Chapter 13 – Jordan
THIRTEEN
JORDAN
“Dawson, hi.” Xanie answers the door still in her matching pajamas—white with little red hearts—while I’m in sweatshorts and an old concert tee, eye patches on and ice roller in hand.
“Morning, ladies.” Dawson walks in, arms stretched around a repurposed cardboard box and a tote hanging from his elbow. “Where’s the best place to put this?”
I get up from the couch, using my pencil as a placeholder in my crossword book, and head to the kitchenette with the plate from an unsatisfying lunch.
Xanie and I haven’t been back to Anderson Hall, and currently, the only other open dining hall on campus is better known for undercooked chicken than its lake views.
Till this weekend, freshman move-in day, we’re stuck with whatever we can whip up in our kitchenette.
“What is this?” I ask, pressing up on my tippy toes to see over the lip of the box. Xanie slides in next to me, picking up one of the black containers with a translucent lid.
“Meal prep,” he continues, reading our perplexed expressions.
“Jaxon thought…” Dawson’s words trail off, now the one showing signs of confusion.
“Said you’d probably need and want meals since—you know what, none of us wanted you to get food poisoning or survive solely on ramen, and I was already prepping for the rest of the house and had extra. ”
I slip my phone out to text Jaxon, but there’s already messages waiting from him.
Greene
don’t freak, but I enlisted Dawson for help
you freaked, didn’t you?
I will explain everything tonight
promize <3 <3 <3 <3
*promise
I snort a quiet, humorless laugh as I reread his texts. Any annoyance I felt at first dissipates.
“Are the containers microwave or air fryer safe?” Xan asks. “We don’t have an oven.”
She shows him our air fryer when he asks whether we have a basket or a pan one. I pull out the containers, read the labels, and organize them by breakfast, lunch, and dinner. There’s enough food here for both of us for a week.
Extra? Yeah, right.
There’s never any extra food in their house. Whenever Sutton, Elliot, or I eat dinner with them, we have to take seconds with our initial serving or hide an extra portion if we have the slightest inkling we are going to want more food. It’s even worse during season.
“You can microwave everything, but most dishes, like the burritos, in my personal opinion, would be better reheated in the air fryer. Everything should last up to a week, maybe a week and a half, but I’ll bring more over and can take requests next time.”
“What kind of burritos are we talking?” Dawson is speaking her love language. Screw Klondike Bars, my best friend would do anything for a burrito.
“Breakfast mainly, but should be a couple steak and adobe chicken.”
“Breakfast, huh?” Xanie eyes me.
Dawson doesn’t notice, rattling off other meals. “BBQ glazed salmon with smashed potatoes, Greek chicken bowls, and here’s a container of protein balls.” He hands a container to Xanie. “This is for you. Found a recipe for cottage cheese mac and cheese and I thought you might like it.”
“Yum. I’ll take it to work with me tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“PCA night shift. Have to pay for college somehow,” she jokes casually despite it still being a sore subject. Xan sneaks one of the protein balls before heading back to the couch.
“Everything else is dairy-free, by the way.”
“Cool. What do we owe you?” I know all the guys chip in, splitting the grocery bill.
Dawson shakes his head. “Nothing.”
My shoulders slump, jaw shifting with annoyance. “Is Cooper paying you?”
“No.” Dawson pauses, voice with hints of apprehension, tongue running along his bottom teeth. “Jaxon.”
Xanie watches me for a reaction, but I still, trying not to expose my galloping heart.
“I’ve gotta split, but if you have any questions, call me, or you know where I live. I’ll check in next week to see if there’s anything different you want.”
“So,” Xanie calls from the couch, feet kicked over the arm, as the door closes and it’s just the two of us again.
“So,” I parrot.
“That was nice.”
“Say whatever it is you wanna say, Xan.”
“I have nothing to say.” She adds, “I swear” when I glower at her, eyes cat-like. There’s a momentary pause before she word vomits. “You know I’ve always had a suspicion that Jaxon is crushing on you, and if you were anyone besides his best friend’s little sister, he’d have made a move on you.”
“He wouldn’t have.” I’m not his type. I’m the clear opposite, actually.
“You’re delusional.”
“What does that make you?”
“An excellent observer.”
“Then take up bird watching.” It comes out with more of a bite than it should. The irritation I feel toward Jaxon is inching its way into our conversation now.
She laughs, and it’s satisfying, warms my insides. “All I’m going to say, then we’re finishing this episode, is that Nico has never once offered to meal prep for me, let alone cook.”
“Maybe you need a new boyfriend.” I grab the container of protein balls, both of us fully aware these will be devoured in an hour. Joining Xanie on the couch, I move her feet before placing them over my lap.
She hits play on our show. “You’re funny, Jordan.”
I had to wait for Jaxon to scan me into the rink—my ID no longer working here either. It was hopeless showing up thirty minutes before we were supposed to meet, thinking I’d be able to spend time out on the ice alone.
