THIRTY DAYS TO REMEMBER

008-HIS GIRLFRIEND?

OLIVIA

The way Jordan was looking at me right now made me extra cautious. His dark eyes were sharp, assessing, like he’d caught me doing something remarkable — or scandalous.

I rolled my eyes at myself. Relax, Olivia. It’s just orange juice and muffins. Not that he needed to see that I was nervous. But the truth? I couldn’t stop noticing him. That strong jaw, those broad shoulders, the subtle way his hands rested on the table — he was a sight. And I was way too aware of it.

I took a deep breath, muttering under it, “Get over it, Jordan.” Then I tapped my pen nervously. “It’s just juice,” I whispered, mostly to myself.

Jordan, after a long second of just staring like I’d invented a new star, finally broke his mini-tantrum gaze and reached into his bag. He pulled out his own notes, flipping them open with that calm, deliberate ease that somehow made me feel like I was stumbling through life while he had it all figured out.

“Tell me what parts you need help with,” he said, voice low but controlled.

I opened my mouth. And promptly shut it again. Stammered. Huh. Why was this suddenly hard? I had zero trouble with psychology — I just needed an excuse to sit here, in the same space as him, breathing the same air, stealing glances whenever he wasn’t looking. Make him notice me.

“Hmm…why don’t we start from the beginning?” I offered, hoping I sounded confident.

Jordan’s brow furrowed. “The beginning? It’s just reading.”

I shrugged like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Yeah…reading. That’s the problem.”

He gave me that look — the one that said really? the one that could pierce through my nonsense and call me out in two seconds.

I smirked. “I’m serious.”

“Come on. Be serious,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly.

“I am serious,” I repeated, though my heart was betraying me with ridiculous flutters.

He let out a small, controlled sigh, clearly deciding I was harmless enough — or maybe interesting enough — to humor me. “Fine. Open up, then. Read whatever you want to start with.”

My chest did that silly flip again. Open up? Read aloud to him? This was my excuse, my perfect little chance. I straightened my notes and started, voice trembling ever so slightly.

“Uh…so, classical conditioning is—”

“Wait,” he interrupted softly, leaning closer to point at my page. “Say it slower. Emphasize the key parts. Think like you’re teaching someone who’s never heard of it.”

I nodded, grateful for the guidance, and tried again. “Classical conditioning is learning through association… for example, if a dog hears a bell before food, it will—” I bit my lip, aware he was watching me like I’d just confessed a secret.

“Exactly,” he said quietly. “Now, repeat it one more time, but this time, add why it matters.”

I did as he instructed, and by the third time I stumbled — not because I didn’t know the words, but because my brain kept drifting to the way his hands rested on the table, the curve of his shoulders, the slight crease in his brow when he was concentrating — Jordan finally took over.

He leaned closer, pointing at his own notes. “It’s not just association. Classical conditioning explains how behavior is learned and repeated. It’s the foundation for understanding more complex learning patterns. See?”

“Yes,” I whispered, almost breathless. His voice was calm, confident, impossible to ignore.

He looked up at me, eyebrows slightly raised. “You’re spacing out again.”

I flushed. “I’m… I’m not. Just… thinking about the next example.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, unconvinced. His lips twitched like he was suppressing a smirk. “The next example, or something else entirely?”

“Uh… okay, maybe something else,” I admitted, heart hammering.

He leaned back in his chair, watching me with that infuriatingly perceptive gaze. “You know, you’re lucky I’m patient. Most people wouldn’t get away with this.”

“I am a people-person,” I teased lightly, daring a grin. “Besides, you’re fun to look at while I work. Totally educational, really.”

Jordan groaned softly, shaking his head. “Focus, Olivia. This is tutoring. Not… whatever this is.”

I smirked, hiding my blush. “Fine. Focus. Totally focus. I’m being serious.”

He gave me a slow, evaluating look. “Good. Now, let’s run through operant conditioning.”

I opened my notes again, reading aloud, but my eyes kept sneaking to him. He was beautiful. Smart. Dangerous in a quiet, controlled way. And I couldn’t stop imagining things.

What would it be like if I was his girlfriend? If we walked across campus together, hands brushing, heads leaning in when we laughed.

And then… I couldn’t help the naughty thought that made me flush. What would it feel like to have him like this? Right here. Right now.

I blinked and caught his gaze just in time. “Uh… sorry,” I muttered. “I… I’m focused. Totally.”

Jordan’s lips quirked slightly, but he didn’t say anything. Just continued explaining, unaware of the inner chaos I was juggling between his words, his presence, and my racing thoughts.

I tried, really tried, to listen, to process, to learn. But the sound of his voice, the sharpness of his eyes, the simple presence of him sitting across from me made it impossible.

He was distracting. Infuriating. And yet… completely captivating.

I took a deep breath, telling myself — this was tutoring. Nothing more. But my mind was already plotting the next thirty days, wondering how I could get him to look at me the same way again, and again, without him knowing exactly why I wanted it so badly.

“Olivia?”

I snapped my head up so fast, glaring at him like he’d done something wrong.

“Come on. Focus,” he said, voice firm but not harsh, the kind that made it almost impossible to argue.

I flushed, cheeks burning. “Sorry…drifted off a bit,” I muttered, looking down at my notes like they could save me from embarrassment.

He nodded once, slow, deliberate, giving me that piercing glance that somehow said, don’t do it again. I bit my lip and forced my attention back to the page, repeating the words I barely registered anymore.

And then…his phone rang.

I froze mid-sentence, the shrill tone slicing through the calm of the café. Jordan’s expression shifted instantly, subtle at first, then sharp, controlled, like someone had handed him a storm in a cup. He gave me a quick, almost apologetic glance, one that made my stomach twist for reasons I didn’t want to admit. Then he stood, grabbing his phone, heading toward the door without a word.

My chest tightened.

And just like that, jealousy — pure, uninvited, infuriating jealousy — dug its claws into me. Who was calling him? Why did it matter so much that I suddenly cared?

I watched him through the glass door, trying not to let my imagination run wild. But it did. I pictured a girlfriend on the other end of the line, laughing at something private, sharing jokes I wasn’t allowed to hear. My stomach lurched at the thought, and I had to take a deep breath.

I felt ridiculous. I didn’t even know him that well…yet here I was, panicking over a phone call.

Minutes passed, stretching and twisting with my nerves. I kept sneaking glances at the door, trying to see if he was coming back, if he was okay.

His phone call ended faster than I expected, and he returned — but something was off. His usual calm, measured steps were replaced by a tense urgency. His bag was shoved around his papers, packed with a sort of force that made me flinch. He didn’t make eye contact.

“What’s going on?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. It came out sharper than intended, and I immediately regretted it.

He paused, shoulders stiff, his jaw tight. “Excuse me…let’s move this to another day,” he muttered, almost too fast, almost like he wanted to disappear as quickly as possible.

I blinked. “Wait…what? Move it? Why?”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at me. He shoved the rest of his things into his bag, and then he was gone, leaving behind an empty chair, his half-finished orange juice, and a small pile of muffins.

I stared at the table, my fingers hovering over the cold glass, my mind spinning. The silence that followed felt too loud. Too heavy. I wanted to scream, or at least shake some sense into him.

Damn the person that ruined this moment for me. Who even calls someone like that at a time like this? Seriously. Couldn’t it wait five minutes until after tutoring? Or better yet, tomorrow?