“She’s with her mom and stepdad tonight.”
She makes a thoughtful noise, leaning against the back counter, and I take a sip of the drink.
“Best soda water with lime in the city,” I tell her, and she snorts.
“Do you not drink?” she asks, studying her dark nails. “You never order something with booze in it.”
The nails are navy blue today. They were maroon yesterday, so she must have redone them either last night or today. I picture her wherever she lives, painting her nails with care and attention and focus.
“Yes, I quit drinking. The night I found out Bea was coming.”
Her eyes lift to mine, curious, but she doesn’t ask more.
“I was drinking a lot in those days. Too much. Her mother, Holly, and I had hooked up only once, and then she called me and said she was pregnant and...” I shake my head, the memories washing over me. “I was an alcoholic, and depressed, and I was going to have a child, so I didn’t want to be that way anymore. I’m still an alcoholic,” I add, “but I’m recovering. And sober.”
She makes that thoughtful humming noise again, still watching me, and something that looks like respect and admiration rises in her eyes.
Or maybe that’s wishful thinking.
“Alcohol use disorder is the more modern term,” I add. “Your dad brought me there, actually.”
She stiffens. “Where?”
“To rehab. The night I got the call about Bea.” Although wedidn’t know she was Bea at that time. “And when I was done with rehab, he made a call and found me the coaching job at UBC.”
She studies me, frowning a little. I don’t know why I’m telling her all of this. It’s not relevant.
It feels good, though, to share with her. Maybe she’ll share with me, too.
She studies her nails again. “Were you and Holly... ?” Her gaze lifts, a question in her eyes.
“Together? No. I think we knew from the beginning that there was nothing but friendship between us. I don’t even know why we hooked up.” I shrug. “And I don’t remember it. But we agreed to be friends, for Bea. She needs to see her parents in a healthy relationship, even if it isn’t romantic.”
Jordan stares at me, and I wish I could hear what she’s thinking. “You seem like a good dad.”
“Wow.” My eyebrows lift. “Was that a compliment? I didn’t hear you choking on it.”
Her eyes change, going sharp and entertained. “When someone pays you a compliment, Tate, you saythank you.”
Is she flirting with me? No. She couldn’t be. Jordan Hathaway doesn’t flirt. Something electric zings through the air between us, though, and there’s that heavy, unwelcome ache in my groin. I clear my throat, look away, and she does the same.
“Thank you,” I tell her with a nod. Polite and professional, I remind myself. “I try to be a good dad. I try very hard.”
CHAPTER 15
JORDAN
I’m in the alley,throwing the trash out, when I hear a familiar garbled meow.
No. She couldn’t have gotten out?—
I left my bedroom window open, I realize. Just an inch. It’s an old habit. Fuck.
I look down.
“Oh, god!” I yell at the sight of her face.
There she is, the demon cat. It’s been raining on and off all night. Why is she out here when she could be in my apartment, where it’s warm and dry?
