17. Seventeen
SEVENTEEN
H arley
“What in the sweet oranges was that?” I ask, looking up at Jax from where he hovers over me.
“That was the start of corruption, pretty girl.” He smacks a kiss on my lips and then jumps to his feet seamlessly. Holding out his hand, he says, “Come on, let’s get you back to the dorms. Not sure about you, but I have studying to do for Gordon’s test coming up.”
Placing my hand in his, I let him pull me to my feet. “I have a watermelon sized amount of studying to do thanks to someone confiscating one of my most important tools,” I quip.
“You have like six different colors of pink in there. And three different shades of green. Along with,” he starts counting on his fingers, “nine different blues. You’re insane.”
I scrunch my nose up while he swipes the bag of our trash from dinner off of the ground. “I am not insane.”
Jax visibly adjusts himself in his jeans after tucking the trash into his jacket. “Certifiably insane, Davidson. Who in their right mind needs nine different blue pens that are all different shades of the same exact color?”
“Me. And I’m in my right mind. Also,” I point at the prominent bulge in his pants.
“Also…?” he encourages me, his tone light and teasing.
I drop both my hands in front of me and clasp them together. Rocking back on my heels, I say, “Nope. Never mind. I, yeah, no, nope.”
Jax throws his head back, laughter booming through the trees around us. “Come on, doe eyes. Helmet, bike, dorms. We have plenty of time for you to acquaint yourself with my dick.” He places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the bike.
I shake my head. “You have got to stop making comments like that.”
“Why?” he purrs in my ear. “I love seeing your cheeks flush.”
I groan, grabbing the helmet and pulling it on. “I’ll just wear this for the rest of my life. With the face shield down, of course. That way you can’t see my face.”
He spins me around, still laughing softly. I tilt my head up, allowing him to secure the buckle under my chin. He slides the tinted shield up, granting him access to see my face.
I swat at his hands. “Hey! I just said face shield down!”
Jax bites his lip, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “I really love these helmets. Don’t make me trash them for the sole purpose of getting to see your pretty face.”
“Gah! Go back to being a jerk! I can’t handle you when you’re cute!”
More laughter. I smack his chest with my palms, alternating between the left and right. It’s his turn to swat at both my hands before grabbing the open flaps to my jacket and yanking me into him.
“You’re also adorable when you’re fake mad. Who would have known?” he chides, zipping up my jacket for me.
I roll my eyes at his antics. “Take me home, hockey jockey.”
“Yes ma’am,” he croons softly.
Hockey Jockey: You are in so much trouble, Davidson.
Me: This number is no longer in service. Please try again later.
Hockey Jockey: Nice try. My hair is pink.
Hockey Jockey: And not in a subtle way either.
Hockey Jockey: Like the same color as my practice jerseys.
Me: …
Hockey Jockey: I’m not sure the taste of your pussy can save you this time, pretty girl.
Me: That’s unfortunate. I’m pretty sure I said something about smothering you with your head between my thighs after the whole wrapping paper incident.
Hockey Jockey: Planning to sit on my face later, Davidson?
Me: *sigh* I wouldn’t even know where to start.
Hockey Jockey: Lucky for you, I know exactly where to start.
Jax’s hair is far from subtle. It looks like bubble gum has thrown up on his head. I can’t contain my laughter as soon as I walk into Professor Gordon’s class.
“Holy bubble gum,” I giggle.
“Ah. So, we’ve abandoned the fruits and vegetables for bubble gum now?” Jax teases.
“For that hair, we absolutely abandon the fruits and vegetables.” I step up to his desk and run my fingers through the strands.
“Mm,” he hums. “It really suits my look. Maybe I’ll keep it.”
Leaning down, I hover my lips over his and whisper, “I’ve always wondered what cotton candy would look like between my legs.”
Smacking a kiss on his lips, I drop myself into my seat and face forward. I’m ninety percent sure that I have completely stunned him into silence with my bold comment. But after ten seconds, the desk behind me creaks under his weight as he sits forward.
“Guess it’s a good thing I’ve wondered what a mane of blonde curls would look like wrapped around my fist,” he murmurs into my ear.
I bury my face into my hands, groaning quietly. Heat floods my cheeks and my core. The deep chuckle that ruffles my hair does nothing to ease the growing tension. The torturous build is slower than the build from his fingers on my clit.
“Thinking about Saturday night, doe eyes?” He asks in a gravelly voice. “I haven’t stopped thinking about how pretty you are when you come.”
“Pineapples,” I squeak out. “You are going to murder me with words alone.”
“Test time, folks. Get out your pencils and your calculators,” Professor Gordon says from her desk in the corner of the room.
Doing as she instructed, I place my calculator on the desk beside me as she begins to pass out the tests amongst the class.
“No distractions today, hockey jockey. Keep your hands to yourself and your lips closed,” I hiss over my shoulder.
He runs his hand through the bright pink locks on top of his head. “I know how to take a test, Davidson. Do you?”
I shoot him a smirk and face forward, quietly starting to hum lyrics to Taylor Swift songs. The two songs I’ve studied this material with. I can barely hear myself humming, meaning that no one else should be able to hear me either.
With the tests passed out, Professor Gordon says, “Go ahead and begin.”
The hour and ten minutes of class is used to complete the test. And because this test is our first mid-term test, it’s also our only class today. The rest of the week will be the same, with each class providing a mid-term exam and it being the only class we attend.
Jax finishes his test before me. Turning it in and walking out without a single word. Five minutes later, I answer my last question and gather my things to leave. I hand my test to Professor Gordon. She gives me a warm smile and a nod.
When I step out into the hallway, I find Jax leaning up against the wall adjacent to the classroom. His arms are crossed over his broad chest, and a small smile plays at the corner of his lips.
“Seeing as we have the rest of the day, I thought maybe you’d like to do something fun?” he asks.
“What did you have in mind, hockey jockey?”