I bite the smile that’s forcing its way onto my lips. “Well, I’m not one to gloat.” I throw him a smug grin as I walk past him, destination Mustang.
He’s quiet behind me. I only know he’s following from the crunch of the gravel under his feet.
“Did you know you swing your ass when you walk?”
What?
I stop, shocked that he’s just said that about my ass. And also a little turned on hearing him talk about my ass.
Turned on. Again.
Jesus.
I didn’t actually know that I swing my ass when I walk, but that’s beside the point. I scowl at him over my shoulder. “And your point is?”
“No point. Just an observation.” He holds his hands up in surrender, and his eyes crinkle from the smile on his face. “It’s kinda cute is all.”
“Cute?” I frown, ignoring the pull I feel for him in my lower half. “I’m not cute.”
“I never said you were cute. I said your ass-swinging was cute.” He gives me a wicked grin.
My face goes beet red. Embarrassed, I start walking again, ignoring his soft laughter behind me.
By the time I’ve reached his car, I’m feeling out of sorts. Vulnerable, edgy…
Horny.
Totally not how I expected to be feeling this morning. Jordan just seems able to throw me off kilter at any given notice. I’ve never known anyone like him.
And today, things between us have shifted. I’m not really sure where to, or what’s going on, but something is definitely different between us.
We get in the car at the same time. I buckle up as Jordan turns the ignition. The engine is rumbling, ready to go, but we don’t move.
I look across at him.
His head is tilted my way, his deep eyes staring at me, and he’s wearing an expression I can’t decipher.
“What?” I ask, feeling self-conscious. I push my short strands behind my ear, feeling myself heating under his stare.
He shakes his head, blinking himself free. “Nothing. I’m just really digging this assertive side of you.” A smile. Then he looks behind him and sets the car in reverse.
I’m left reeling.
Jordan digs me.
He digs me.
And just like that, the cold block of ice I carry around in my chest melts.
Jordan does most of the talking on the drive to Farmington. I think he’s doing it to keep my mind busy, and off what I’m going to Farmington for.
I was good until we got about ten minutes away from Farmington. I broke out in a cold sweat, and when we crossed the city limits a few minutes back, my heart went into overdrive. I’m pretty sure a panic attack is on the horizon.
It takes me a moment to realize the car has stopped.
“Are we here?” My eyes are wide and alert like a rabbit.
“A block away. I thought you might want a moment to yourself before we go to her house.”
“It might not be her.”
I look at him. I know there’s an edge of desperation in my eyes and voice.
“It might not be,” he says slowly. “But if it is?”
I shrug, forcing a casualness I don’t feel. “Then I’ve found my mother.”
We both stare ahead, sitting in silence.
“You ready?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
Jordan turns the engine on and pulls back out onto the street. A few minutes later he pulls up front a red brick house.
I turn to him. “Will you come with me?”
He smiles. “Already was.”
Taking a deep breath, I slip my sunglass on and climb out the car.
I hesitate at the top of the walk. Jordan takes my hand and tugs me forward.
Reaching the door, Jordan doesn’t let go of my hand as he leans across me and presses the bell. The scent of his aftershave momentarily soothes me.
“What do I say?” I whisper.
“Just ask if Anna Monroe lives here, and we’ll go from there.”
Meeting his eyes, I nod.
Then I hear footsteps in the hall. A figure approaches the door. My body freezes. Jordan gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.
“You’re okay. I’m here,” he whispers softly.
The door opens, revealing a Chinese lady.
Nope. Not her.
Is it strange that I feel relief at this thought?
There’s definitely not a trace of Chinese in my pale skin, blonde hair and blue eyes. Unless she’s not Anna Monroe.
I just need her to confirm this, and then I’m out of here.
“Can I help you?” she asks, eyes moving between Jordan and me.
“I was, um—” I clear my throat. “I, um…” Why can’t I get my voice to work?
“Does Anna Monroe live here?” Jordan’s voice come from beside me.
She blinks from me to Jordan. “Yes,” she answers slowly.
“Would it be possible to speak with her?”
“And you are…?”
“Sorry. My name is Jordan, and this is Mia.”
She shifts on the spot, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m Anna Monroe.”
I exhale the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, and then I’m out of there. Turning, and pulling my hand free from Jordan’s, I run down that path away from them both.
I know it’s wrong for me to abandon Jordan, but I can’t stop my legs from moving.
My heart is pounding. Blood is roaring in my ears. And all I want to do is eat.
And throw up.
I really need to throw up.
Climbing back into the safety of Jordan’s Mustang, I yank my sunglasses off, and sit on my hands, trying to steady my heart and calm the war raging on inside me.
Jordan gets in the car a few minutes later. He turns to me. “So … she’s not your mom.”
