the door handle, I pause to wipe the sweat from my brow, excitement and nervousness pumping through my veins.

Pulling the door open, I exhale a happy sigh as I smell the familiar aroma of higher education. Oddly enough, it smells like my former New York campus.

Taking a sip of the iced coffee, I spot a sign pointing to the stairs. Pushing through the door, I enter the stairway and take the stairs to the second floor, my heart beating with anticipation.

Exiting the stairwell, a song is in my heart as I walk down the hallway, taking the first step toward my dreams. Anticipation courses through me because I’m starting my day with the class I most look forward to this semester and the one I’m offering tutoring in—English Literature.

My eyes roam around the room when I step through the door, stopping when they clash with mossy ones. My excitement dims, turning to shock. Oh my God. Why the hell is Tristan in my class ?

A spark of recognition and something else is in his eyes, but I quickly turn away, not wanting to analyze it. He did a great job distancing himself from me the rest of the weekend. Josh nonchalantly mentioned Tristan texted, saying he was staying with their teammate, Alex, at his house.

I busied myself as much as possible, trying not to think about Tristan. I met with the Learning Center Director and the other tutors on Sunday afternoon. It was informal, a chance for us to meet and bond. Dr. Marshall, the director, divided us into groups. I enjoyed my group, and by the time we left, Jessica, Felicity, Matt, and I were chatting and laughing like old friends.

Shaking my head, my gaze moves to a seat on the opposite side of the room, and I realize someone is waving at me. A relieved smile is on my face as I spot Jessica, one of the tutors in my group. I hurry toward her, not sparing another look at Tristan.

“Hey, Jordyn.” Jessica greets me as I slide into the seat beside her. “I’m so glad you’re in this class.”

“Me too.” Unzipping my backpack, I pull out my class materials. “I was afraid I wouldn’t know anyone here.” I don’t tell her that I know Tristan, but I sneak a peek at him as I open the lid of my laptop. Twinkling green eyes glance over me, briefly locking with mine, before I look away, a blush heating my cheeks.

A muscular guy with short dark hair slides into the seat beside Tristan. I look over at him, and he meets my gaze head-on, a smirk curling his lips.

Oh, God. Is that Tristan’s friend, Alex? Did Tristan tell him about our first meeting?

I turn to Jessica, desperate for a distraction. “What other classes do you have?”

As she rattles off her schedule, Tristan’s eyes bore into me. I nod as she talks, happy that she and I have a writing class together after lunch. She asks me about my schedule, and I hand her my phone, the picture on my screen. Anxiety courses through me as I feel Tristan and his buddy staring at me.

When the professor walks in and begins class, I glance over at Tristan again. His eyes are already on me, a smirk curling his lips. I look away, anger filling me as I pretend to follow along as Professor Martin reviews the syllabus. Meanwhile, I’m seething as green eyes continue to bore into my profile.

The asshole avoids me all weekend, but now he can’t take his eyes off me. Yeah, no thanks.

“I know you can’t wait to do this,” Professor Martin’s voice draws me from my thoughts. Dread fills me at the look on his face. I know what’s coming, and I hate the idea already. “We’re gonna go around the room. Please stand, tell us your name, what you’re majoring in, and any minors.”

My palms are sweaty when the person in front of me sits down, knowing it’s my turn. I exhale and stand. “Hi. I’m Jordyn Reese, and I’m majoring in English Literature with a writing minor.” I practically fall into my seat, relieved that it’s over. My heart pounds as I stare at my screen, my cheeks flushed.

With an exhale, my gaze moves to Tristan. He flashes me a smile and a thumbs up, and I can’t help the grin that spreads over my face.

The introductions continue, and I pretend to pay attention. But it’s hard when a sexy-as-hell six-foot-tall hockey player lounges in his seat, staring at me like he’s starving and I’m the only thing on the menu.

A chat box pops up on my laptop screen. Curious, I click on it, my breath accelerating when I realize it’s a private chat from Tristan Harrington.

Tristan: You did amazing. I'm sorry I’ve been MIA this weekend. Will I see you later tonight?

