“She was in a bad way then, Junior. Doesn’t mean she feels that way now. You could always go see her.”
“She wouldn’t want to see me. She made that clear.”
“Maybe not. But you won’t know until you try.”
“I’m not going to put her through that, Pops. For what?”
“For closure. To move on. You’re a good man, Junior. I believe that with everything in me. Don’t give up on yourself or the possibility of falling in love.”
“I loved Lilah, and look what a mess I made of that.”
“You loved the idea of Lilah. There’s a difference. As special as she was, and you know I adored that girl, she wasn’t the one for you.”
“And Jordyn is?”
“Could be. But you’ll never know if you hold yourself back.”
“I like being with her. What we have is easy.”
“Might feel easy ’cause it’s right.”
“It’s right the way it is. I’m not going to screw it up by falling in love with her.”
“You can’t control everything, Junior, least of all your heart.”
* * *
This week has been a bitch. Aside from not being any closer to solving the whodunnit, I haven’t spent much time with Jordyn. We’ve had a couple of hasty sweat sessions, texts, and the occasional phone call, but no dinners or sleepovers.
Jordyn understands I’m worried about leaving Pops alone during the evenings until he gets the all-clear from his doctor. That’s what I like about her, the very lack of pressure and expectation. She doesn’t demand anything from me. She’s comfortable with who she is and takes pride in her independence. She’s strong and ambitious. I admire that. She’s also warm and has a nurturing side, which I hadn’t expected. There’s nothing that I don’t like about her, even the too-chatty, stubborn, smartass parts. As far as I’m concerned, what we have works perfectly. Bringing emotion into it would only ruin a good thing.
Thursday afternoon, Max and I go to Same Day Express. The kid that processed the order is no more than nineteen, with an air of disinterest and boredom.
“Sorry, man, I don’t pay much attention to the customers. I just put their stuff through.”
Max shows him the photos of Bates and Hunt. “Recognize either of them?”
“They look like every customer that comes in here.”
I didn’t think my mood could get any worse until we reviewed the videotape that the manager finally released to us. The quality is absolute shit. I turn it over to Tyler Chisholm, a tech whiz freelancer I often use. He relishes a good challenge, but even he says this will take a miracle.
By ten o’clock, I’m going stir-crazy. After Pops has gone to bed, I show up at Jordyn’s. I just needed to see her, if only for a few minutes. She opens the door, looking good. Good, like something I want to toss over my shoulder cave-man style and make mine.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” She leaps into my arms and kisses me with her whole mouth.
My thoughts scatter. I want inside her—with my fingers, my tongue, my cock. I want her naked, screaming my name, covered all over in sweat, and me.
When we come up for air, she brushes her thumb over my lips. “My week hasn’t been the same without you.”
“Mine, either. Sorry to come over so late.”
“I don’t care. I’m glad you’re here.” She unwinds her legs, and I ease her to the floor. “How’s your grandfather?”
“Fully back to his old, headstrong, bad joke-telling self.”
“That’s great to hear,” she laughs. “I really like him.”
