“I don’t know if I’m ready to chance it,” I admit. “I know Jordan. He won’t want to be the reason I fall out with my family. If Mike gets upset, Jordan will back away. And if that happens, I’ll never be able to forgive my brother. Besides, I won’t be in town long. I’m going back to D.C. soon.”
She places a comforting hand on my arm. “It’s a tough spot to be in.” That’s an understatement. “But he looks at you the same way you look at him. And if it comes down to any kind of a choice, I’d be willing to bet money that man will choose you.”
I wish I were confident enough to agree with her. Unfortunately, I’m not.
It takes another twenty minutes until the fire department is finally able to sweep the building and give the all-clear. When the incessant beeping of the alarm finally stops, everyone breaks out in applause. Except Jake, whose hands are in the pockets of his jeans as he looks at the trees, still avoiding eye contact with Alice, who is glaring daggers at him.
At least most of the neighbors are too preoccupied with Jake’s blunder to care about my bare lower half. Once we’re allowed back into the building, I untie the sweatshirt and hand it back. Jake and Alice disappear into the guys’ apartment holding hands, so I guess he’s officially forgiven. I walk behind Jordan back into my place. Closing the door, I lean my head against it and let out a long sigh.
Just when I think this night can’t get any more dramatic, my phone buzzes with another text from my brother.
Mikey:Where were you earlier?
Me:Around. Everything’s fine. You worry too much.
Chapter 30
Jordan
My duffle bag is barely shoved in the door before I turn from my apartment and jog down the hall to Shelley’s door. As soon as she opens it, I wrap my arms around her waist. She smells faintly of coffee from the part-time summer gig she picked up at Brew-Ha-Ha. She squeals when I lift her two inches in the air and spin her around before setting her feet on the ground and squeezing her in a tight hug. It’s been four weeks since she moved in, and I love that she was waiting here for me to get home from our stretch of away games.
“Welcome home.” Her words are muffled because her mouth is pressing into the collar of my shirt.
“Miss me?”
“Maybe.” Shelley laughs. “I have a confession.” She pulls away just enough to look into my face, which I’m sure is now laced with curiosity. I let go reluctantly, and I already miss her warmth. I raise a curious brow and wait for her to continue.
“I bought you food while you weren’t here to argue. We’re having chicken wings. A lot of them.” She grabs a white paper bag dotted with spots of grease, then she points to a shipping box on the counter. “And I ordered four different kinds of sauce. I thought we could taste test them like that show. You know, see who can handle the heat. Are you hungry?”
I chuckle. “Are you going to make me answer really personal questions while I’m sweating out of my eyes, like they do?”
“Well, I wasn’t. But you’ve gone and put the idea in my head, so now it has to happen.”
“Obviously.” I nod and head over to her cabinets to pull down two plates and glasses. “Water or milk? How hot are we talking?”
“Both. The answer is always both.”
“A woman after my own heart.”
I set the dishes down on the counter and go back to take the milk jug from the fridge. I hand a glass to Shelley and she smiles at me while I pour for her. Then she puts her drink on the breakfast bar and situates herself on a stool, dividing the wings between our plates. When she’s satisfied that the plates are even, she moves on to opening each bottle of hot sauce and lining them up according to their Scoville scale ratings.
I love how seriously she’s taking this. She looks at me and smirks while she arches an eyebrow. “Laugh it up now. My prediction is you’ll be crying by wing three.”
“Oh, probably sooner than that,” I confirm. “I didn’t grow up with a lot of exposure to spicy foods.”
“Right. Whereas in rural Idaho I developed a well-rounded palate by sampling the world’s most unique cuisine.” She rolls her eyes. “We’ll be fine. I only got mild, medium, and hot. Nothing super crazy.”
“Okay, but if I puke up hot sauce while we’re running sprints at practice tomorrow, I’m telling Coach it was your fault.”
“I can live with that.” Her bubbly excitement is contagious as I pull up the stool next to hers. She pours the first sauce onto a wing on my plate, then one of her own. “All right. One. Two. Three.”
We each take a bite at the same time.
“Okay, I can handle this one. Can we stop now? Call it a success.”
“You wish.” She swivels her stool to face me, and when she giggles, I immediately know I would do anything to hear that sound again. I don’t care how many Scovilles I need to consume.
She raises her eyebrows. “I was told you would be answering personal questions. We can take turns to keep it fair. Tit for tat and all.”
