A streak of light swiftly arcs across the sky before flickering out. A shooting star. When I was four, Mom taught me that silly rhyme about shooting stars that every kid learns at some point.
“Star light, star bright. The first star I see tonight…”
What do I wish for?
A second chance.
Douglass Donnelly may have a stubborn streak a mile wide, but so do I.
I don’t believe in fate like my sister, but I do believe things happen for a reason. It’s all about choices. They guide us and shape us. Some choices are good, some bad. I’ve made my fair share of bad.
My mind wanders back to Douglass. There’s something between us I’m not going to ignore anymore. I did that once and made the worst mistake of my life. Again, it comes down to choices. I chose the wrong woman.
It’s about damn time I choose the right one.
Chapter 15
There’s a swish of curtains opening, and I jolt upright in bed when a slash of bright sunlight hits me directly in the face. I slap a hand over my eyes to prevent myself from being blinded.
“What the hell?” I exclaim, cracking my fingers open and peeking through the slit.
Jordan is standing at the side of my bed, full smile on display and looking so much like the Jordan in the dream I was just having. Sexy, hair mussed, with a shadow of facial scruff I want to feel abrade between my thighs.
My brain hasn’t woken up yet since it’s only gotten maybe two hours of sleep after tossing and turning all night, so I don’t question what he’s doing in my room at the ass-crack of dawn. I flip over onto my stomach, burrow under my pillow with a tired moan, and close my eyes.
“Go away,” I grumble.
My sheet gets yanked off me, instant goose bumps popping when the cooler air hits the bare skin of my legs and arms.
“Rise and shine. Nice PJs, by the way,” Jordan’s amused voice speaks.
His comment is more effective than a bucket of ice water being dumped over me. I literally cartwheel off the side of the bed and land with a loud thud on the floor.Son of a bitch!
Peeking over the edge of the mattress, I’m about to shout every obscenity known to man at him, but he’s not there. The room is quiet and empty. I rub at my sore elbow that took the brunt of my fall and gingerly get off the floor.
I must’ve still been dreaming. Then again, I dream about Jordan all the damn time. The infuriating man has haunted my subconscious for almost a decade.
I debate crawling back into bed but know falling back asleep would be futile. Since I never did make it to the grocery store yesterday, might as well get dressed and do that first thing before I tackle the other thousands of items on my list.
Then I remember that I don’t have a car and still have no idea which garage my rental was towed to.Goddammit, Jordan. I skip over writing in my journal this morning, too consumed and overwhelmed with everything I have to deal with, and it’s barely half past seven. Screw my daily affirmation. I’m too pissed to be grateful for anything right now.
Since I showered last night after I finished talking to Mason, I dress quickly in the bathroom, tossing the Captain America boxers and blue tank top I slept in into the small laundry basket. I pull on a pair of jeans and one of Mason’s old Henleys I stole and will never give back. My hair goes up in a ponytail, and I decide not to bother with any makeup, stack on my bangles, and head to the kitchen for a much-needed cup of coffee.
“Finally. You’re slower than molasses in the snow.”
I’m not proud of the high-pitched scream I emit.
Jordan drops the spatula he’s holding. He picks it up and places it into the sink, then grabs another one from the ceramic rooster and continues to scramble the eggs in the frying pan.
“Not the usual good morning I get from a beautiful woman.”
I rub my chest with the heel of my palm to stave off the heart attack that feels imminent.
“Jordan? What are you doing here?”
I think every woman has the same fantasy of a gorgeous man, preferably shirtless and barefoot, cooking for her. Jordan’s back is turned to me, and I may stare at his denim-covered ass for longer than is appropriate.
“Morning, slowpoke. Do you like butter, jam, or both?” he asks, turning the heat off the eggs and placing slices of bread into the old stainless-steel toaster that will only toast on one side.
