“You didn’t tell your friend?” Libby asks.
“I didn’t want to tell him what I’d found yet. I also think if you bring that to the FBI yourselves, they’ll be more inclined to believe this is yet another case of Bryce committing identity fraud.”
Libby smiles down at the phone. No wonder this family is loyal to him. He’s got their interests first, even though he’s a consultant for the FBI.
I take a deep breath. “Set up a meeting with your friend,” I say. “I can be in Houston by tonight.”
CHAPTER 35
LIBBY
This might be my first fight with Jordan, and I don’t like it.
What I don’t like most of all is that I’m losing.
“You need to be here for the season opener,” he says as I watch him throw things into a duffel bag. I have an uneasy pit in my stomach at the thought of being separated.
In my heart, I know this means my feelings are strong. My brain is insisting that it’s just old trauma remanifesting in a stressful situation. After Grayson, I couldn’t sleep without Ellie and Janelle in my room. I didn’t move out of my parents’ house when I turned eighteen, like I’d always claimed—I lived with them while I went to college in Houston, and I’ve stayed close. When I first found out Ellie was moving to Denver and our family wouldn’t be all together in Houston, I struggled with the decision.
Jordan hasn’t been my husband that long, but I hate the idea of being separated.
“Everyone would understand that we have a family emergency,” I insist.
He glances up at me, his lips twitching up at how I’m referring to his sister as part of my family. But it’s true. Jordan is myfamily. He’s my husband, even if we’re just friends for right now. That means Baylee is my family—and legally speaking, it’s true.
“Yeah, Liam and Dan and everyone in admin would, but the fans? It won’t look good.” He grimaces at me. What he won’t say is that to spin this so the public understands means talking about what’s going on, which I don’t want to do. That puts me between a rock and a hard place, since I also don’t want Jordan going without me.
He zips up the duffel and turns to me, putting his hands on my shoulders. They’re warm and comforting.
And they make me want to stay with him even more.
“I don’t care.” I look up at him, pouting. It’s been known to change minds in my family for a long time.
“Oh, no, no, no.” He shakes his head at me. “Do not look at me like that.”
“Do you know that Will gave up the chance to win his first MVP to go with Ellie to Mexico to find me? He missed agameto be there for Ellie.” I don’t change my expression.
Jordan squeezes his eyes shut. “Go to the game. You can come to Houston Sunday night if you need to.”
I put my hands on my hips. “I can come?” I repeat. “I don’t need your permission, Jordan Atkinson.”
“Bennet,” he corrects, smirking.
“Ugh!” I stomp my foot, which makes his smile grow.
Jordan does something he’s been very careful about lately—he gently tugs me into his arms, making it clear that I can step away if I need to. But to be honest, this tactic is probably worse than the pouty face I was giving him a second ago. I melt into him. I’m ready to do his bidding, but also I don’t want to ever leave the cocoon of his arms.
“You need to be at the game. This is what you came here to do,” he says softly. “And I’ll be back soon.” He kisses the top of my head and then sighs. “Sorry,” he whispers.
I shake my head. I understand. We’ve been careful since hetold me about his feelings, but some of those affectionate actions are second nature—for both of us. I’ve watched him hold back so much. Stepping back when he wants to hug me, clenching his fingers after reaching for my hand, wiping a hand down his face after he’s caught himself leaning in for a kiss.
“Don’t be sorry.” I find myself tilting to look up at him. My hands are drawn to his strong jaw, sliding gently over the scruff there. I’m tired of fighting everything I’m feeling. He swallows, and I can’t hold myself back from him another second. Not when he’s leaving and everything feels unknown.
I pull his face down, stand on my tiptoes, and meet his lips with mine. “Libby,” he whispers after the first brush, but I ignore him. I press closer and deepen the kiss. I run my hands down his shoulders and then grip the front of his shirt.
He stays so still, lettingmelead this kiss. His hands are a whisper at my waist, though his lips match me move for move. A soft moan escapes him, one I know is from keeping himself back from me, but it only makes me want more. I grip his shirt, backing him up until he hits my dresser, and items fall over and scatter on the floor around us. My hands slide into his hair. With the lightest touch, his hands glide up my back, barely holding me, as though I’m a butterfly he’ll damage.
This restraint? It’s headier than if he had wrapped me up in his arms and pressed his body to mine. I have never kissed anyone with this kind of intensity. There’s a power to me being the one in control, and the knowledge that Jordan has been giving me that since the night he confessed his feelings locks into place. I can trust him.
