We step into the elevator.
“And it’s really small.” She combs her fingers through the ends of her hair. “Like really, really small.”
What the hell is this? Is she nervous for me to be here?
I’ve seen Jordan at her most vulnerable—crying, morning breath… Hell, my face has been buried between her legs when she’s been overdue for a wax. So her apologizing about the state of her apartment?
That’s fucking weird.
Even if we arejust friends.
We reach the third floor, and I follow her to her door. She enters the code and pushes the door open, flipping on the light.
Holy shit.She wasn’t kidding. This place isn’t small. It’s smaller than that, whatever that would be.
I’d say I’m taking it in, but I already did. One turn of the head and… yep. That’s it. You can get it all in one camera frame.
She scoffs, catching my reaction. “Told you it was small.”
I try to act normal. Jesus, I’m such a prick. “I didn’t say anything.”Nope. That’s not it.“I’m just taking it in,” I add quickly. “It’s nice.”
“You don’t have to. Your face says it all.” She laughs quietly. “You’ve always been a bad liar. It’s fine. It’s not like I don’t know that I live in a four-hundred-square-foot box.”
She sets her purse on the counter. “Well don’t just stand there. Come in.”
I’m already in. Three more steps and I’m basically in the middle of this entire place.
“So what’s up?” she asks. “You’re freaking out because of my text?”
“Well, yeah. And then you didn’t text me back, so I came all the way over here and sat outside your apartment. What the hell’s going on?”
She disappears around the one and only corner in here. “I’m sorry,” she calls out, her voice trailing off, like she’s not done talking, but won’t finish until she can see me again.
I move to follow, clocking the clutter on every surface. Clothes piled in the corner like she never even attempted to put them away.
Shit.
I forgot how messy she is.
On the surface, Jordan’s the most put-together woman in the room. Always. That’s the version the world gets. But behind closed doors? She’s a goddamn mess. Chaos. Beautiful, lived-in chaos.
And I kind of fucking love it.
This version of her, unraveling, unguarded, not trying to control every variable, is my favorite. I haven’t seen it in a long time.
I round the corner to her closet, which connects to the bathroom... and stop dead.
She’s pulling her shirt over her head.
Fuck me.
Smooth tan skin. Curves I could draw from memory. Heat slams into my chest like a shot of liquor, and our eyes lock as she tosses the shirt aside, completely unbothered.
A hint of a smile lifts her mouth.
I turn fast, gaze dropping to the floor. “Sorry. I—I didn’t know you were changing.”
What am I, a fucking priest?
