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JORDYN

N o restaurant or diner is available, which is not remotely surprising. It’s lunchtime, and everyone’s rushing to eat before they go back to school or their offices.

I don’t even feel hungry anymore. Looking at a flustered and frustrated Jordan is amusing enough. I’ve never seen him this rattled or out of his element. And I shouldn’t enjoy this as much as I do.

Today has been quite a revelation. For the first time since meeting him, he’s not his usual funny self. Earlier, when he demanded the guy apologize, I saw a side of him I never knew existed—a protective, no-nonsense attitude that oddly turned me on.

People always say it’s the quiet ones you need to look out for, but I disagree. It’s also those who always appear unaffected by everything. Those who make jokes all the time. Those who breeze through things. Because when they snap, well, all hell breaks loose.

Jordan lets the glass door swing shut behind him, a look of dejection on his handsome face. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and drags his gaze toward me.

I know what he’s going to say even before he opens his mouth. “I’m sorry. They’re full.”

I shrug. “Okay. Let’s just buy pizza or burgers and eat by the quad.”

“Su—” Jordan pauses mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. The corner of his mouth lifts, that familiar spark igniting behind his eyes. Then, his whole face lights up. His grin grows wider, boyish and unguarded, and it’s in that moment when I feel something deeper than physical attraction.

I am not someone who enjoys spending time with others, but with Jordan, I don’t mind. Odd, for sure, and it makes me feel like I’m standing in the middle of a rocking boat, ready to topple any time. This whole thing is weird from the start, but watching him this happy has just become one of my favorite things ever.

“I’ll do you one better,” he exclaims, his excitement contagious. “How about I cook for you? I’m a great cook. No, scratch that. I’m an amazing cook.”

I fold my arms over my chest and cock my head to the side. “Your confidence is really something else.”

“I know, right?”

“You wouldn’t know humility if it struck you in the face.”

“That’s because humility knows better than to mess with moi .” He emphasizes the last word by dragging his hands from his hair to his chest. “Besides, if something does hit me in the face, my hair will still be fabulous.”

I groan and give him the side eye. “Let’s go before your vanity makes me lose my appetite.”

I guess I should have expected it.

His two-bedroom apartment, which he shares with his friend Toby, is messy and chaotic. The moment I step inside, I’m hit by the smell of pizza and something burnt.

He probably sees me scrunching my nose because he says defensively, “That’s Toby. He burned his breakfast after reheating a slice of pizza on the pan.”

I turn to look at the kitchen. “You have a microwave?”

“Yeah, but he says it’s more delish when you put it on the pan, except he forgot he needed to put a bit of water on it.”

“Right.”

God, this living situation is an absolute nightmare. I would never want to live with someone who burned his pizza and left the whole place smelling like it. I mean, I live in a small space where I can go from the door to the porch in three seconds flat, but boy, I can never take this kind of mess.

The couch is half-buried under a pile of throw pillows, hoodies, and socks. Three empty coffee mugs are on the table, right beside two controllers and a tangle of wires.

Jordan grabs the hoodies and socks and throws them into the bedroom. He pats the cleared space and tells me, “Make yourself comfortable.”

So I do. I sit there and watch him darting around the room like a man on a mission. He grabs a couple of shirts from the floor and flings it to the same bedroom before quickly slamming it shut.

“That’s your bedroom, right?”

Jordan gives me a lopsided grin that makes my heart skip a beat. “No.”

He stuffs papers and small electronics into the cabinet under the TV. A stack of books topples over, and he catches them just in time, muttering a curse under his breath.

“If you throw those books, I’m going to leave.”

He blinks slowly. “I wouldn’t dare. I love books.”

“You only ever bring one notebook to class.”

“So you notice?”

Damn it. I walked in on that one, didn’t I? “I see it when you come to annoy me.”

He doesn’t believe me, if that shit-eating grin is any indication, and he whistles as he brings the books to a single-seater couch. Jordan looks around and sees one stray sock before shoving it into a drawer that doesn’t seem like it’s for socks. “Done. Now I’ll make you lunch.”

Jordan rolls his Henley shirt to his elbows and begins washing the dishes. His arms and back muscles stretch under the thin fabric, and I’m well aware I need to look away before he catches me and teases me again.

Yet, I can’t.

From the broad shoulders and chest tapering to a small waist, he is the very definition of sexy. He’s tall enough that his head reaches the overhead drawers. If I have to guess, I’d say he’s at least 6’2.

