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Chapter Thirty-Six

Alex

I wake up in the middle of the night hot as hell.

The television light filters through the room, but there’s no sound.

I rub my eyes, my body warm like a fire.

My leg still hurts like hell, but it’s more manageable than it was.

Guess the ibuprofen hasn’t worn off yet.

That’s when I realize the reason I’m so hot.

I’ve got a thick flannel blanket covering me, and I’m still in my shirt and briefs. I run hot, always have, which is why I sleep in my briefs, if not completely naked, usually on top of the covers.

But I didn’t think Jordan would take too well to waking up to my naked ass on his couch for however long I’d be staying .

We should probably talk about that—me staying here and my plans to return home, or just somewhere that isn’t here. I don’t expect to stay here forever.

I kind of like it here, though.

Maybe because he’s here.

I’ve been living on my own since I was twenty-one. I’ve never lived with another person, period—aside from my parents, and living with them was pure hell.

It didn’t take long for Jordan and I to acclimate, and I know it should be weird, but I’ve barely been here three weeks, and it feels like a giant weight has been lifted off my chest.

I’ve never felt more like me , than I do here.

I like getting up early with him and having coffee.

My days are filled with projects—projects he doesn’t seem to mind, because he’s said point blank he doesn’t care, but I know he does—and though I’ve never been much of a chef at home myself, I find myself looking forward to dinner every day.

I get excited over groceries and seeing what I can make and what he’ll like.

So far he hasn’t disliked anything, and I’m starting to wonder if he’s just being nice, or if I am not that bad at cooking as I thought. Let’s be serious though, Jordan isn’t just being nice. That’s not who he is.

Our nights are comfortable. We aren’t in each other’s business, but he’s never too far away, and I like that. It’s nice having someone around who isn’t a bother, but there when you need.

I bring the blanket up to my nose, breathing it in. It smells like him. Like vetiver and alpine, and the faintest hint of sweat.

That’s probably me, though.

I move the blanket off me just a hair, my fingers sliding over the soft fabric.

I must have fallen asleep watching the highlights after the game.

They always bore the shit out of me, but I never say anything because Jordan likes them.

And I like doing things he likes because he’s more relaxed. Nicer.

His bedroom door is open, but it doesn’t look like he’s inside. A quick glance around the room, and I don’t see him.

“Mack?” I call out. No answer.

I throw the covers off me completely, the cool air kissing my skin. I get up and hobble down the hall to the bathroom. No Mack.

I check the other rooms—which are mostly empty save for some boxes and sparse furniture, as if he’s never fully unpacked his stuff—no sign of him.

Shit.

“Jordan!” I call out, but there’s no answer. Then I hear it, the sound of an engine—a sputtering engine. Rain patters on the roof, and something feels off .

It takes me longer than it should to put on a pair of sweatpants and head outside.

The screen door creaks as I step onto the porch and nearly stop breathing.

There, in the rain, clothes drenched and kicking the tire of his truck, is Jordan fucking Mackenzie looking like something straight out of my wildest dreams. The flood light is on and bright, lighting up most of the driveway.

“Fucking hell!” he gripes as he kicks the tire again, his hands braced against the side of the truck, his head hanging low, dark hair hanging in his face.

I don’t think, I just descend the steps, out into the rain.

“What the fuck are you doing out here, Jordan? It’s one thirty in the morning.”

His body tenses as he looks at me from underneath his thick lashes. Rain drops cling to them and his dark, matted hair.

“Go back to sleep, Alex,” he snaps.“No,” I say. He shakes his head, slamming his fist against the side of the truck with a grunt. “Not until you tell me why you’re out here, yelling at your truck like a damn idiot.”

He laughs bitterly, shaking his head.

“It doesn’t matter.” He turns away, his shirt clinging to his chest, showing every dip and curve.

I should leave him alone. Whatever he’s dealing with is his business, and I should respect that. I’m a guest, here, after all. Maybe he’s fighting with his girlfriend, and though I’m worried about him, I don’t want to hear about them together. But I can’t walk away.

“It matters to me,” I say, taking a step forward. Mack falls against his car, staring up at the sky and letting the rain fall down over his face.

“Don’t fucking say shit like that, Alex,” he says softly.

The rain is coming down hard and loud. I take another step forward, until I’m right in front of him.

“Why not?” I ask. “It’s the truth.”

He looks down at me, his amber eyes searching mine for something I can’t quite place.

The rain falls around us steadily.

