Natalie
Brody and I are camped out on the third floor of the library. Books and papers are spread out across the table. We have a test on Friday in our Managerial Finance class, so we’ve been hitting the library to study when time allows. Which, with Brody’s hockey schedule, is no easy feat.
I never realized that playing a sport at the college level is like having a full-time job. I hate to admit it, but Brody’s schedule is grueling. I’m not sure I would want to have it. He’s usually up by five and doesn’t fall into bed until eleven. Tonight, he looks especially exhausted. I feel a little guilty for assuming that he’s been coasting his way through school. Obviously, that’s not the case.
There’s something else I’ve noticed this week.
The books Brody uses are large-print texts, which make me suspect that something’s going on, but I have no idea what.
Vision problems?
But that doesn’t make sense when he’s such an amazing hockey player.
Sometimes I watch him from beneath my lashes. Where I can skim over the page of a textbook in a matter of minutes, Brody takes a lot longer to read through and digest each section. He highlights passages or important concepts and types them on his laptop. The entire process seems painstaking and slow.
I’m beginning to suspect that Brody has a learning disability. He hasn’t mentioned anything and I’ve been too afraid to ask. I don’t want to offend him. A couple weeks ago, I wouldn’t have cared about hurting Brody’s feelings, but something subtle has changed between us. Somehow, we’ve managed to strike up a tentative friendship, and I’m loath to ruin it.
After about an hour, I pull out a stack of index cards from my bag and silently slide them across the table.
Brody stares at the pile held together by a rubber band. There’s a guarded expression on his face when his eyes lift to mine. “What’s that?”
An unexpected burst of nerves wing their way to life inside me. “I made some cards for you to study with.”
He seems taken aback. “You made me flash cards?”
Only now do I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. Unfortunately, it’s too late to snatch them off the table and pretend this never happened. I gulp. “I thought it might make studying a little easier. That way you have something small and portable you can pull out when you have a couple of minutes of downtime.” I don’t want him to think it’s a big deal. “Even if you spend five minutes flipping through them a few times a day, it might help.” I shrug, wishing this didn’t feel so awkward. “Zara sometimes makes notecards for herself. It helps her to memorize the material.”
When he remains silent, I repeat miserably, “I thought it might help.” Shifting on my chair, I reach out, ready to slip the cards back into my bag. As I make a grab for them, he covers my fingers with his own. I stare down at our clasped hands.
Brody clears his throat. “Thank you.”
“It’s not a big deal,” I say quickly, just wanting to drop the subject.
“It is,” he says. His voice is low and scratchy. Full of emotion. “I appreciate it.”
I suck in a breath and force it out again. The question tumbles out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Is memorization an issue?”
Silence stretches between us. It seems like forever before he says, “I have dyslexia. Pretty much everything school-related is an issue for me.”
“Oh.” Once again, I feel like Brody has thrown me for a loop. I’ve spent three years in class with him and it never occurred to me that he might struggle academically. Now that I think about it, the signs were there. But for some reason, I assumed the worst about him from the beginning. “I didn’t know,” I say stupidly.
He shrugs like it’s not a big deal, but I can tell it is. It’s there in the stiff set of his shoulders. The way he refuses to hold my gaze for more than a moment or two. The tension radiating off him in thick, heavy waves is another indicator that I’ve unearthed something raw and painful.
Our hands are still clasped. I shift mine around until I’m the one holding him. I want to offer comfort, but I’m not sure how and that makes me feel helpless.
“My professors know, and for the most part, they’ve been great about making accommodations. They give me notes prior to class so I can focus on the lecture. Instead of taking written exams, sometimes I can take an oral one. I do better when I don’t have to read long sections and answer questions. That’s always been a killer for me. I also buy large-print books because it helps make reading easier.”
I shake my head in wonder. I would have never suspected.
“Look,” he says gruffly. “I’ve been dealing with this for a long time. I’ve figured out strategies to help myself.”
