“Dude, you really are,” Jordan agreed after a beat, laughing again.
I took a breath. At least he hadn’t hung up on me. Which brought me back to the whole giving-your-phone-number-to-strangers thing.
I’d gone from “Daddy” to “dude,” so I’d obviously lost any chance whatsoever of actually hooking up with him—much less fulfilling all the ridiculously out of reach happily-ever-after fantasies I’d been carrying a torch for all these years—but at least…
I swallowed, pushing aside my disappointment and focusing on what mattered: taking care of him, even if I’d never be doing it the way I’d started to get my ridiculous hopes up about now. Butat leastI could still try to help him make better choices in the future… and wow. I really was just as overbearing, responsible, and without game as every guy I’d ever tried to date had told me I was. Fabulous.
I forged ahead anyway, because this was important.
“Jordan, seriously though, you can’t just give your number out like that,” I said, rubbing a hand over my chest, since the death throes of all my dreams were making it ache. “Please don’t do that again. At least not until you’ve vetted whoever you’re chatting with, okay? I know it’s not really my business, but the app has anonymity built into its chat function for your safety, and—”
“Dude, what the fuck?” he suddenly cut in, the purring sex-on-a-stick tone gone from his voice and something sharper taking it place. “How the fuck do you know my name?”
“Language,” I said without thinking, then grimaced at my own stupidity. It was what I would have snapped at my sisters back when I’d been trying to figure out how to raise them right, and if Ihadbeen Jordan’s Daddy, then fine, I would have wanted him to be good for me like that, too, but I wasn’t.
“Fuck.That,” Jordan said, sounding understandably pissed. “How do you know me? Because I saw your profile pics, dude, and I definitely don’t knowyou. So... what, they were fake? You grabbed some stock photos off MrNiceGuyDotCom to catfish me or some shit? Who the fuckareyou?”
My heart started to pound.
“Um, no,” I said, pushing to my feet as my adrenaline surged. “I’m sorry. That reallyisme, and I didn’t mean to… I mean, yes. You’re right. You don’t know me. But I, uh, I watch your channel?”
Not thewholetruth, but Jesus, if I admittedthatto him, I really would scare him.
I squeezed my eyes closed and pinched the bridge of my nose. I definitely hadn’t been thinking this idea through with the right head, had I? Why hadn’t Ellen stopped me before I’d gone and put my foot in it? The last thing I ever wanted to do was freak Jordan out.
“Don’t bullshit me,” Jordan said, his voice so tight that it made my chest hurt all over again. “If you do watch my channel, you know I never go by Jordan on there.”
Oh, right. He didn’t. I forgot that he always called himself “Jay”... which was good. I was glad he was protecting himself a little.
“I’m actuallynota fucking idiot, okay?” he continued. “I don’t give out personal info in public, and... just… fuck.”
“Hey,” I said, wanting to wrap him up and hold him on that last “fuck.” It hadn’t even sounded angry. Just… resigned. Like he was used to being disappointed, maybe.
Or used to disappointing himself.
“Whatever, dude,” he said, all the fire gone from his voice now. “Look, I don’t even know why I gave you this number, but lose it, all right? You were right. It was dumb. Nic just got in my head and twisted me all up about shit that I don’t even want anyway.”
“You mean Nichol Fetterline?” I blurted, glad, for Jordan’s sake, to hear that they were still friends.
The call was suddenly so silent that I thought he’d hung up on me. Then, “Dude…”
“Sorry,” I whispered, realizing just how epically creepy it would feel if I were in his shoes.
I took a deep breath. There was nothing for it but to come clean. My own total mortification was a small price to pay for making sure he didn’t feel traumatized.
“Look, Jordan, I really am sorry,” I said into the echoing silence. “I’m… um, we went to high school together, that’s how I know things about you. It’s nothing more than that, I promise.”
“Name?” he bit out.
“Andy. Andrew Archer.”
He made a disbelieving huff. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I don’t remember going to school with anyone named Andy.”
“No, you did,” I said, starting to pace. “I was a freshman when you were a senior, so we didn’t actually know each other, but I… I, um, I knewyou. Who you were, I mean. Well, everyone did, of course, but I mean, I paid attention.”
“You paid attention?” he repeated after a beat of silence.
“You never drank milk,” I blurted.