I think he’s going to tell me to fuck right off, but he doesn’t. His gaze drifts from my eyes to my mouth before he closes his eyes and turns away.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he finally says.

I grab him by the chin, forcing his face to me. His amber eyes meet mine as he frowns.

“Did you try counting sheep?” I ask.

He huffs out a laugh. An actual real laugh. “Alex…”

“Or if you’re not a sheep guy, maybe count footballs. Or grizzly bears, or… I don’t fucking know. Something.”“You’re insane,” he says, but there’s no bitterness in his voice.

“I know.”

My fingers trail over his jaw, and I should probably stop touching him, but I don’t want to stop touching him. Now, later, or ever.

And I don’t think he wants me to either. Which is the bigger problem. If he wants me to do something, I’m going to do it. If he wants this… how can I stop?

“Whatever it is,” I say, letting my hand drop from his face. “I’ll fix it.”

His honey eyes soften; his eyebrows furrow. “Some things you can’t fix, Alex. Some things are just beyond repair.” He looks out toward the dark road.

His words cut me to the bone. I get the feeling we’re not talking about his car.

The rain echoes off the truck roof like a symphony. I don’t think it’s going to let up any time soon.

“Well, when that happens, there’s always Mastercard,” I say with a grin.

He laughs again, but this time it sounds tired.

“Come on,” I say, reaching my hand out to take his. “It’s a hell of a lot warmer in there.” I nod toward the house.

“How the fuck am I going to get work?” he mumbles, his fingers squeezing mine. His palm heats against my hand, wet yet warm. Jordan is holding my hand and not threatening to kill me. This is a win.

“Take my car,” I say with a shrug .

“I can’t take your car,” he bristles, pulling back as we reach the porch.

“Why not?” I ask as I limp up the steps. He slides his arm around my hip to help me up the three steps, and I settle my arm around his shoulders.

“Because, I—”Under the awning of the porch, I can see how wet he actually is. He’s shivering.

“It’s the least I can do,” I say, opening the front door. “Besides, I probably should take a break from driving for a little bit.”

“How are you going to get to therapy?” he asks.

“I’ll call an Uber. It’s not that big of a deal.”

He looks from me to the door, then back at me.

“What?” My voice comes out raspy.

He swallows hard. “What the hell are you doing up?” His gaze moves from my face down my body, then back up like maybe he likes what he sees. All the other times I’ve caught him out of the corner of my eye, but now…

He makes no move to pretend or look away. Instead, he takes his time meeting my eyes.

“Too hot,” I say with a grin.

He steps through the door as I hold it open for him, brushing against me on the way due to his size.

I shut it, and we just stand there in the living room, soaked to the bone, no light but the brightness from the television .

Jordan stares at me as if he wants to argue, protest, be grumpy—something.

God, he is so fucking gorgeous. Clothes clinging to him, wet hair in his dark eyes. Perfectly parted, pink, pillowy lips.

It takes everything I have to turn away and head down the hall to the bathroom to grab some towels.

When I come back, he’s still standing there, bathed in the artificial light, staring at the chandelier, even though it’s not lit. He seems in deep thought. Bothered by something, maybe.

Does this happen to him often? What’s bothering him?

“Do you like it?” I ask as I hand him a towel. Our fingers brush as he takes it from my hand.

“Huh?”

I nod upward. “The chandelier. You’re staring at it.”

His voice softens. “Right, uh… yeah. I guess it’s kind of—”

“Pretty?” I ask, scrubbing my hair with the towel. When I look up, I notice he’s staring at me.

“Yeah.”

“That’s because I have impeccable taste. I know a good thing when I see it.” I smirk as I take off my soaked shirt and he lets out a breath that I’ll take as a compliment.

He does the same—undressing himself piece by piece as he walks toward his bedroom. Just as I get settled on the couch, underneath the flannel blanket, I catch him in the doorway to his bedroom, standing there in nothing but his underwear.

It’s the first time since I’ve been here that I’ve seen him like this. I’ve seen him shirtless, sure, but not pantsless.

“Good night, Alex,” he says. Moonlight streams through his window, lighting him up from behind. The shadows contrast the dips and valleys of his muscles in his forearms. His palms brace the sides of his doorway and his shoulders hunch just the slightest, drawing attention to their definition.

My cock awakens in my briefs beneath the blanket and I make no move to hide the way I’m looking at him.

He’s hot as hell. Always has been, and I think he always will be.

“Good night, Jordan,” I say as he fades into the shadows, leaving his door wide open.