“Is there anything I can do?” God, I feel like such an asshole right now.
“Actually, the cards are great. My handwriting is pretty messy, so these will make it easier.”
“I can make cards for your other classes, too,” I say quickly. “It’s not a problem.”
He nods. “Quizzing me verbally on the information helps as well.”
A piece of the puzzle slides into place. “Is this the reason you didn’t want to work with a tutor?”
A look of guilt flashes across his face before he pulls his gaze from mine. “I’ve managed to get through three years of college on my own. But we’re only a month into the semester and it’s already challenging. I’m struggling more than I have in the past.”
My heart feels like it’s being cracked wide open. I’ve never felt anything like it. “I’ll help you as much as I can.”
The corners of his lips lift. “Thanks. And I appreciate the cards.”
“You mentioned going over the information verbally. Is there anything else we can do?”
He takes a breath. “If we could discuss the concepts, especially in finance, so I have a better understanding of them, that would help a lot. I have a difficult time memorizing for the sake of memorizing. If I have a better working understanding of the ideas, then it’s easier for me to commit them to memory.”
“We can do that.” I make a mental note to do a little research on dyslexia. Maybe if I have a better understanding of Brody’s struggles, I can figure out other ways to support him.
“I appreciate your help, Davies.” His eyes drop as he shifts on the chair. “Do me a favor?”
“Anything.” And strangely enough, I mean it. I’d do just about anything he asked right now.
His whiskey-colored gaze pierces mine. “Don’t mention this to anyone, okay?”
“Is that what you think? That I’m going to blab this all over school?” It hurts that he feels the need to say that to me. “I would never do that to you.”
Some of the tension drains from his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t. It’s just…” He shrugs as if at a loss for words. “I’ve learned over the years to keep my guard up. Whitmore is a cesspool for gossip. I don’t want this getting out. It’s no one’s business but my own.”
“You have nothing to be embarrassed of. You’ve obviously found strategies that work for you.”
He nods. “Yeah, I have. But school has always been a struggle. I’ve had to work my ass off just to get B’s.” He cocks his head. “Do you have any idea how much it sucks to work that hard and not see a payoff?”
I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t. School has always come easy for me. I’ve never had to study very much. I’m blessed with a good memory.
“I spent a lot of years hating school, hating how difficult it felt, hating that everyone seemed to pick up stuff easier than me. They watched me struggle and thought I was lazy or stupid, or a troublemaker because I would get so frustrated and lash out.”
His words break my heart. Especially since I’m guilty of thinking the same. I’ve never felt so ashamed of myself as I do at this moment.
“I’m sorry, Brody. That sounds miserable.”
“You know what saved me?” He pauses for a beat, and I shake my head. “Hockey. As much as I struggled in the classroom, I was a natural on the ice. If I didn’t have hockey growing up, I’m not sure I could have gotten through all the other bullshit.”
“If school was so difficult, why go to college? Why not go straight to the NHL?”
“I signed a contract with Milwaukee during my senior year of high school. They wanted me to play juniors. I was eighteen years old and needed time to mature physically. Attending college was my decision. I could have turned pro after the second year of juniors, but it was important to my mom that I get my college degree, so that’s what I’m doing. I’ve focused on a business degree, because after I’m done playing hockey my plan is to join my father at his management company.”
I feel like everything I’ve ever thought about Brody is wrong. Okay…maybe not everything, because he’s still a manwhore. But the importance he’s placed on school even though he clearly struggles is proof enough that there’s more to Brody than I allowed myself to believe.
It makes me realize that I was quick to judge him on outward appearances. My impression of him was that he was an arrogant jock coasting through college, so I placed him neatly into that category without examining it any closer.
With our fingers locked together, he reaches over with his other hand and slips it under my chin. “I’m not telling you this because I want you to feel sorry for me.” He shakes his head. “Your pity is the last thing I want.”
