I don’t look away when women get undressed. And I sure as shit have never looked away with Jordan.
“It’s fine,” she says coolly. “Don’t be weird about it. Like you said the other night—you’ve seen my tits.”
Then she unzips her pants and pushes them down, and that tiny shred of conscience I didn’t even know I had keeps my eyes glued to the nightstand.
I hate that nagging little fucker.
Same one that stopped me two weeks ago when I could’ve gone looking to get laid, but didn’t. Same one that used to send me to confession back in middle school.
She brushes past me like this is nothing. Like my pulse isn’t pounding in my throat—and my dick. Like she didn’t just undress in front of a guy sheknowsis attracted to her… and would love nothing more than to strip her naked and do things I shouldn’t even be thinking about.
She climbs into bed and flips on the TV. She’s wearing a tight black tank, cropped of course, teasing that strip of skin I’d give anything to touch. Her oversized sweats are rolled low on her hips.
And I couldn’t tell you why exactly, but it’s hot as hell.
She pats the mattress. “You wanna watch a show? I’ve been rewatchingSex and the City.”
I just stare at her, trying to understand how she’s acting so completely normal when she hit the panic button an hour ago.
And then it clicks.
She’s resetting. Pretending there isn’t a crack in something shedoesn’t want to deal with. She sent that text, then regretted it. She couldn’t unsend it because I’d already read it.
This is so Jordan.
Something freaked her out, and she’s shoving it far enough away so she won’t even have to look at it. So she can forget about it. She’s burying her needs and putting everyone else first, like she always does.
She doesn’t want to do this. Doesn’t want to get married.
But she will. Because that’s who she is.
And selfishly? I’m letting her.
I tell myself this is for Cole. That this is temporary. Necessary, even.
But every day that’s becoming less and less true.
Because the more time I spend with her, the more space she takes up in my life. The more sheshows upfor me.
The harder it gets to pretend I don’t actuallywantthis.
And not for Cole.
For me.
One hour,two episodes ofSex and the City, and three too many snacks later, I’m stretched out on Jordan’s bed beside her.
There’s a tray of food in front of us—cheese, crackers, hummus, and cut up vegetables. I’m more relaxed than I should be, and I’m thoroughly enjoying myself.
We’ve talked a bit. Mostly about her time in the Hamptons. It’s been light and easy. The kind of conversation that feels safe because neither of us is touching the thing underneath it.
The TV helps. It’s a good buffer. A distraction.
“You ever get worried things are going to change once Jensen and Alley have their baby?” she asks, eyes still on the screen.
Miranda just had her baby, and the friends are struggling to adjust.
I glance over at Jordan as she bites into a carrot stick, something she genuinely believes qualifies as a snack, and chews thoughtfully.