When he begins slicing the tomatoes, his arm flexes, and my eyes zero in on the corded forearms. With how vain he is, I don’t doubt he goes to the gym. He doesn’t look buff, but he’s lean and muscled, like a runner’s body.

The realization hits me like a freight train.

Jordan looks like that, and I look like me—frumpy, boring, and unremarkable. The only time I’ll ever run is at PE … and in the event of a zombie apocalypse where my life and brain are at stake.

My insecurities rush to the surface, and I stop staring at him.

“I saw you looking at the dress,” he calls over his shoulder.

I bury my face in my hands, my skin warming from embarrassment. “Oh, yeah?”

“You like those dresses?”

“No.” The lie comes easy enough. I stand and walk to the square dining table, sliding into one of the seats.

“I’ll give you another chance to change your answer.”

He has his back on me, and the desire to pour my heart out is overwhelming. I don’t talk to anyone like this. Both my parents are in my hometown, and they call me maybe once a month to check whether I’m still alive. I have a couple of friends from high school, but we lost touch after college. At university, I have a few nodding acquaintances, but that’s the extent of my socializing.

“Yes,” I finally blurt out. I don’t know why I’m telling him. All I know is I need this out of my chest.

“So why don’t you ever wear them?”

He turns and leans his back against the counter, looking at me. The attention is too much, so I busy myself with the dried water spots on the table. “Because the last time I did, I glanced at someone for all of one second, and he thought it was an invitation to follow me home.”

I get the courage to look up, only to find him gripping the edge of the counter, his nostrils flaring. “That fucker. Did he hurt you?”

“No, because I went straight to the police station.”

His face softens. “Shit, I’m sorry, Jordyn.”

“Not your fault a lot of men act like animals.”

He lifts both palms. “No argument from me on that.”

He serves me chicken pesto wraps and offers me an unopened Snapple with a post-it note that says, “Toby’s. Do not touch this, fucker.”

“Toby will be so mad when he gets home,” I tell him.

Jordan lifts one shoulder. “I’ll buy him a new one. He always takes my groceries, anyway.”

The food is delicious, and I’m torn between praising him, which will only feed his ego, and acting nonchalant. But one thing about Jordan is that he’s so damned observant and in tune with me. Eerily so.

“You like it?”

I sigh. “I do. It’s delicious. Don’t let that get to your head.”

“Too late.” He chuckles, his eyes glowing. “What’s your favorite food? So I’ll know what to make next time.”

“You think there will be a next time?”

His eyes darken, and he sweeps his tongue along his bottom lip, making me perk up in my seat and rub my thighs together. “I’d like to think so. After all, you did come home with me.” He drops his gaze to my mouth. “And I don’t think it’s because you really did believe I’m a fantastic cook.”

I’m someone who’s comfortable with silence, and I can hold it longer than anyone I know. I can go for hours sitting beside someone and not talking, filling the space where words are unnecessary.

With Jordan, it’s different.

The silence hums, charged with unspoken thoughts floating around us, charged with something heavy, pulsing, alive. My fingers twitch against my knee, and with our gazes locked, I catch myself holding my breath, the pounding in my temples getting louder every second.

My palms are sweaty despite the cool air, and my throat is dry. Tension hangs between us, fragile, ready to break, crackling with energy.

I don’t know who makes the first move, but one minute, we’re across each other at the dining table, and the next, we’re a tangle of limbs as Jordan backs me to the couch, his mouth claiming mine.

The backs of my knees hit the armrest, and my arms pinwheel when I lose my balance. Just then, Jordan’s arms wrap around me, and he pulls me to him so easily that it has me believing I’m lighter than I thought.

Jordan drags his mouth to my cheek, along my jawline, and my earlobe before he swipes the tip of his tongue along the shell of my ear. I have never felt the sensations I’m feeling right now. I grip his arms and bite my lip. God, how good is this? I want more.

“We have to stop,” Jordan whispers, his breath tickling my ear. “I’m losing control.”

“No.”

“Jordyn…” It comes both as a plea and a question. I have never done any of these before. Kissing boys, making out, sex—none of that ever appealed to me … until now, until Jordan.

I pull back and search his face. “Do you want me?” The question comes from out of nowhere, but I need an answer. I long for him in a way that makes me ache.

“You have no idea.” He grinds his jaw, eyes flaring with naked desire.

“Then let’s not stop.”

“Jordyn…” His neck flexes, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Everything I’ve done thus far has been uncharacteristic of me, including planting a chaste kiss on his Adam’s apple.

“The answer is yes, Jordan. Whatever your question is, and it better be a damned good question, it’s a yes.”