“Thought it was you,” he says, sending me a swoony smile that creates a cascade of tingles across my entire body.
He’s always had that effect on me. Jordan Hammond is possibly the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Well over six feet. Sculpted, lean muscleseverywhere. A male-model face topped with the sexiest hair—yes, hair can be sexy. But it’s his eyes that get me every time. The blue is so pale and clear. Unique. Just like him.
“You look nice,” he comments, taking another sip of beer as his eyes roam over me from across the table.
I know I must be gaping at him, slack-jawed like an idiot. This has never happened before, so I look to either side of me to make sure he’s really talking to me and not someone else.
At his continued stare, I start to sweat in some very uncomfortable places. Should I say something? Of course, I should say something.
“Uh, hi.”
Brilliant. Lovely.
“Hi back.”
Jesus, that smile. Jordan beams those dimples at me, and I feel faint-headed. I’m at such a loss on what to do or how to act. Social graces are not my strongest forte.
I think the last time I spoke more than two words to him was at his mother’s graveside service. Hopefully, he doesn’t remember my botched condolences.
Trying to conjure a coherent sentence that doesn’t make me sound like a fool, what comes out of my mouth is the worst thing I could possibly say.
“I’m really sorry about Amelia.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Actually, I’m not, but whatever. I said it. Can’t unsay it.
But why did you say it? You could’ve said anything else. Talked about the weather or the dog across the street that won’t stop barking and keeps you up all night.
Jordan aims a glacial stare at me as he drains his bottle of beer, making me cringe with embarrassment. He motions for the waitress to bring him another.
“Want one?” he asks as the waitress, Brenda, I think her name is, stops at our table.
Even though Mickey’s is a bar hangout for a lot of people, it also serves delicious food that has families dropping by regularly. For a Saturday night, it’s not too busy. Probably because of the high school football game that got rescheduled to this evening. Football is king here in Texas. The only reason I ever showed any interest in it was because Jordan played for our school’s team. Once he graduated, I stopped going to watch the games.
I politely decline the offer of alcohol. Since I’m not legal to drink yet, it isn’t like Brenda would serve it to me in the first place, but she’s kind enough not to make a big deal about it.
Once she leaves, I’m able to miraculously reply to Jordan without stuttering over my words. “You do realize I’m underage, right?”
Jordan’s Caribbean perusal scrutinizes me for a lengthy second. A lot of people think I’m older than I really am because I skipped a grade at school. I graduated last year but have been working at the grocery store to save up money. Under the state’s Top Ten Percent Rule, I was eligible for automatic admission to several of the state public universities. I was even accepted to Rice but turned them down. Unfortunately, I just can’t afford college at the moment, hence the job at the local HEB, and I refuse to take any money from Aunt Natalie.
Getting a scholarship or a Pell Grant would have helped, but for some reason, every one I’d applied for during my senior year of high school didn’t come through, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to take out a student loan. No thank you. I don’t want to be mired in soul-sucking debt for the rest of my life.
“I keep forgetting you’re four years younger. Eighteen, right?”
“Almost nineteen,” I quickly supply.
Okay, I’m rounding up since my birthday isn’t for another six months. But it’s proper math, so I go with it.
Brenda comes back with another beer for Jordan, who promptly guzzles half of it as soon as she places it on the table.
A little concerned by how much I’ve watched him consume since I got here, I ask, “You’re not driving tonight, are you?”
He graces me with that panty-melting smile again. “I’m good, beautiful. Mike’s here.” He looks around. “Somewhere.”
Beautiful? The swoop in my lower abdomen at the endearment has my core clenching.
Jordan is the epitome of unrequited love. He’s my long-term crush I’ve been swooning over for years. I’m one of those romance trope clichés: little sister who’s desperately in love with her evil, older sister’s boyfriend-turned-fiancé-turned-ex.
