But then he goes and fixes those golden flecks in his eyes right at me while he says things that make my body temperature rise so quickly it feels like I could burn a hole straight through these pajamas, and it makes me think I just might be the exception to every one of his rules.
He drapes an arm over my shoulder. We aren’t cuddling, exactly, but his hand stays there, warm and steady, just like his breath. The weight of his touch is comforting, and it isn’t longuntil my own breath slows and becomes even. Something about the calming energy he puts into the room soothes my frayed edges.
Maybe I should go for it? He’s probably too loyal to Mike to ever make a move, so I lean in and whisper his name. “Jordan?”
“Hmm?”
“If you don’t want me to kiss you, you should tell me now.”
He doesn’t say anything as I continue to inch my face toward his. I watch his throat bob while he swallows. He’s still and silent when my lips brush his, only briefly. He pulls away just a touch and puts his forehead to mine while he moves his hand down to my arm and lightly cups my bicep.
“Shelley?”
“Hmm?” I close my eyes as I repeat the same throaty sound he made a few seconds ago.
Then with two words he invites reality to come crashing back into the room with us.
“We can’t.”
They’re the same words I’ve been repeating to myself since the first time I met him, but hearing his voice confirm the thought shatters a small piece of me.
“Oh.” My face falls and I scoot away, retreating to my side of the bed. “Okay. Sorry. I guess I misread this.”
He brushes my apology away with a light shake of his head. “No. You didn’t. It’s just there’s still the long-distance thing, and your brother. I don’t want to lead you on. We shouldn’t. Wecan’t.”
“Right. Yeah. That’s fine.” My voice is small. We both know it’s not fine because all the flirty energy and tense anticipation that were filling the air just a moment ago havedissipated, and my ego is deflating faster than a whoopee cushion run over by a bus.
I know everything he’s saying is true. It wouldn’t be smart or convenient to start anything with Jordan. I’ve gone over the excuses hundreds of times. I’m in school. He’s committed to the team. Long distance is hard. My brother will murder him. I know all of that. Still.
“But just to be clear, one kiss isn’t a contract. I never asked for a relationship.” I try to save a little bit of face.
After a few awkward moments of silence, he says, “I should go.”
I can’t argue because I know Mike would see it that way too, and I don’t want to cost them their friendship over my silly crush.
That’s all this will ever be. A crush. Maybe even a mutual one. But if Jordan doesn’t want it to go any further, I need to find a way to move on, too.
Jordan nods to himself and gives me a quick side hug before scooting out of the bed. He takes his suit coat off the hook where I hung it and drapes it over his arm. Stopping with his hand on the doorknob, he says, “Hey, we’re still friends, right? I don’t want this to change anything.”
“Friends. Yep. Sure. Of course.” I swallow and blink away the tears fighting their way to the surface. I won’t cry until he’s gone. He might not want anything to change, but I wish everything could be different.
“Well, I better…”He doesn’t finish his sentence as he opens the door. The words “we can’t” hang in the air between us while he shows himself out, leaving me alone in this tiny hotel room with all the memories we just created.
Chapter 11
Jordan
The sun is brutal, sending beads of sweat down my neck and soaking the collar of my jersey. We're up five to three in the fifth inning, but the heat is getting to me, and the top of the Panthers lineup is due up to the plate. Lincoln throws a fastball right down the center, and their hitter makes easy contact. The crack of the bat sends a sharp grounder between second and short. Beauchamp dives a fraction of a second too late, and the ball gets past him. Rodriguez scoops it up and tosses it to second base as the batter rounds my bag. It’s a clean hit, but Beau’s slower than Mike was, and knowing that my previous shortstop would’ve fielded that without a problem has me more irritated than is probably healthy.
“Let’s pick up the pace out here,” I yell before spitting into the dirt, which earns me a glare from Lincoln. The game continues, and we give up two more runs, which ties the score before the inning is over. Normally, I’m a lot more even-tempered on the field, but I hate losing when I know the Carvers are in the stands.
Rodriguez is up first to bat for us, but he pops it up for an easy out. Coach Johnson has me sandwiched in the lineup between Smithy and Beauchamp. Smithy steps toward the batter’s box and takes another warm-up swing. As I leave the dugout and head to the on-deck circle, I feel a hand rest on my shoulder.
“You’ve got this,” the rookie tries to encourage me.
I grunt and nod, but it takes everything in me not to turn around and shove the guy. He doesn’t deserve it. I know he’s trying to be nice, but his presence is so irritating.
It isn’t like me to let other people get under my skin like this, but it’s been three weeks since the wedding, which means it’s been three weeks since I’ve spoken to Shelley. Even though I know I would make the same choice all over again today because nothing about our situation has changed, I can’t stop wishing I had stayed with her in the hotel that night. I should call her. I told her we could be friends, but I can’t bring myself to pick up the phone. Without even trying, she’s unleashed a cyclone of chaos inside me, and I can’t tell which way is up.
