Page 15

JORDAN

W aking up with Preston’s arms around me caused a flurry of butterflies in my gut.

I wasn’t a cuddler. I never stuck around long enough to cuddle, and plus, the body heat always made me sweat.

Yet the weight of Preston’s arm around my waist caused my lips to quirk but only for a second. I didn’t hate waking up like this.

My head pounded, and I squinted, trying to find a bottle of water somewhere to chug. The hangover hit me first, then flashes of last night. Him between my legs, the sounds he made, us crossing a line. My face flushed, and my pulse raced. I had to get out of here.

I slid out of bed, careful not to make a sound or wake Preston as I carefully picked my discarded clothes off every surface. We went a little wild last night. Goose bumps exploded down my arms as our card game remained scattered on the floor.

Yeah. Preston was incredible at oral and so hot it surprised me.

The constant panic of never get too attached hit me per usual, and my breathing picked up.

I snuck into the bathroom, dressed, peed, and stared at myself in the mirror.

I forgot about the dare and saw what he drew on me: a hockey jersey with his number and the word mine on the back.

If I wasn’t having a full freak-out, I would’ve loved seeing that on me. It meant he wouldn’t leave me, but instead, my head pounded, and flashes of last night came back. I had to get out of here. I tiptoed out of the bathroom with an urgency that gripped my throat. Escape.

My heart kept beating escape, escape, escape.

What if Preston hated me?

What if he regretted what we did?

What if he never wanted to do it again?

Or worse, what if it changed our friendship? The thought of not talking to him every day had me losing it, and I dialed Logan’s number.

“Hello, my wild butterfly.”

“Let’s leave. Where are you?”

“Are you okay?” she asked, concern evident. “Where are you?”

“At the hotel. I need to get out of here. I just snuck out of Preston’s room.” I gasped, not breathing between sentences. “I’ll hide in the lobby.”

“A lot to unpack there, Dan the Man, and boy, will we discuss this in the car. I’ll be ready in five.” She shuffled something in the background, and Quentin’s deep voice was muffled.

“Okay great.” My throat tightened, Logan’s words from yesterday returning. She warned me about hurting Preston, and I’d blown her off.

But I left him in a hotel room.

This was the guy who’d stayed at a shitty bar to ensure I was safe. The guy who’d helped me a hundred times the last three years. He didn’t deserve me running out on him. Adrenaline surged through me as I backtracked. As I went back up the elevator, my knees shook the entire time .

I’d knock and tell him I’d see him back at home. That was all.

Yet when I stood outside the door, I couldn’t raise my hand to knock. My body forgot to work. Normal functions were too hard because the rock in my stomach paralyzed me. I had no idea what to feel, but I didn’t want Preston upset. That was the driving force.

Before I could do anything, the handle twisted, and Preston opened the door, his eyes widening in surprise before settling on something like anger. “Figured you were long gone by now.”

“I uh, was.”

“Did you forget something?” He pushed the door open wider, his gaze over my shoulder and not on me. “Go on and look.”

I hated the distance. “I didn’t… no, I don’t need to.”

Preston sighed. “Well, I’m going to meet my team. Here’s the keycard if you need back in. The room is available for a few more hours.”

He handed me the key, still not looking at me, and I wanted to melt into the hotel carpet.

I missed how he used to stare at me, like he cared for me.

Now, he would rather be anywhere else. I stared at the key, unable to move my fingers.

I wanted to shout a million things at him, that last night was amazing and he was amazing and that I loved him so much and our friendship couldn’t change, but instead, I stood there, quiet and awkward—two things I never was.

“Or don’t take it. Whatever.” He rolled his eyes and head down the hallway with his duffel bag. He had was wet on the sides, like he’d already showered, and worry etched itself into my skin.

If he already showered, that meant he’d been awake when I snuck out. He watched me sneak out and let me.

Fuck. My chest ached at the thought. “Preston,” I whispered, my head splitting into two from the headache. He faced me, his hazel eyes meeting mine with nothing but indifference.

He truly looked like he didn’t care about last night or what happened. Something I usually wanted from hookups. Yet from him, it killed me a little bit.

“What, Jordan?”

