THIRTY DAYS TO REMEMBER

005-DAY TWO

OLIVIA

Jordan Rivers. The man, the myth, the walking ice block.

Yesterday he’d ignored me like I was invisible, but today? Today I had a plan.

Miya said persistence was key, and if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s not giving up. I don’t lose, especially not to some six-foot-five mystery who thinks silence is a personality.

I woke up extra early, curled my hair, and wore my favorite cropped sweater and high-waisted jeans — the kind that make me look like I have my life together. I even sprayed a little more perfume than usual. Subtle, but enough to make someone notice.

And then I got to campus. Alone.

Miya was still fussing over her eyeliner, so I left her. She could talk for hours, but I had a mission.

The morning breeze felt good against my face as I walked across the quad. Everything felt perfect, until I realized Jordan wasn’t in our first class. Or the second. Or the third.

What the actual hell?

Was he skipping because of me? Please. I wasn’t that intimidating. I mean, maybe a little, but not “run-and-hide” intimidating.

By the third lecture, I was slumped in my seat, half-listening as the professor droned on about cognitive theories. My pen tapped against my notebook, restless fingers betraying my boredom.

I tried to take notes, but all I could think about was his face, those cold brown eyes, the sharp jawline, that silent, brooding thing he did that somehow made him ten times hotter.

So instead of notes, I ended up doodling. Tiny hearts, question marks, and maybe one or two J.R.’s in between. Just for fun. Obviously.

Not that I cared. Not at all.

Totally not obsessed.

Then, during the last class of the day, the door opened, and there he was.

Mr. Tall, Dark, and Don’t-Talk-To-Me.

He walked in quietly, like he was trying not to draw attention, but the room shifted the second he stepped inside. It wasn’t dramatic or loud, it was subtler than that. The kind of stillness that follows a storm right before the wind starts again. Every head turned, pretending not to.

He had that kind of presence — calm, but somehow commanding. His dark shirt clung to his frame like it was custom-made, and the sleeves were rolled just enough to expose veins that didn’t need to be there, but thank God they were. His jawline could’ve been carved from frozen marble, his eyes cool and unreadable even from across the room.

My brain short-circuited for two solid seconds.

“Game on,” I whispered under my breath.

Miya caught my look from across the room and mouthed, Don’t do anything stupid.

I winked back.

Jordan headed for his usual seat near the middle, sliding into the chair with the quiet grace of someone who didn’t care to be noticed — which made it impossible not to notice him.

The guy sitting behind him? Easy target. All it took was a small smile and a soft, “Hey, can I sit there?” and he was up faster than a guilty conscience.

Now, I was sitting right behind Jordan Rivers.

Perfect position.

I leaned forward and tapped his shoulder lightly. No reaction.

So, naturally, I flicked the back of his head.

He turned slowly, his expression flat and utterly unamused. “What do you want?”

That voice. Low, controlled, like he was forcing calm through clenched teeth.

I blinked innocently. “I need your help with psych.”

“Psych?” he repeated.

“Yeah. Psychology. The subject we’re literally in right now?” I smiled sweetly, tilting my head.

He exhaled through his nose, turned back to face the front, and ignored me.

Excuse me?

No one ignores me.

So, I flicked him again, lighter this time, but enough.

“Seriously?” he muttered, still not turning.

“Yes, seriously,” I whispered back, leaning closer. “They said you’re really good at this class. I just need a little help.”

Before he could respond, the professor walked in, greeting the class.

I sat back, pretending to focus, but my mind was far from Freud or behavioral theories. I was staring at the back of Jordan Rivers’ head — which, honestly, was unfairly attractive for a head.

His hair was dark and slightly messy, like it hadn’t decided if it wanted to behave today. The kind of hair that begged to be touched, fixed, or maybe ruined more.

Focus, Olivia. This is a dare. Not a crush.

The second the lecture ended, I darted around his desk before he could make his usual silent escape.

“Wait!” I said, blocking his path like a human traffic cone.

He froze mid-step, his gaze lowering to meet mine — cool, unreadable, and sharp enough to cut through the air between us. I swear the guy could win a staring contest without blinking once.

“Please,” I rushed out before he could brush past me. “I promise I won’t waste your time. I just need help with psych. I’m stuck, and you seem… smart.”

His brow lifted a fraction. “You don’t seem stuck.”

I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged one shoulder, effortlessly casual. “You seem like you get what you want.”

That… was not entirely wrong. But he didn’t need to say it like that.

I clasped my hands together, trying for my best innocent look. “Please? Just a few sessions. I’ll even buy coffee.”

He stared at me for a long, quiet moment — long enough for my confidence to start cracking at the edges. Then he exhaled, slow and deliberate, like I was the most exhausting part of his day.

“Fine,” he said finally.

I gasped — actually gasped — before I could stop myself. “Wait, really?!”

And before my brain could intervene, I threw my arms around him. “Thank you!”

He went rigid instantly, his entire body tensing like I’d just short-circuited his emotional wiring.

“Don’t—” he started, stepping back so fast it almost made me laugh.

“Sorry,” I said quickly, biting my lip to stop a grin. Okay, maybe that was too much. “So, what about lunch? You know, to plan our study sessions?”

That earned me something I wasn’t expecting — a small, fleeting smirk. My first one. It hit me like lightning.

“No,” he said simply. “And I know you’re the one who texted me yesterday.”

I blinked, heart skipping. “What?”

He tilted his head, eyes steady. “You really think I wouldn’t notice a random number saying ‘Hey…’? You’re not exactly subtle.”

I stared at him, then broke into a sheepish smile. “Okay, fine. Maybe it was me. Maybe I just wanted to say hi. That’s normal, you know.”

He looked at me for a beat, then said, “If you need help, text me. But if you want to talk about anything else…” He paused, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You can still text me.”

And just like that, he brushed past me — calm, controlled, completely unreadable — leaving me standing there like I’d just been hit by a slow, smiling hurricane.

What did that even mean?

Behind me, Miya’s voice cut through my confusion. “You’ve got twenty-eight days left.”

I groaned. “Miya, don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m starting,” she said, looping her arm through mine. “Because you’re not even close to cracking that boy. You’re, like… one percent into the mission.”

“Wrong,” I said confidently. “He talked to me. That’s progress.”

“He also walked away.”

“Details,” I said, flipping my hair dramatically. “He smirked, and that’s what matters.”

She laughed. “You’re hopeless.”

I smiled. “Hopelessly determined.”

We walked out together, and I couldn’t help glancing at the hallway where he’d disappeared.

Jordan Rivers — unreadable, untouchable, but definitely unforgettable.

He didn’t know it yet, but I was going to win this dare. I always win.