When we’re safely on the ground again, Jordan shoulders his backpack and pulls both of our suitcases down from the overhead compartment before he hands me my bag. “Ready?”
“Lead the way,” I say as I follow him down the aisle.
Chapter 18
Jordan
Ibring my fist up to cover my yawn. It was a cross-country flight and we’re in a new time zone, but the time difference has given us a few of those hours back. So even though it’s early in the afternoon, it’s already been a long day. At this rate, I’ll be lucky to stay awake through the second inning of the Foxhounds game tonight.
When I called Mike’s mom to let her know my schedule was going to allow me to fly out and catch the Idaho game, she acted like I told her she’d won the lottery. I said I’d book a hotel, but Mrs. Miller wouldn’t hear of it. She insisted I stay in Mike’s old room, since he’ll be bunking with the team and Danielle stayed back to help Alice through a family emergency. I believe Mrs. Miller’s exact words were, “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re family, Jordan. Why on Earth would you pay those crazy hotel fees when there’s an empty bed and a hot meal waiting for you right here?” Who am I to argue with logic like that?
Madison was nice enough to pick us up at the airport and drive us to the house, and Mandy is up front with her. I’m in the back seat with Shelley squeezed in next to me. Much like our seats on the plane, the small space in the back of this sedan wasn’t designed for two tall bodies. Between all our grazing touches on the flight and the way her knee is lightly knocking into mine every time we hit a bump in the road, my nerveendings might as well be live wires. Every cell in my body is on high alert when she’s near me.
“Home sweet home,” Madison says as the car slows.
I’ve never been to Mike’s parents’ place before this trip, but I know the Millers well now. They’re nice people with a real all-American aesthetic. So far, from my limited exposure to their home state, Idaho seems very…blond. When the car pulls up to their house, I’m not surprised to see the decorative seasonal flag on the porch or the hanging flower baskets. Mrs. Miller is already waiting by the mailbox, waving.
“I share my location with her,” Shelley explains, unbuckling her seatbelt. “She was probably watching us the whole time.” She rolls her eyes, but I think it’s nice to have someone excited to see you come home.
I exit the car and grab both of our bags out of the trunk, setting them down on the curb while Shelley’s mom greets her. Then Mrs. Miller approaches me with her arms spread wide, looking for a hug.
“Jordan!” She reaches up to wrap her arms tightly around my neck. “I’m so glad you decided to stay with us this weekend.” She plants a kiss on my cheek, then uses her thumb to wipe away the lipstick mark.
“Thank you for having me.” I offer her another small squeeze. She nods and pulls away to reach up again to pat my cheek.
“Go ahead upstairs. Shelley can show you to your room. I’ll let Dad know you’re all here,” she says. “He’s with a client, but he’ll be finished with work in a few hours.”
Mrs. Miller heads in through the front door, and I grab our bags as Shelley and her sisters show me to a side entrance leading up to the family’s quarters. Mike’s told me about this place, but the old three-story Gothic-style home is bigger than I imagined. It looks like it’s a remodeled church. Back inVirginia, a property like this would probably be called an estate. According to Mike, it’s been in their family for four generations. The main floor on the ground level serves as a funeral parlor. It’s a large open space that can be used for services, plus a small office, a powder room, and a private mourning room.
There’s a wooden staircase, and I follow behind Shelley, my eyes zeroed in on her swaying hips as we ascend each step. The second and third floors are set up like any other house, with the lower level being the main living area. There’s a kitchen, dining area, bathroom, and den. The bedrooms and two additional bathrooms are up on the third floor. It’s a hike, but we make our way up all the wide, winding stairs, and Shelley points to an ornate wooden door on the left.
“That’s you.”
“Cool. Thanks.” I hand over her suitcase, and she takes it into a room across the hall, closing her door and leaving me staring at the carved wooden slab for a few seconds longer than necessary.
Regaining my senses, I turn and toss my stuff onto the bottom mattress of my best friend’s childhood bunk bed. There’s a framed family photo sitting on the dresser, reminding me exactly how much of an asshole I would be if I tried anything with his little sister. But the truth is, I don’t know if I have the strength to stay away much longer.
I’ve tried. I thought these feelings would fade into the background if I ignored them, but they’ve only grown. Spending the day with her on the plane and the overwhelming need I had to comfort her when she was afraid only confirmed it. The pull Shelley has on me is stronger than a rip current, and I’m getting tired of fighting to swim against the tide.
Mrs. Miller calls up to us, “I’m sure you’re both exhausted from the flight, but don’t forget to set an alarm if you decide to take a nap. We’re leaving for the game in a few hours.”
A nap sounds like a great idea. I nod off almost immediately and don’t wake up until I hear the girls arguing and shuffling around in the bathroom as they fight over the mirror.
When I step into the hall, I almost collide with Shelley as she backward-stomps out of the bathroom, growling at her sisters. “I said I needed five more minutes.”
“You can curl your hair anywhere there’s an outlet! I need to get in here,” Mandy fires back.
Shelley turns, still not seeing me, and I grab her elbow to keep her steady. The contact takes her by surprise, and she gasps, tripping over her own feet. Before she falls, I manage to wrap an arm around her waist and pull her close to me.
“Steady now.”
“I’m fine,” she whispers. “You can let go.”
It’s harder than it should be, but I manage to loosen my hold enough for her to slip out.
She’s wearing a pink Foxhounds jersey tied up on the side and tight bike shorts that hug her thighs. The five on her back is her brother’s number. I know Mrs. Miller had matching jerseys custom-made for the whole family as soon as Mike signed his contract. Of course Shelley should be wearing a Foxhounds jersey tonight. But I have to clear my throat and tap my fist against my chest because there’s an uncomfortable burning inside me. New fantasy unlocked: Before I retire, I want to see her in my jersey.
“Let’s get a move on!” Mr. Miller calls from downstairs, so we all file out of the house and into the family minivan to head over to the stadium.