I lower my eyes. “It’s not that.” After Friday night, this glimpse into who Brody is only makes me feel more confused.
“Then what is it?”
I shrug, still feeling like an asshole. “I’ve always thought you were just here biding your time before going to the NHL. But that’s not the case at all.”
“Don’t feel bad about it. I’d much rather have people think that than find out I’m dyslexic.”
My brows draw together. What he’s saying doesn’t make sense. “But no one would judge you for it.”
“They already have.” His voice takes on a sharp edge. “When people find out you have a learning disability, they treat you differently. They don’t expect as much from you. They assume you’re not as smart because your brain works differently. Or that you’re somehow damaged. I don’t need that.”
“But you just told me,” I whisper.
His eyes singe mine. “Maybe I wanted you to know the real me.”
Those words bring a thick lump to my throat. “Thank you. And I’m sorry for misjudging you.”
Surprising me, he gets to his feet and pulls me up with him. “Come on.”
It takes a moment for me to mentally switch gears. “What are we doing?”
“Taking a much-needed study break.” He doesn’t let go of my fingers as he snakes his way around the stacks.
I glance at our table. Everything is still strewn across the top of it. “We’re just going to leave our stuff there?”
“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”
The third floor of the library is always quiet since most students prefer to study on the first two floors. I’ve only seen a few other people in the two hours we’ve been here tonight.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“You’ll see,” he says, tugging me behind him.
We walk around a few more corners before Brody grinds to a halt. My breath catches as he pins me against a tall bookcase filled with doctoral theses.
“What are you doing?” I squeak in surprise.
He smirks. Both of his dimples pop. “I think it’s time for another lesson.”
“Another lesson,” I repeat stupidly. What is he—
Oh.
A lesson.
My eyes widen, and he chuckles. The sound is low and rough. It scrapes against something buried deep inside me. His mouth hovers dangerously over mine. My heart pounds with anticipation. I want him. My lips part of their own accord. I’m hungry to feel his mouth crushing down on mine. Instead of doing what I expect, he runs the tip of his nose across my cheek. The touch is subtle.
I release a shaky, pent-up breath.
He nips at my chin with his teeth, and I melt against the shelving unit I’m pressed against. His mouth trails across my jawline, teasing my flesh until I groan with need.
“Are you ready for your second lesson?”
God, yes…I’m desperate for whatever he wants to show me. Whatever he wants to do. I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve always been contained, removed. No one has ever made me lose my mind or forget myself.
Brody does that to me. All I’m aware of, conscious of, is him. His hands. His mouth. The position of his body as it aligns with mine.
“Yes,” I moan.
Not once does it occur to me to put a stop to what we’re doing. We’re making out in a public place. Anyone could stumble across us. But that’s not even a thought in my head. The only thing that matters in this moment is the feel of his hands branding my body. His lips coasting over me. The pleasure blooming in the pit of my belly. And lower.
So much lower.
“Good, because after Friday, all I’ve thought about is touching you again.”
With that, he flips me around so that my front is pressed against the stacks.
“What—” I gasp.
“Shhhh.”
Any protest bubbling up in me dissolves when he presses his hard body against my backside. He grabs my hands and stretches them high above my head.
“Leave them there,” he whispers in my ear.
“You’ve got a real thing for that, don’t you?” I breathe out in a shaky voice.
He chuckles. “I like the idea of having you at my mercy. All these years, you’ve been sharpening your claws on me. I hate to admit it, but all it’s done is turn me on. Now you’re going to do what I tell you to. Understand?”
“Yes.”
His fingers trail along my arms and down my sides. Shivers scamper across my spine as he grips my hips and pulls me flush against the lower half of his body. The feel of his erection pressing into me nearly makes my knees buckle. His hands slide around to the button of my jeans and flick the metal disk from its hole.
“Brody…” My teeth sink into my lower lip. As much as I want him to touch me, we can’t do this. Not here.
“No talking,” he whispers harshly. “Only feeling.”
