She’s without a doubt the most stunning woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I have no idea how to tell her.
‘Hi.’
I could bottle up that rasp in Jordan’s voice just so I can have it to replay for ever. I meet her chocolate eyes, half-lidded, still waking up.
I thumb a hair away from her mouth. ‘Hey.’
She presses a little kiss to my knuckles. Her fingers twine their way through mine. I notice that the rain has fully switched her hair up. Instead of the straight sheet of black I’ve become used to, a shock of thick, dark waves bordering on curls is tied up on top of her head.
I take one of the curls in front of her ear between my fingers with a grin. ‘So you lied to me, didn’t you?’
She scoffs, but she doesn’t protest. ‘You figured it out anyways. “Curly”.’
‘I like it. Not that it matters what I like. Do you?’
‘Still figuring it out.’ A little smile skates across Jordan’s lips. ‘But a vote of confidence helps.’
She props herself up on an elbow, her necklace swishing back and forth before finding its equilibrium. ‘We did some of the baggage. Now tell me something fun about yourself.’
‘What?’ I rub my eyes, roll over to check the little numbers on Jordan’s lock screen. ‘It’s nine a.m., Jor—’
‘Something fun!’ she protests, all full energy, all at once. This chick. You’d think she’d just downed a Red Bull. And I’m eating it up.
‘Okay,’ I fold easily. ‘I havePete the Cat: I Love My White Shoesmemorized word for word.’
Jordan cocks her head with a teasing glint in her eye. ‘Good. Keep going.’
‘I like Jane Austen. But I like dystopian stuff, too. I likedTheGiver.I couldn’t get through the movie, though. I like Boston but I hate beans. I beat May at carrom once, and now I think I’m really good at it.’ I could honestly keep caving for her and giving her what she wants. Hell, if she wants to know which shoe I put on first, I’d tell her (it’s the right).
‘You couldn’t get through the movie?’
‘No, unfortunately. I tried. Really hard.’
‘And you don’t …’ Jordan’s next words are slow and calculated. Uh-oh. ‘You don’t like beans?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ I wince as I reply. Could this be the deal-breaker?
‘I,’ her face cracks into a smile, ‘don’t either.’
‘Oh, thank God.’ I poke her in the ribs, and she squeals. ‘Now you. Something fun.’
‘I guess,’ she giggles. She’s a shit actor. She feigns pretty awful indifference. ‘Well, besides the gluten, I’m not supposed to have lactose, but I just love whipped cream too much. I only eat pita chips with guacamole. I organized my lacrosse sticks in the garage by colour. And to tell you the truth, I knew what was going on in the car racing when we were in the bar that night. I watch it sometimes. I just pretended not to because I wanted to play trivia for that stupid Colt jersey,’ she finishes.
The memory of that jersey prods at my brain. I must be betraying the green-eyed monster that took me over when I saw Jordan in it for the first time, because she gives my arm a good shake. ‘Hey. What’s up?’
‘Nothing, nothing.’
‘Tell. Me.’
Again, I fold. I roll my eyes, more at myself than anyone else. ‘I hate to admit it, but that shit made my blood boil.’
Jordan’s eyebrows go sky-high. ‘Yikes. I knew you didn’t like that we were technically at an unfair advantage during trivia—’
‘Not the game.’ I feel like I’m muttering the words out of the corner of my mouth. ‘The prize. The jersey. With his name on it. And you … wearing it.’
Realization dawns across her face, and then, it gradually melts into a playful smile. ‘Oh, my gosh. Look at you, Mister Hot Rod. All tied up in knots.’
‘It’ssoembarrassing, Jordan, I swear—’
