Arlo's phone won't stop vibrating during class, and it would be a surprise if it wasn't Oliver. I keep glancing over to watch his screen light up, but Arlo's determined to ignore it. I half expect to turn around in class one day to find Oliver spying on us with a set of binoculars from the back of the room, or be waiting in our booth at the coffee shop, but I haven't seen him since our meeting last week.

I can't stand how Arlo tenses at his brother's checking up on him, not because he's annoyed but because I can tell it pains him to ignore him. Even though it goes against every cell in me, I lean over to whisper, "I don't mind if he hangs out with us."

Arlo looks at me like I just pinched him. "Absolutely not."

I watch him carefully. "He can't be that bad, not if he's related to you at all."

The slide changes on the screen at the front of the room, and we're momentarily covered in darkness. When the next Egyptian sculpture flashes for us to look at, Arlo's face is very close to mine. He brushes my cheek with one finger as if he's stroking a flower petal, and my heart gives a stutter.

"I don't want him anywhere near you," he whispers.

I search his face for a hint of a reason why, but I can't read him when he gets like this. I haven't known him long enough to read this expression. The subject of Oliver is like a black hole to him. Everything gets sucked in, but he doesn't push anything back out. "Okay," I say finally. "I trust you."

He grins and leans in, pressing his lips softly to my forehead. I hold still, willing this second to last an hour.

But he pulls away, if only slightly. "No one's ever put their trust in me," he whispers into my hair. "I won't let you down."

Face red, I poke him in the ribs. "You better not, Levitt."

He makes a move to pinch my side, but I grab his hand. "Don't—I really should be taking notes."

"How studious of you," he grins, grabbing my waist with his other hand.

I strangled laugh escapes me and the professor pauses the lecture. We both freeze as several people turn in our direction. We fix our gazes straight ahead, still as the statues on the projector.

The professor, not fooled, resumes her talk after giving us a hard stare.

I give Arlo one too, for good measure.

He mocks innocence and I turn to my laptop, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through me. His hand, still wrapped around me, moves up and down.

I sit up a little straighter, do my best to ignore him.

But he continues to stroke my side, his fingers softly tugging at the fabric of my shirt. My breath catches when they find their way under the hem, onto my bare skin. He makes circles on the small of my back, and goosebumps rise from the path of his fingernails.

"Such a good student," he whispers in my ear.

My eye twitches involuntarily, but that's the only reaction I give him. The professor's words become muddled and it's like I can't quite understand English anymore.

But Arlo isn't done. His nimble fingers move upwards on my back, to the band on my bralette. He tugs on the lace strap, as if he could pull it right off if he wanted to. I squirm a little as it shifts across my breasts, and feel my nipples harden against my will.

"Why are you squirming like that?" He says in a soft voice.

I clear my throat. "Don't know what you mean."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"I'd hit you if you tried."

He flashes his teeth in a devilish way before hooking a finger around the strap. When it gives a little resistance he releases it and it snaps against my back. Even though it was only loud enough for us to hear, a shiver courses through me and my face heats up.

But Arlo's not done; two fingers find their way between the lace and my skin. He moves slowly across my back and around my side until they're probing my breast. I don't dare breathe as they make circles once again, teasing me by tracing circles along my ribs.

Even though he doesn't go near my most sensitive area, I feel the heat between my legs intensify. This is the first time he's dared to touch me under my clothes, and I suspect it's the dark of the room giving him the courage to do it. I have to force myself to keep my fingers on my keyboard or else I might be tempted to reach over and feel if he's getting aroused as I am.

"You've stopped taking notes, Wren," he says in my ear. His fingers push harder against my ribs.

"You're distracting me," I say breathily.

"Don't know what you mean," he repeats pointedly back at me.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

His phone suddenly lights up again, and he slips his hand out from underneath my shirt to quiet it.

Cockblock.