Or could she?
Shit, her pulse was sprinting. Had she always been so completely awkward when it came to liking someone?
A stream of people poured out onto the deck, bumping Jordan and Astrid closer together. Words and laughter enveloped them, and Astrid caught an irritated look cross Jordan’s face at the man next to her who didn’t seem to be aware that his elbow kept jutting against Jordan’s arm.
Astrid grabbed Jordan’s beer, then set both the bottle and her own wineglass on the patio table before taking Jordan’s hand. “Come with me.”
She didn’t wait for Jordan to answer, just pulled her inside the house, through the packed living room and into the main hallway. She didn’t stop until they got to Claire and Delilah’s bedroom, which was currently being used as a coat closet, jackets strewn neatly all over the bed.
She ushered Jordan inside, then closed the door, pressing her own back against the white-painted wood. It was dim in here, a single reading lamp on one bedside table the only light. Jordan stood in front of her, hands in the pockets of her dark gray jeans, eyebrows lifted in expectation. She didn’t say anything, and somehow, Astrid knew she wouldn’t.
This was Astrid’s show, her move to make.
And goddammit, she was going to make it.
“You’re not the first woman I’ve ever been attracted to,” Astrid said.
Jordan’s eyebrows shot up even higher.
“I just didn’t understand what it really meant before you,” Astrid went on.
Jordan watched her for a second—a second that felt like years, Astrid’s heart galloping against her ribs.
“Fair enough,” Jordan finally said.
Astrid exhaled, and took a step closer. “I didn’tletmyself understand. My whole life, I’ve waited to feel like this.”
Jordan’s mouth parted. “Like what, Parker?”
Another step. “Likethis.The way I feel when I’m with you. Like I’m twelve years old and going through my first crush. Like I might explode if I don’t see you, talk to you. Like I don’t care about anything else in this whole messed-up world but what you think about me. Feel about me.”
Jordan still didn’t say anything, but her chest moved up and down a little faster, her eyes locked on Astrid’s.
One more step. They were so close now. Astrid could feel Jordan’s breath on her face, the fabric of her light pink button-up covered in darker pink kiss prints brushing up against Astrid’s own deep green sleeveless blouse.
She took a chance—because hell, she’d definitely passed the point of no return here—and ran her thumb over one of those kisses at Jordan’s hip. Electricity shot through her entire body, just from that single, barely there touch, and she saw Jordan’s own arm pebble with goose bumps.
“I want to kissyou,” Astrid said. She let her other hand come up to Jordan’s waist, both fists closing around Jordan’s ridiculously serendipitous shirt. She didn’t tug her closer though. Not yet. “I want to touchyou, and not so I can know what it’s like to be with a woman.”
“Why then?” Jordan asked. Her voice was deliciously ragged, and Astrid couldn’t help but smile a little.
“So I can know what it’s like to be withyou,” she said.
Jordan sucked in a breath, her tongue slipping out to lick at her lower lip. Heat pooled low in Astrid’s belly, but she didn’t move. She needed Jordan to say yes to this, needed to make one hundred percent sure she was okay.
One corner of Jordan’s beautiful rosebud mouth tipped up in a tiny smile. “I guess you better find out, then.”
Joy spread through Astrid’s chest, her arms and legs and stomach. That was the only word for this feeling that coursed its way through her body. Pure joy.
There was also terror.
What if she was a bad kisser? What if she did everything wrong, and Jordan didn’t feel the same after this? Astrid was, after all, her mother’s daughter. She was cold, unfeeling, dispassionate. Spencer had said as much during one of their last phone conversations as they dismantled their wedding last year. She was sure others had thought it. Hell, the reason she and her college boyfriend had broken up junior year was because she was too focused on her studies.
Because she wasn’t any fun.
But she didn’t feel any of that when she looked at Jordan Everwood. She didn’t feel like the same woman who’d yelled at her outside Wake Up just a few weeks ago. She didn’t feel powerless and hopeless like she did at her weekly brunches with her mother. She didn’t feel like a failure like she did when she thought about Natasha Rojas’s declaration about her original design.
She didn’t feel miserable like she did when she thought about design at all.
