Me:I am not… (much)
Jordan:I don’t know who’s judging me harder. You or Clem.
Me:Clem. Cats always judge.
Jordan:LOL. It’s true.
Me:Need help?
Jordan:Give me a few minutes and I’ll call ya on video, if it’s okay. It’ll just be easier since my hands are full (again with the laughter, man. It’s rude.) But I need some food first.
He wasn’t wrong, I did laugh.
Me:Lol, sure. I’m pigging out on pretzels and peanut butter currently, so…
Jordan:Ha. Actually, that sounds good… brb.
Ten minutes later, Jordan calls me via video chat through Messenger. The image is grainy at first, but when it finally loads, I nearly drop my phone.Holy fuck.His artsy profile picture didnotdo him justice. This guy is gorgeous. Like, straight-from-my-dreams gorgeous. Do youknowhow many times I watched Conan the Barbarian as a child? It wasn’t for the script.
Jordan is Conan personified, except maybe not as muscled. His long, wavy dark hair falls well past his shoulders, and he’s practically glowing with his bronze skin, wide nose, and dark chocolate eyes—the kind that pull me in and make me want to learn his deepest secrets.
I’m so totally screwed.
Jordan waves at me. “Hey.”
I clear my throat. Right. No staring. “Uh, hi. So, I’m Miles.”
He chuckles. “And I’m Jordan.”
My belly tightens. Damn. Even his voice is attractive. But I can only imagine what he’s thinking. A chubby pale nurse with glasses? Not sexy.
“Thanks for helping.”
“Sure,” I squeak. “I actually picked up some yarn before work, so we can do it together.”
Jordan cracks a smile, revealing beautiful, straight white teeth. He truly takes care of himself. “You did?”
I grab the nearest skein and hold it up. He doesn’t need to know I bought the whole fucking rainbow.
“That’s awesome.”
My heart warms. He sounds genuine. Like he really does want to learn crochet, not just to earn points with me or something. It surprises me. No guy has ever been interested in my hobbies before. In fact, they usually make fun of them.
Jordan’s screen shifts as he props the camera against something, then he sits back on the bed, cross-legged. His bare chest is doing nothing to lessen my attraction to him. Look at that stomach! So smooth and hairless. Perfectly lickable.
When he brushes his dark hair over one shoulder, I glimpse an anchor tattoo on his left inner wrist. Otherwise, his tan skin is unmarked.
Pillows are stacked to his right, and the bedspread is a crumpled mess, but who am I to judge? I leave making my bed for room service.
The video shakes suddenly before Jordan disappears from view. “Clematis, no! Oh, you little… CLEM!”
I snort a laugh as his footsteps retreat. The only thing on camera is a plain white ceiling.
A minute later, he returns, cheeks flushed and a fresh scratch mark on his left peck. He rubs at it tenderly. “Sorry about that.”
I stifle another laugh. “You’re fine.”
“Clem seems to think the yarn is for her. The little devil.”