“Are you hungover?” I blurted out, desperate to keep this conversation going. It felt like too much was on the line if we didn’t continue talking. It was like once he disappeared our friendship was over.

He blinked, his jaw flexing as he shook his head. “No.”

“My head is killing me right now.”

“Take some aspirin. Here,” he said, reaching into his bag and grabbing a bottle of water. “Drink this too. It’ll help.”

“Th-thank you.” I swallowed the ball of emotion in my throat. He took care of me, yet again, and I didn’t deserve it. Shame engulfed my face, but I owed an apology to him. “I’m sorry I snuck out,” I whispered, my eyes prickling with tears.

He held up a hand. “No need to apologize Jordan.”

“Wait, really?”

He laughed, but it wasn’t the genuine one I knew like the back of my hand. It was forced, almost an angry chuckle. “I know you, for better or worse. I’ll see you at the house. Drive safe, okay?”

Then he disappeared down the hall and into the elevator.

What did that mean? He knew me for better or worse? That sounded a lot like defeat, and I wanted to curl into the fetal position and cry. It had to be the hangxiety. The hangover and anxiety combining to remind me of all my flaws.

My separation anxiety. My detachment issues. My fear of abandonment. My need to keep people at a distance because they’d realize I was a pain in the ass and too much and leave. I blinked away tears and took a deep breath .

No. I refused to feel like this.

I didn’t have regrets. I’d never be like my mom, unhappy and miserable and running from her choices. I’d own what I did and be okay with it.

While my heart was heavy at the possibility that everything had changed with Preston, I found Logan and put on my mask. I’d get through this weird blip. I always did.

The best part about Logan being my best friend for life was that she truly knew me. Instead of pestering me with questions for the long-ass car ride, she put on one of her playlists no tears for years and let me curl up in the passenger seat.

When you went through the childhood I did, where you’d beg your parents to come to your events and they never would.

It was messy. But to make it worse, my dad left when I was seven because he hated my mom, so then I became complicated.

To really nail the reason why I was a hot mess, I had to add the fact I tried to have my grandparents fill that role, but they had no interest in me, so I learned to compartmentalize my emotions super well.

I could be going through a mental breakdown and still smile, even make jokes with someone.

No one would have any idea. It exhausted me to do it, but I could box up some feelings and deal with them later, so that was what I did.

I didn’t think about Preston’s disappointment or how he’d shrugged in defeat. I definitely didn’t think about the fact I wouldn’t survive us not being friends. Instead, I watched the winter landscape pass us by through the window and enjoyed Logan’s playlist.

It wasn’t until we parked in the driveway that Logan sighed and stared at me. “Let me have it,” I mumbled.

“Have what? ”

“Your lecture.”

“No lecture, you drama queen.” Logan snorted and rested her hands on the wheel. “Are you alright? Normally, you only have a pout for an hour. This was way longer, and you have me worried.”

My eyes prickled again. “My usual issues are flaring up. I’m hungover. Preston and I crossed a line, and I’m terrified he’ll leave me. The typical Jordan shit-show.”

“Have you eaten yet?”

“No.” I stared at the house we all shared. What if Preston moved out because he was done with me? Fuck. I rubbed my temples, embarrassed as hell that I didn’t have my shit more together. I was twenty-one. I shouldn’t be this messed up.

“Come.” Logan got out of the car and opened my door before pulling me into the cold and leading me inside. “Shower first. I’ll make waffles and then we can watch season four of The Office .”

“I hate that you’re taking care of me,” I said, admitting my weakness. No one ever wanted to take care of me because I was too much work. Too much personality, feelings, all of it. If I was a burden, then they’d leave.

A part of me knew this was Logan, my friend of ten years, who had seen me at my worst. But that part quieted. The insecure part shouted, and that was the voice I listened to.

“Oh, should I hate the fact you helped me when I was low about the breakup? Or when I had the flu? This is friendship, you narwhal.”

“Did you call me a narwhal?”

“Sure did.” Logan glared at me. “Do I think you should see someone to help you with this? Yes. But I’m gonna be there for you even when you get into your pouty moods. So you get to be a sad little narwhal for the afternoon, then you’re done.”