I stare at his message, debating how to respond.

Me: Thanks. I’m sure you’ll do great, too. No worries about this weekend. I had things to do as well. I’ll be home later tonight.

I search his profile as he reads it, noting the tick in his jaw. He turns his head, brows lifted skeptically as we silently stare one another down.

The guy beside Tristan gets to his feet, looks around the room, and says, “I’m Alex Graves. Most of you know me as the goalie for the Wolverines and this guy’s best friend.” He jerks a thumb at Tristan, and the class cheers. “I’m majoring in Sports Management with a minor in Coaching. Yeah, I’m ruining the jock stereotype. I’m athletic and smart.” He bows before he sits down, and the class erupts into laughter.

My muscles are tense as Tristan gets to his feet. Why the hell is he so damn attractive?

“My name is Tristan Harrington, and?—”

Before he can get another word out, Alex and a bunch of students in the class punch their fists in the air and start chanting, “Captain. Captain.”

I exchange a glance with Jessica, shrugging my shoulder. She leans closer to my ear so I can hear her over the ruckus and says, “Tristan is the captain of the Wolverines hockey team. Clearly, he’s well liked.”

I nod, slumping in my chair as I swallow hard, intimidated by the reaction of my classmates. Tristan gestures with his hands for the students to calm down, and they immediately obey. The room goes silent as he graciously says, “Thanks for that, but please, don’t do it again.” He lightly punches Alex’s shoulder before chuckling. “I’m double majoring in Communication and English Literature with a minor in Coaching.” His eyes zero in on me, a smirk on his face, before he sits down.

My mouth drops open in surprise. There he goes, ruining the jock stereotype again.

I’m stunned that he’s double majoring and has a minor, but the uneasiness swimming through my veins has nothing to do with that.

We are too different. There’s no way Tristan would ever be interested in me.

And I shouldn’t want him to be interested in me. Not after our disastrous first meeting.

Professor Martin begins lecturing, and I force myself to concentrate on class, especially since I’m offering tutoring services for this and his other section. I begin taking notes, even though my heart isn’t in it.

A new chat message appears on my screen, and my fingers still as I see Tristan’s name.

Tristan: Hopefully, what you learned about me today will help change the horrible first impression I made.

Irrational anger swirls through me. Why is he doing this? It’s more obvious than ever that we are complete opposites.

Me: I should be impressed that you’re a smart jock. Probably makes you better at being a puck boy.

Tristan: Ouch. I’m not a puck boy, blondie. Nice try, though.

Me: Shouldn’t you be paying attention instead of messaging me, smarty pants?

Tristan: Shouldn’t you?

I bristle as I read his message. My gaze sweeps over him, frowning as he flashes me an arrogant smile.

What is his deal? He has avoided me all weekend, but he won’t leave me alone today.

Discreetly slipping my cell phone from my backpack, I text Chelsea to update her. I need some sympathy and advice.

My phone vibrates, and I quickly look at it, anticipating Chelsea’s response. My eyes widen when I see it’s from Tristan.

Tristan: Now you’re texting in class, too. Tsk, tsk. You aren’t fitting the stereotypical bookworm behavior.

I roll my eyes, about to respond, when I get a response from Chelsea.

Chelsea: You have class with Tristan? This semester is going to be full of drama. I can’t wait!

I frown at my phone. Not helpful, Chelsea.

As if she’s a mind reader, another text message appears.

Chelsea: He missed you, so he can’t leave you alone.

I sigh but answer Tristan’s text instead of responding to Chelsea.

Me: So you can deviate from typical jock behavior, but I’m not allowed to deviate from bookworm behavior?

Tristan: I love your feistiness. It’s cute and sexy, just like you. BTW you look hot in that outfit.

My mouth falls open as I read his text. I glance up at the professor, who isn’t paying attention to me, before looking at Tristan. He’s staring at me, a challenging glint in his eyes.

Determination coils through me as I give him a smirk.

Two can play this game.

It’s on, puck boy.