Chapter 21 – Jordie
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I’m a fucking ice cream cone
Jordie
“Phoenix, what is all this?” I ask, staring at what was previously my hotel suite’s living room.
He strides toward me and hands me a single long-stemmed red rose. “I thought we could have dinner in tonight.” His blue eyes hold mine and ask a silent question: Is this okay?
I look around the room, surveying the transformation.
The rectangular coffee table is conspicuously missing, and in its place is a table set for two.
A white embossed tablecloth covers it, and the only lighting comes from a few flickering candles set in the center of a fancy glass bowl of more red roses.
Soft violin music plays in the background, and I’m pretty sure I smell steak and potatoes, though the two plates on the table are covered by silver domes.
I don’t think I’ve ever been served a meal with a silver dome on top.
I thought that only happened in the movies.
“This looks beautiful,” I say. “Thank you, but you didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
Phoenix grins that saucy smile of his. “I like to exceed expectations.”
I laugh. “That you do, Mr. Hale.” He takes my hand and places it in the crook of his elbow.
I think he likes doing that because he did the same thing a few times last night.
Gesturing to my clothes—a pair of boyfriend jeans and Kam Hart’s softball jersey, left unbuttoned over a fitted white tank—I ask, “Should I change clothes? The setting looks so formal.”
“I was going for comfortable fancy. Not sure that’s actually a thing, but maybe I’ll trademark the phrase.” He leads me to the table and stops, turning to face me. “You’re welcome to change if you want to, but I’m wearing this because it’s what I’m comfortable in.”
Looking at his outfit, I do my best not to giggle. “Are those jorts?”
“Yes,” he replies, feigning offense. “And I’ll accept no judgement on the matter. I have no idea what pretentious fashion police asshole decided men can wear jeans but not jean shorts, but I reject that premise.”
“As you should,” I say with as much solemnity as I can muster. “Never let the man get you down.”
“Preach, girl,” he says, and we fist bump. “Would you like to change, or are you comfortable?”
“I’m very comfortable,” I tell him, and I don’t just mean my clothing.
I don’t know what it is about Phoenix Hale, but he puts me at ease, allows me to be myself.
Maybe it’s the fact that he’s his own person too.
He’s wearing jorts beside a setup that could be found in any Michelin-star restaurant, for fuck’s sake.
And I like it. A lot.
He pulls out my chair and scoots it beneath the table before taking the seat across from me. Then he picks up my hand and kisses my knuckles. “Jordie, I don’t want you to think this means I have any expectations for tonight. If you only want to have dinner, that’s fine with me.”
My eyes drop to his blue T-shirt, and I giggle. “You’re literally wearing a shirt with cherries on it. Is that some kind of subliminal message?”
“Complete coincidence,” he replies, rubbing a hand over the two red globes. Then his dimples make an appearance. “Actually, I saw this when I was out today and thought it would make you laugh.”
“Mission accomplished,” I say as he removes the lids, revealing expertly plated food. A hearty ribeye takes center stage with braised cauliflower and a baked potato as the sides. “This looks delicious.”
Phoenix inhales. “Smells good too. I didn’t know what you liked on your baked potato, so I had them put toppings on the side.” He nods toward a pretty basket with little containers of butter, chives, cheese, bacon bits, and sour cream.
As we fix our potatoes, I ask, “What did you do today?”
“Shopped a little. I always bring back a souvenir for Reece when I travel. And I also get our nanny, Lorraine, a magnet. She collects them.”
“That’s sweet of you.”
He chuckles. “Trust me, the woman is a treasure.” He lifts a bottle of red wine from the table. “Just one glass for us tonight, cool?”
“Cool,” I agree.
“Then I called and talked to Reece and Mom for a bit. Mom took her to a playdate with her little friend Brittany.” His grin widens.
“Reece was telling Brittany about vegetables with fiver in them—that’s what she calls fiber—and Brittany said her mom gives her juice to help when she needs help going to the bathroom. ”
“It’s funny thinking about two little girls discussing fiber in their diets like a couple of old ladies.”
Phoenix points his fork at me. “Oh, just wait till I tell you this part. Brittany apparently ran over to ask her mom what kind of juice it is, and she came back and told Reece it’s called…” he pauses dramatically, “pube juice.”
I snort and choke on the bite of potato I’d just stuck in my mouth. “Pube juice?” I croak out after downing a large gulp of wine.