“Yes, ma’am.” My lips twitched as my heart swelled. She knew me. She understood me. “Thank you,” I whispered, swallowing down the ball of emotion.

“Take it back.” She pointed her finger aggressively at me. “No thanks needed.”

I opened my mouth, but her glare doubled in size, so I held up my hands in surrender.

While I was a mess inside, I wasn’t a fool.

I’d listen to Logan and hide in my room, hoping Preston wouldn’t end our friendship.

Maybe he’d avoid me for a few days, and this situation would blow over.

Yeah. That was what would happen. We’d both be busy and then in a few days, we go back to what we were. Easy peasy.

What was I so stressed about?

The door to our house opened and shut, the familiar thuds of Preston’s feet echoing down the hall. I knew the sounds he made, how he dragged his feet when he was tired. He’d set the keys down in the little jar. Clink. Then he’d hang up his coat in the closet and grab a snack.

Right as planned, the closet opened and shut, then his footsteps moved into the kitchen. He’d probably eat a banana or apple before going toward his room. He’d either nap or play videogames. Sometimes, he’d invite me.

It was eight at night, a bit later for him to get home. Did he go to the gym? Hang out with the guys? He wasn’t someone who slept around a ton, but the thought of him going to another girl after last night caused a weird pang in my chest. He probably went to the store or something.

Yeah.

Shit. I sat up in bed, my oversized sweatshirt and boy-shorts panties the only thing I wore. I’d tried watching a show, but nothing kept me interested. Usually when I got this unsettled, I’d go to Preston. He’d talk with me or hang out, appease my urges.

The footsteps went up to our floor, the thuds getting closer and closer to my room. His room was across the hall, so it wasn’t like he was coming to mine. Knock, knock.

Okay never mind. He was outside my bedroom door.

“Uh, just a minute,” I whispered. SON OF A BITCH.

My heart raced, and I smoothed my hair back, taking a few deep breaths before plastering on a smile.

My stomach was a hot mess, like ten snakes were in there battling for the throne.

My hand paused on the handle, not quite able to twist it.

By some extra strength, I opened the door and found Preston standing there, one arm leaning against the frame.

His brows were drawn together, his hazel orbs swirling with worry.

One of his unruly curls fell on his forehead, and without thinking, I reached out and pushed it back.

Being around him calmed me down. His shoulders were tense, but his posture didn’t give off the get out of my life energy I’d created in my head.

“Hi,” I said, smiling up at him. “How was the bus ride?”

He scrubbed his jaw, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I’ve had better. I had a lot on my mind.”

Oh no, he means me. I stepped back, the panic clawing up my throat when he sighed and stepped into my room. Okay, this was a good sign?

“Between my parents’ shit-show divorce, losing the championship, my brother texting me constantly, and my hangover, I’m a mess.” He chuckled and plopped down on the end of my bed.

“Throw in a hookup with your best friend. That’s a real head fuck,” I said, carefully drawing out each word to gauge his reaction.

I wanted to curl up next to him and watch some action movie to put him in a better mood.

He did seem down and sad, and while he didn’t mention me, he had to be thinking about what happened between us .

His gaze met mine, his jaw tensing, before he blinked away any tension. Then, he smiled softly. “Jordan, last night was fucking fun. We both needed that release. In case it’s not clear, I have zero regrets about it.”

“You don’t?” I couldn’t help myself. He didn’t regret me? He didn’t wish we never did that because now he had to break up with me as a friend?

He shook his head. “Do…you?”

“No. Nope,” I blurted out. It wasn’t lying because I didn’t regret learning the sounds he made and how sexy he was in bed, but the emotion rooted in my gut had me questioning my answer. Did I regret it? Did the hookup change us? “It was fun. Super fun.”

He narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t push back. I spoke way too fast and short, two things I rarely did, and Preston-from-before would’ve gotten the truth out of me. This post-hookup Preston accepted my bullshit answer. I hated how that made me feel. He’d already changed.

“You up for some video games? I need to do something to get out of my head, and I want nothing to do with hockey tonight.” He stood and jutted his chin down the hallway. “You in?”

Yes. Thank God.

I raced down the hallway, determined to prove that nothing had changed. But what if we already had?