“What gave it away?”
I’m at an impasse at the moment. I either laugh or cry. I really don’t want to cry in front of Jordan, so laughter it is. It bursts out of me. I know I’m probably coming off as a little crazy, but I can’t seem to stop, or find the will to care.
When I finally regain control of myself, wiping my eyes dry on my hands, I find Jordan staring at me with an expression on his face that I’ve never seen before.
No one has ever looked at me like he is looking at me right now. Like he cares. Really cares.
He relaxes his gaze, a wicked grin sliding onto his lips. “You seem to be taking the disappointment well.”
His smile has me laughing again.
“Sorry, I abandoned you back there.” I gesture, still a little breathless from my crazy laughing.
“No worries. Come on.” He starts the car. “Let’s go grab some lunch.”
Food. Not a good idea for me right now.
“I’m not hungry.” I put my seatbelt on.
“Well, I am. You can watch me eat.” He flashes me those whites of his, and I’m too dazzled by him to disagree.
We end up in a coffee shop that Jordan seems to know well. Apparently, this place make the best Key Lime pie in the world.
I’ll have to take his word on it because eating right now is not a good idea, not while I’m with Jordan. I’m afraid that if I start, I won’t be able to stop, and then I’ll end up exposing a part of myself that I never want anyone to see, especially not him.
“Guess it was a waste of time coming all the way out here.” I sigh.
“Depends on how you look at it.”
I rest my elbow on the table and prop my chin on my hand. “And how would you look at it?”
He leans back in his seat. “That it’s one less Anna Monroe on the list. Narrows the odds. Leaves us with two. So that’s a fifty/fifty chance on the next one we pick being your mother.”
Or neither are her.
“And I’m getting to eat the pie I love. I’d call it a lose/win.”
“Do you assess everything that way?”
His eyes darken. “Not everything.” His lips lift with a flirtatious tilt as he leans closer, over the table. He lowers his voice. “Only things that I know are a sure thing. And when I really want something … I get it.”
Gulp. Heat infuses my skin, firing off my pulse.
The waitress interrupts our moment, arriving with our coffee and Jordan’s pie.
I’m relieved.
And disappointed.
He was absolutely, definitely flirting with me then.
I’m not complaining. It’s nice to have someone as gorgeous as Jordan flirt with me. I guess what bothers me is that I don’t know what it means for him. Or more so, what I want it to mean for me.
“How’s your pie?” I ask, watching him dig into it like it’s god made.
“So good,” he murmurs through a mouthful. The sound is as delicious as he looks. “You wanna try?” He holds out a pie-filled fork.
I shake my head.
“You’re missing out on the best pie you’ll ever taste.” He waggles the fork in front of my face.
Laughing, I shake my head again.
He grins and puts the fork in this mouth, letting out an over-exaggerated groan of pleasure.
For a split second, I actually wish I was the fork.
I have serious issues.
I pour some sugar in my coffee. “Thanks for coming with me today. It really means a lot.”
“We’re friends. Friends help each other out.”
“We’re friends?” I tease, unable to help the smile that’s crept on my face.
He lifts a dark brow. “Hadn’t we already established that?”
I bring the cup to my lips and blow on the hot coffee. “I don’t think it had been confirmed, no.”
“Well, consider it confirmed.” He digs his fork in his pie, eyes smiling. “We’re friends.”
With benefits?
Holy cow, I can’t believe I just thought that.
“Well, well … Jordan Matthews. Didn’t expect to ever see you here again.”
I turn my head and see a guy about Jordan’s height and build, shaved head, arms sleeved with tattoos, heading in our direction.
My eyes move beyond him, and see two other guys walking behind, both tall and skinny.
From the corner of my eye, I can see that Jordan’s whole demeanor has changed. His body is rigid, tense.
The air instantly prickles with discomfort, and the sound of Jordan’s fork clattering to the plate makes me jump.
“Turn the fuck around and walk away, Donnie,” Jordan hisses, the level of anger in his voice surprises me.
Donnie lets out a laugh. He grabs a chair from the empty table by us and sits down, his front to its back.
On closer inspection, I spy a tattoo on Donnie’s neck. It says Fuck You.
Nice
“That’s no way to greet an old friend,” he says.
Jordan laughs a hollow sound. “That’s the last thing I’d ever refer to you as.”
“You’re breaking my heart here, Matthews.” Donnie slaps a hand over his chest before moving his gaze to me. “And who do we have here?”
The way he looks at me sets alarm bells ringing in my head. I’m familiar with the look. I’ve seen it before from Forbes.
I curl my fingers together in my lap.
“Don’t answer that.” My eyes shoot up to Jordan’s. He stares at me for a long second, trying to convey something in his eyes that I can’t quite grasp.