“But—” my voice rises in panic.
“I said no talking, Davies.”
My heart thunders as his fingers draw the zipper down. Parting the material, he traces lazy circles across my lower abdomen. I turn my cheek so that it rests against the spines of the books. My eyelids feather closed as he dips his fingers into my jeans, grazing the edge of my panties.
As wrong as I know this is, there’s a growing part within that doesn’t give a damn. When Brody lays his hands on me like this, all rational thought disappears.
“What do you want me to do?” His fingers dip inside the band but don’t descend any further.
Even though I shouldn’t, I groan out the words. “Touch me.”
“I am touching you.” His voice is silky soft. Almost playful.
“You know what I mean.” I wiggle against him, trying to get his fingers to slide inside my panties.
“You’re right, I do,” he whispers against my ear. “I know exactly what you want.”
With that, his fingers slip under the band and stroke over my naked flesh. My knees quiver as he glides over me, caressing the seam of my lower lips. I widen my stance wanting him to sink deep inside me, but he doesn’t. He toys with me instead. When I can’t stand another moment, when I feel like I’m going to scream with the need building inside, his fingers slide through my folds and zero in on my clit, rubbing slow circles as if we have all the time in the world. It’s nothing short of exquisite torture.
I bite my tongue to keep quiet when he sinks a thick finger inside me.
“Mmmm, you’re so fucking tight,” he murmurs.
A second digit joins the first. He pumps them a few times before dragging his fingers from my body. Just when I think he’ll pull all the way out, he drives them back inside. I moan as he buries his fingers to the hilt. His other hand snakes up my body until he’s able to cup my breast. He squeezes the softness and plays with the pebbled tip.
More nerve endings spark to life. An orgasm brews as he finds a rhythm, stroking in and out of my body. I arch my pelvis, wanting to pull him in deeper. Wanting these intense feelings of pleasure to go on forever.
The hand that had been touching my breast trails down my rib cage and delves into my panties, zeroing in on my clit again.
The low murmur of voices cuts through the thick haze of pleasure cocooning me. My eyes fly open in alarm. We can’t be discovered in such a compromising position.
“Relax,” he breathes against my ear. “They have no idea we’re here.” Instead of releasing me, his grip tightens. His fingers thrust in tandem, never ceasing their assault on my flesh.
“We have to stop,” I whimper as pleasure crashes through me.
Even though I said the words, I think I would die if Brody stopped what he was doing. Any moment now, the orgasm that has been building is going to streak through my body.
Instead of answering, the intensity of his touch becomes more focused until it’s almost unbearable. I bite my lip to stifle the scream rising within.
The voices grow louder.
Closer.
They must be on the other side of the bookshelf. If I weren’t so out of my head, I would push him away and straighten my clothing, but I can’t bring myself to do that. I’m so close to coming. It’s all I’m able to focus on. Everything in me tightens.
“Come for me, baby.” He nips my neck and growls, “Right now.”
That’s all it takes to push me over the edge. His lips capture mine, swallowing the moans that fall from them as he thrusts his fingers inside me while the other hand plays with my clit.
It takes a moment for me to come back to my senses. For me to realize that I’m still pinned against the stacks with Brody’s big body pressed against my back, his hands continuing to strum my body.
“Fuck, that was amazing,” he mutters.
His breath is just as labored as mine. I strain to hear the voices that had been just on the other side of the shelf, but there’s nothing. They’ve obviously moved on, away from us.
I can’t believe we just did that. That I allowed Brody to finger me in the library.
“Stop thinking.” His teeth bite down on my ear, pulling gently on the lobe. “Just enjoy how I made you feel.”
He’s right. I don’t want to ruin this moment with regret. I need to enjoy whatever this is between us for what it is.
Instead of separating myself and feeling awkward about what just happened, I say, “I think I’m going to enjoy your lessons.”
He relaxes against me and chuckles. “Damn right you are.”