69. Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Mac
A gym is the last place I ever expected to find myself, but I have a renewed sense of hope buzzing beneath my skin as I walk the third floor.
Jordan’s apartment is small, and the light was just right to watch him sleep, but then I felt like a creeper staring at him. Felt like a lovesick fool for sticking to his side all night long.
Not even a sleep adventure moved me.
Hence the walk.
Which has led me to a large room, one whole side letting in the early morning light, another covered in mirrors with a bar anchored only a few feet in front of it.
The floor is hardwood, and the ceiling is painted black to hide the duct work, but it’s open and breathing and holds a shit ton of potential.
Following the buzzing energy’s lead, I wander around the rest of the place, passing the clinks of metal and grunts, until there’s pails and buckets and Jordan’s pots all overturned along the hardwood, set up just like an extended version of my drum set.
Sticks in hand, I paradiddle and smash, the attack ringing through the open space with the perfect amount of acoustics to have me grinning.
I’m deep in making a rhythm from the everyday things when a snick registers in my mind.
He held my hand and he’s not straight.
I don’t know what it means. Or where this leads. But just knowing that has lifted a weight off my shoulders. Made it easier to breathe.
He thinks he’s demi. Maybe.
I can work with that.
I push back all those voices in the back of my mind that threaten to remind me of every other asshole that claimed they were something they weren’t, only to back out when things got real ish .
Jordan’s different.
He has to be.
Otherwise … after all this time apart … why did he have drumsticks and macaroni? He didn’t know if I’d ever be here, and yet … he was prepared for me to be. Like he wanted me to be.
Was waiting for me to be.
Lips turned up, I rapid fire on the bucket’s bottom with both sticks, tapping the edge every offbeat and I don’t stop until a shadow creeps its way closer.
Even then, I look up at the little guy Jordan called a friend but keep beating away on the pail with one hand.
“Drum lessons would make great cardio.”
I blink, then snort and choke the sound by slapping the sticks sideways against the plastic.
“You the PR guy around here?”
“Me? No. I’m absolutely just pretending not to judge you.”
I settle back on my ass and twirl the sticks, taking the guy in.
“Mighty blunt of you.”
He snorts and flares his hands out in front of him. “ Honesty . You should try it sometime.”
Ouch.
“I see.” I nod and get my feet under me, pushing to my full height.
I have to look down at him and he’s staring all the way up with only a slight look of fear in his eyes betraying the boldness of his words.
“What’s your name again?”
“Ooh, ouch. I know damn well Jordan told you.”
He did, but Lemon doesn’t need to know that.
“He kissed me, you know,” he adds, a glint of something in his brown eyes.
Pursing my lips, I nod. “And?”
Lemon makes some sort of snorting chuckle and gives me a slow once over. Then another. It’s almost intrusive the way he appraises me, like he’s measuring me up and maybe the little spitfire could take me out. Bet he’d start with my knees.
“And he spent a lot of time trying his best not to think about you, yet here you are.”
That one hurts, too.
I swallow and refuse to let him see me sweat. “Here I am.”
And I don’t plan on going away.
Arms crossing and features pinching, Lemon seems to make up his mind about me.
“What are your intentions with my guy?”
A muscle in my brow twitches at the claim I have no right to contest, yet feel like I must. He catches it and grins like the Cheshire cat that’s caught his mouse.
Not today, bud.
Not after my guy admitted that he’s not straight.
Finally opened up and let me the fuck in .
I grin.
“My intention?” My gaze flicks over his shoulder, Jordan’s furrowed brow taking in the sight of the two of us from across the room. “Is everything .”
Slowly, I bring my sight back to the overprotective friend, my grin even wider.
Lemon throws his hands up and rolls his eyes but laughs.
“ Fine . Don’tyoudarehurtmyfriendagain. ” The last part is rushed and nearly growled beneath his breath as Jordan approaches, only replaced with a forced smile when he gets within hearing distance.
“Lemon, manners ,” Jordan all but snips, though the guy is all smiles and fluttering lashes that have me chuckling by the time Jordan stops between us.
“I have all the manners!”
“Mac, this is Lemon,” Jordan adds, ignoring his friend’s innocent act.
“We met.” I chuckle. “I see why you like him.”
Jordan’s brow quirks, but so do his lips, and now all I can think about is kissing them.
Would he let me?
But even as my mind wanders over the idea, Lemon steps in close to Jordan, sneaking a thin arm around his waist.
Jordan snorts. Tugs him in for a side hug.
Then steps away from Lemon and closer to me.
“I have a thing this morning, but …” There’s a slight pink flush on his cheeks and suddenly I don’t give a shit that Lemon just tried to stake a claim because Jordan’s looking at me with something that looks an awful lot like hope in his navy blues.
Fucking fuck, I missed him so goddamn much it hurts.
“What are you doing later?”
Fluttering erupts in my gut, and I do my best to tamper the resulting grin.
It doesn’t work and I’m certain I look every bit the madman I feel.
“You asking me out, Tyro?”
That pink darkens the slightest bit, but then his lips tip up in an almost smile and he fucking nods .
I’m dying right here on the hardwood.
Send everyone my love, because I’m following the reaper into this afterlife.
“Yeah, Vida,” he breathes out and steps closer, his knuckles brushing my abs and I nearly swallow my fucking tongue. “Yeah, I am.”
Gawd damn .
Another burst of fluttering steals all the oxygen in my lungs.
The only answer is one word and it cracks; “Okay.”
“Okay.” He nods again, searches my gaze for a beat with hands wringing in front of him.
Then he leans in, steals what’s left of my breath and presses his soft lips to the stubble on my cheek. It’s quick. Swift. Over too soon and leaving me staring after his retreating form.
Yet ... it’s everything.