CHAPTER 19
Eric
My jaw hits the fucking floor as I watch my boyfriend walk—and I use that word loosely—across the living room with his little white ass on full display. Framed by a satin jock, the sight of it makes my brain malfunction for a second before it comes back online. When I surge forward to stop Jordan from stepping outside with his leather pants around his thighs, he has the absolute audacity to look up at me and press his half-dressed self against my body.
“Ooh, does this mean you would rather stay home?” he purrs.
He probably thinks the way he is squinting and wiggling his eyebrows at me is sexy. When in reality, I’m biting hard on the flesh of my cheeks to stifle a laugh. Prying his hands off my shirt buttons, I grip them both in one fist and nudge his chin upwards to make sure I have his undivided attention.
“Yes, we are staying home, but not for that.” I give in and laugh when he exaggerates a pout. “Why don’t we get you into some more comfortable clothes?” I’m still clutching onto his wandering hands. Apparently, Jordan has lost his ability to understand English—along with his damn mind. Why would he drink so much? Was he really that nervous about a date with me? Grazing the pad of my thumb along his jaw, I lean down and brush my lips against his. Pulling back, I use his hands to guide him toward his bedroom. I pause in the doorway, taking in the carnage of his bedroom.
“Did a bomb go off in your closet?” Stepping over a small pile of shirts, I swipe some pants off the bed. Then, I set Jordan down on the mattress, only for him to flop back like he plans to make snow angels. Turning away to hide my smile, I start to roll up my sleeves so I can tackle the first pile of clothes. I have no idea what he has planned for them, but the least I can do is fold them for him. I have a feeling he is going to have many regrets in the morning.
A groan from behind me has me turning around just in time to see Jordan bolting up on the bed, then making a dash for the ensuite. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that whatever he drank is making a reappearance. Deciding it's probably best to give him a few minutes, I head to the kitchen and grab a bottle of water. I knock lightly on the bathroom door, waiting for his answering groan before entering.
The sight of Jordan, my Lashes, laying slumped over the bowl with his head resting on his forearm makes my caregiver instincts roar to life. Lowering myself to the tiled floor, I pull Jordan back to rest against my chest while encouraging him to sip slowly on the cold water.
“I’m stuck in my pants.” Jordan’s bark of laughter takes me by surprise.
“Yeah, Lashes. You are.” I chuckle against his hair.
“Still hot, though, right?” Surprisingly, he sounds more sober than he did in the living room. I watch closely as he finally starts to push the tight leather pants off his thighs, kicking them across the bathroom.
“Well, you did throw up. I’m not sure even you could make that look hot.”
He spins around to give me a scathing look, and I quickly raise my hands in surrender.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. You have never looked hotter. Well, maybe when you were ass up in the living room pretending to be dead. That really got my motor running.” I wink at him, helping him back to his feet and over to the sink to brush his teeth. Even after all my jokes, I really do have to force my eyes away from his creamy cheeks in that satin jock.
Figuring he might need some privacy and seeing that he is now much steadier on his feet, I head back into the bedroom and resume folding the random piles of discarded clothes. The mess in this room, combined with the copious amount of vodka he drank, is leading me to believe my Lashes was seriously nervous about our date. It stings a little that he was this uncomfortable with the whole idea. Something tells me not to take this personally, though. This is a Jordan issue and me making this about my feelings is counterproductive. As would be making a big deal out of his drunk ass. I will save that for another time; there is no way I am letting him live down that impromptu performance in the living room.
Sitting at the edge of the bed with piles of folded clothes either side of me, I look up to see Jordan watching me from the doorway. He’s casually leaning against the frame watching me with a strange curiosity. He must have grabbed a pair of sweatpants from one of the doom piles to cover himself up. Not that I would complain if he wants to walk around all night in his jock.
“Why are you folding my clothes, Dimples?” he asks.
“I think the better question is, why aren’t you helping me fold your clothes?” I mimic his action and nod toward the space I have cleared on the bed beside me. “Come on, chop chop!”
I smirk at him as he rolls his eyes in mock frustration. He drops heavily onto the bed beside me, picking up a shirt and starting to fold. I can see the tension in his body. His shoulders are almost up to his ears, which are pink at the tips from embarrassment. Knowing Jordan, he will avoid a conversation about tonight at all cost. So, rather than add to his misery, I figure it's best to ignore the elephant in the room for a little longer.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” I chirp. “I’ll order pizza and we can watch a movie once we’re done here. I assume the floor piles are for donation? We could always drop them off at the shelter, see if any of the teens have the same horrible fashion sense as you do.”
