Maybe it’s because no one’s ever been here before. Maybe it’s because I’ve never let anyone in before. To my house. To my heart.
I grip my mug, letting out my breath as I watch him walk around my kitchen, up to the giant window that spans the entire wall alongside the fireplace.
My mother would have a coronary if she saw my giant black shiny fireplace in the stark white dining room.
“Do you, uh… want the tour?” I ask, feeling strangely on the spot.
He turns to me, smiling. “Absolutely.”
I nod for him to follow me. There’s plenty we need to talk about, but right now, we could both use a distraction.
He said he wanted to talk about what happened. He said hebroke up with her.My heart wants to skip a beat, hope pushing all my buttons as that voice inside my head touts, “You. He pickedyou.”
But I also know that this—us—is a whole other game. I might have just bared my broken, shattered soul to the man, but that doesn’t mean everything is perfect. This is new territory for both of us. We crossed a line we’ve never crossed before. But I push those thoughts aside as I lead him down the hall.
“Bedrooms two and three, and bathroom number one—”
He pokes his head into the oversized bathroom which is all dark green and black with slivers and cracks of gold throughout the decor. The oversized shower and tub have never been used. I sip my coffee as I head down the hall, and he follows me.
“Bathroom number two, the study, gym, laundry room, and—” I stop in front of the shut door. The one I can’t open. I have the faintest desire to open it, but I shove the thought down.
No. Absolutely not.
I walk past it, but his voice stops me.
“What’s this one?”
“Storage,” I lie. “Nothing to see there.”
He meets my gaze and I think he’s going to call my bluff. But he doesn’t.
Instead, he meets me in the doorway of my bedroom. He looks down at me with a steady gaze. I lean against the closed door.
“What’s this?” he asks with a small smile, even though I’m pretty sure he knows.
“My bedroom,” I say softly.
Suddenly, the reality hits me along with a heavy dose of anxiety and nerves.
No one’s ever been in this room but me.
I’ve never taken dates or hook-ups to my house. I swallow nervously, but my voice betrays no hint of how nervous I actually am.
“Do you… want to see it?” I ask.
I feel like things are weird. Delicate. Not just because he assaulted my asshole ex, defending my non-existent honor—which was hotter than it should have been, and I’m sure that’s just another thing to add to my ever-growing therapy bill—but also because Jordan fucking Mackenzie isin my house.
He regards me curiously.
“Do youwantme to see your bedroom, Alex? Because we don’t have to—”“Yes,” I say too quickly.
He smirks, nodding to the door and I gently push it open, holding my breath.
Here goes nothing, I guess.
I turn on the light, staring at my messy, unmade bed. The velvet comforter is in complete disarray and my duffel is upended in the chair in the corner, but otherwise, it doesn’t look terrible. Not like I’ve been bed rotting for two fucking days or anything.
He walks into the space slowly, and I don’t miss the slight gasp as he looks around. He spins slowly, and I know he’s checking out all the cracks and shattered mirror pieces on the walls.
