Wait,ifhe was okay.
If it was even Jordan at the door.
Which it had to be. I needed it to be. It would be.
Then the doorbell rang, and I kicked it into gear, yanking the front door open to confirm that it was.
“Jordan,” I said, my throat still feeling tight. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, sorry,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets and making no move to actually come inside. “You want me to leave?”
I blinked. “What?” Then I frowned. “Of course not.”
He wasn’t wearing a coat.Again.
I pulled him inside, rubbing his arms. They were chilled, as if maybe he’d been standing on the porch for a minute before knocking.
“Why would I want you to leave?” I asked, concerned when he shivered.
I kicked the door closed behind him.
“I’m late,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “Thought maybe you got tired of waiting,” he added with a shrug, his eyes darted up to meet mine for a second. “You know, made other plans?”
“Jordan,” I said, cupping his face and making him look at me. Moving in close enough that I could feel the chill still coming off his body. “No, baby. That’s not how this works.”
Jesus, could he really think that?
“What, you’re saying you’re just going to wait around forever if I’m a no show?” he asked, shivering again. “Not go find some other guy to fuck when I’m not around? Dude, you already have your keys in your hand. You know what? Whatever. I’m—”
“Staying,” I finished for him forcefully, grabbing him when he tried to turn away. “I was worried about you. I had my keys in my hand because I was coming to find you.”
“Shut up,” he said, suddenly glaring at me. “You were not. I didn’t even remember your fuckingcoat.”
If I hadn’t already known he’d been running scared the last two times, that nonsensical outburst would have cinched it. I almost smiled, the memory of how gorgeous he’d looked when he’d confessed to me—I want it too bad—rolling through me like warm thunder.
Jordan needed me. He wasn’t pulling away, he was begging me to prove I wouldn’t let him.
“You’re right,” I said. “You forgot your coat again—”
“Yourcoat,” he muttered, still glaring at me hard enough to make my heart surge.
If he didn't want this, he wouldn't be fighting it so hard… and God, I wanted it, too. Wantedhim, in every possible way.
“So we’ll have to deal with that later, sweetheart,” I continued, never more thankful for all the years I’d had to learn how to deal with the girls’ tantrums than right now. “But first, take off your shoes, because youarestaying.”
“Whatever,” he said, doing it with jerky motions and slapping them onto the shoe rack. “Happy? Are we going to fuck now?”
That was his second “fuck” since he’d arrived. My boy was practically begging for a spanking.
“No,” I said, taking his hand. “And that’s twice you’ve forgotten I don’t like you swearing.”
“I didn’t forget,” he said, not fighting me as I led him back toward the kitchen. “Fuck, Andy. Sometimes things are just fucked up and they requirefucks, okay?”
“Like whatever made you late?” I asked, pausing in the hallway.
“Fuckyes, like that,” he said as I cupped his jaw, noting how smooth it was.
He’d shaved. He looked frazzled and sulky and scared that he was going to push me too far, but also beautiful. Face made up, hair styled, clothes that hugged him like an invitation. So whatever had happened to set him off, it had been after he’d already gotten himself ready for me.