My joke has the desired effect when Jordan’s shoulders drop and his jaw swings open.
“Least my wardrobe consists of more than old man suits,” he retorts, and I bark out a laugh.
“You love my old man suits.”
“That's your advanced age playing tricks on your mind.”
I raise an eyebrow at my sassy little boyfriend. I’m glad he’s capable of coherent sentences now. Not that I didn’t thoroughly enjoy his performance as a dead guy. Squinting my eyes at him, I rub my forehead and ask in a frail voice, “Who are you again?”
Jordan’s loud belly laugh is a beautiful thing. The way his whole face lights up has me leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to his lips and returning his goofy grin.
“I’m sorry I ruined our date.” Jordan turns his face into my neck to avoid looking at me as he whispers his apology.
“This is probably the best date I’ve ever had and we haven't even gotten to the food yet,” I tell him. And I mean it. Not that he believes a word I’m saying right now, based on his expression.
“I’m glad you think my utter humiliation is so entertaining.”
“Good, because it was. But that isn’t what makes this the best date I’ve ever had.” I smirk when one of his perfectly-sculpted eyebrows lifts in disbelief. I give myself a moment to just look at him. Really look at his beautiful face and soft features. Now clear of make-up, his skin glows. Jordan may look hot with his face made up, but I’ve never seen him look more beautiful than he does at this moment.
“I’m about to say something really gross, so be prepared,” I warn him in a playful tone. “It doesn’t matter what we do, whether we are at some fancy restaurant, a bar, or just folding your questionable fashion choices. Either way, I’m spending time with you. Seeing you drunk off your ass was just a bonus.”
Jordan stares at me, then retches. “That really was fucking gross.” He laughs, then leans in to whisper against my cheek. “I must still be drunk, because I kind of liked it.” He drops a sweet peck where his lips have just been, then sits back. “Right, well. You go order the pizza and I will put these questionable fashion choices back into the closet.”
I note the sarcasm in his voice, but I smile anyway. I do love it when he’s a facetious little fucker.
Two hours and one large meat feast pizza later, I’m sitting on the couch with Jordan’s head in my lap and a glass of wine in hand. I mindlessly brush his hair with my fingers, paying absolutely no attention to one of my favourite movies of all time. It doesn't matter, because I already know the dialogue by heart.
“So you’re telling me that eight soldiers, including a captain, went off on a mission in the middle of a fucking world war to find one soldier and bring him back home? Without even knowing if he’s still alive? Feels like a massive waste of valuable resources, if you ask me.”
“Well, it all depends on how you look at it. First of all, he was the last living son and they didn’t want his mother to receive five death notifications. Second, it’s a movie, and it would be a pretty lame movie if they picked up on four brothers already dead and just said, ‘Oh, well… shit happens.’”
“Yeah, I know that. It’s just the premise of the damn thing that kinda pisses me off. That, and the fact my eyes have leaked like three times already.”
The grin that’s been plastered on my face grows even wider. I knew he was crying when Vin Diesel's character died, but figured it was safer not to point it out.
“Spielberg, man. Fucking asshole.” I click my tongue and throw in an eye roll for good measure, even though he isn’t looking at me. I’m fairly certain his eyes will ‘leak’ a few more times before the end of the movie.
He hums quietly, clearly engrossed in the movie once more. Essentially dismissing me. I go back to running my finger through his hair. I’m pretty sure if he was actually paying attention to what I was doing, he would accuse me of petting him; but since he’s not, I’m going to take full advantage.
As the end credits roll, I pretend I don’t see Jordan wiping his hands roughly over his face to clear away the streaks of evidence.
“I think we need to break up,” he announces as he takes my glass of wine and gulps down a large mouthful. “I am not going to survive your obsession with war movies.”
I move my hand to rest on his hip, not ready to break the physical connection with him yet. “You do realise we don’t have to watch war movies if you don't want to, right?
“Of course I do. That’s your thing, and if we are together then I want to enjoy your things with you. But maybe we can find a war movie that’s not so fucking sad.”
Dropping my chin to my chest, I chuckle to myself. This man has no idea what that means to me. Never before has a guy been so willing and determined to understand me and my love of war movies. Might be silly to most people, but fuck—I think I just fell ass over tits in love with him.
I’m sure he expects me to make a joke right now, but considering how far in my feels I am, I act without engaging my brain. I snap my hand out and grab Jordan around the back of the neck. Pulling him onto my lap and kissing him hard, I pray that he can feel what all this means to me.