He laughs. “Yep. She was obviously trying to say prune juice—at least I hope so—but now Reece keeps asking my mom to take her to the store for pube juice. I’m never going to be able to send that child to school. No telling what she’d tell her teachers.”
I smirk. “I’m sure they’ve heard it all before.”
“Tell me how things went with Kam today. What all did you do?” This is one of the things I like about Phoenix. I’m sure he could talk all day about his darling little girl, but he always makes sure to ask about me.
“We signed the contract—thank you for looking over that for me, by the way—and then went out for Philly cheesesteaks. After lunch, we went sightseeing. I got to run up the Rocky steps while Kam videoed.”
“Can I see?”
“Um, sure.” I put down my fork and knife to pull my phone from my pocket. Finding the video, I hand it over to Phoenix.
“Oh, this is good.” He nods approvingly. “Look how she filmed your custom sneakers up close and then pulls back as you ran up the steps.” He hands my phone back to me, and I set it aside. “That would be good for your socials.”
“Kam said the same.”
We continue eating. The steak is the best I’ve ever had, and the company is just as wonderful. Our conversation flows effortlessly, and I’m amazed that Phoenix makes being around him so easy. It’s difficult to even notice the significant gap in our ages.
When we’re done, he refuses to let me help as he loads everything onto a tray and sets it outside the door of the hotel suite. Then he returns and presses the side button on his phone, increasing the volume of the music, which is now a soft jazz number with plenty of sultry saxophone.
When he holds out his hand, I’m puzzled but take it. “Dance with me,” he requests, pulling me to my feet and directly against him.
I should protest, but I really don’t want to.
He’s warm and tall, with one strong arm that circles my waist like it belongs there while he holds my other hand firmly in his.
This isn’t what my proposition was all about…
candlelit dinners and close dancing. It was supposed to be almost clinical just to get the job done.
The job being my cherry popping, if you haven’t been paying attention.
But am I complaining? Abso-fucking-lutely not. I’m enjoying this wooing. My head rests against his shoulder, and he pulls our joined hands closer to our bodies. I’m surrounded by this wall of swoon by the name of Phoenix Hale, and my eyes close dreamily.
When the song ends, I reluctantly lift my head and look up slightly until my aqua eyes meet his blue ones. “Thank you. For everything, but you really didn’t have to do all this.”
Phoenix kisses my forehead. “I thought the music would be relaxing, and dancing is natural for the body when there’s music playing.” The distance between his eyebrows decreases infinitesimally. “You didn’t enjoy it?”
Oh god, I sound ungrateful and quickly seek to rectify it. “I loved it. I don’t feel nervous at all right now. I just didn’t expect it.”
He rubs his nose against mine. “Always expect more, Jordie. You’re worth it.” Then he kisses me. It’s soft, a simple brush of lips, but I liquify in his arms. With his mouth hovering over mine, he whispers. “What do you want?”
My voice is quiet but holds no less meaning. “You.”
His hands drop to my butt, pulling me more closely to him. “I want you more than I can describe, sweetheart. Why don’t you get comfortable and meet me in my bedroom?”
I nod, and he presses a hard kiss to my lips before patting my ass. “Go before I stop being so fucking sweet.”
Grinning, I give him a light spank before turning toward my bathroom. Once in there, I turn on the shower, strip down, and quickly wash off. Then I brush my teeth and stand naked, looking in the mirror. He said get comfortable, but what exactly does that mean?
Wrapping a towel around me, I peek out the bedroom door to find the living area empty, and I dash out to grab my phone. I Google What does a man mean when he tells you to get comfortable?
The results vary from: Find a relaxing place to sit or recline to If you’re in an intimate setting, he’s probably asking you to undress.
I blow out a long stream of air. Giving up my virginity is about as intimate as I can imagine, so I don the red lacy panty and bra set, not wanting to go full naked just yet. Then I check my reflection. I have to admit the lingerie looks good, but I still just look like… me.
Maybe you’re enough, a little voice whispers in my ear.
Yeah, but… I reach up and pull the scrunchie from my hair, letting my blonde strands fall around my shoulders and down my back. Then I ruffle the roots the way I’ve seen my sister do.
Wow. Okay. The fullness is definitely giving sex kitten vibes, but I’m still not sure I can strut into his bedroom only in my underwear. Spotting the hotel robe on the bathroom door, I slide into it and tie the sash. It’s lush and comforting.