He found me cross-legged outside on a bench, nose in a crossword book, pencil dangling from my mouth. I’m stuck on one from earlier—probably karma for finishing The Mini in a record-breaking twenty-two seconds. My coffee had barely brewed before I was sending a screenshot to Dad.
This is only our second ice session. I don’t know what he said to Coach Mathieson to get permission to use The Pond.
“Come here,” he calls from the bench. Jaxon’s hulking figure leans over the waist-high boards. “I want to show you something.”
Skating over to him, I use the back of my hand to wipe away the beads of sweat forming at the ridge of my headband. I need a haircut. Baby hairs and flyaways have taken over.
Jaxon hands me my water before opening the gate for me.
I step into the rectangular space, collapsing onto the bench.
We’ve been running various drills for an hour, and I’m exhausted.
Determination and spite fueling my every move, I’m pushing myself, knowing this might be my only shot to prove I have what it takes.
Scooting closer to me, Jaxon’s thigh presses into mine.
The touch searing into my skin through the spandex like a brand.
He flips his phone horizontally, tapping the screen to expand the video he has paused.
When I look closer, and not at how large his hands are or the way his forearms flex and veins cut across the skin, I realize it’s one of our games from last season.
“This is your game against—”
“Boston College,” we say in unison.
“You were caught behind the net twice. Both times, when the defender was applying pressure, they easily took away your passing lanes because you held onto the puck too long.” He hits play, and we watch back the first instance.
Jaxon pauses the video again after fast-forwarding to the third period.
“The second time, you were able to get the puck out with assistance from two teammates, but you’ll need to make snappier and confident decisions.
” We watch as he points out each mistake, explaining how simple changes to hip position and when to pick my head up could’ve helped me read the play quicker and release the puck. “Does that make sense?”
“I think so.”
Jaxon exits that video, maneuvering to another tab with another game pulled up.
“Home game against Minnesota, second period, when the game was still tied zero-zero. Granted, they double-teamed you, but you had a passing option before the second defender showed up. The result was a possession change, a breakaway, and a goal.”
“We came back and won.”
“I know.” He smirks over at me, and for whatever reason, I get the idea that Jaxon might know all of our games.
“Keeping tabs on the women’s team?” I ask sarcastically.
His smirk loosens into a goofy smile. Cheeks and ears tipped pink. Is he…is he blushing?
“Something like that.” Jaxon sets his phone down, rises from the bench to head back onto the ice.
I try not to read into what he said or his tone, but—
Something like that?
Is that supposed to be a compliment? Why does it feel like a compliment?
It wasn’t uncommon for the guys to attend our games if we were playing at home and they were off.
Coach Mathieson doesn’t stand for the disrespect or lack of support for women’s sports.
His players are held to the same standard, expected to be different than the stereotypes.
Years before I started at Lakeland, he benched a player for a social media comment once and another was kicked off the team for a video that circulated of him at a party.
He’d probably add me to the roster just to spite our Athletic Director, Jaxon’s said so himself…but I want to earn it. Know that my position on the team isn’t because I’m a pawn, but an asset, an equal.
“How many of my games did you watch?” I ask, skating in a circle around him.
His head bobbles, counting on his gloved fingers. “All of them. College was easier than high school to find. I liked how you mashed up ‘Unstoppable’ with ‘Lose Yourself’ in your highlight reel.”
“That was all Molly.”
“Figured. She does have the best music taste out of your three.”
“Showtunes?”
“Do you know the magic that is the Wicked and Hamilton soundtracks? I’ll send you my favorites. But…” He adjusts a few cones. “Your middle school skating routine to Vanessa Carlton. That rocked.” Jaxon really went to the archives to find that.
“You didn’t watch that.” Embarrassment smacks me across the face. Pre-braces, pre-skin care routine. “Greene, you have to erase that from your memory.”
“Too late.”
I groan into my hands. “When did you find the time to watch my film? That had to have been hours.”
“Something like that.” There are those words again, accompanied by the same cryptic look.
“Alrighty,” Jaxon changes the subject, refocusing us.
“We’ve got thirty minutes left before we’ve gotta be off the ice.
I want to demonstrate those hip changes.
Apply pressure to my left side but watch as I maneuver the puck. ”
We run through his demonstration a handful of times. Starting and stopping to allow for questions and scenarios. Each time through is progressively slower, before the last one is at game pace.
“Your turn.” We switch positions.
“Slow or fast?” I ask, glancing up at Jaxon through my lashes and blowing a strand of hair out of my face. There’s a smirk creeping up one side of his face, and I catch the double meaning of my question. “Don’t answer that.”
I try to mimic what he’d done, but get stuck. We go again, and again I get stuck.
“You’re overthinking. Let me help.” Jaxon skates closer to me, dropping his stick onto the ice. Pausing, his hands hover near my waist. “Can I touch you?”
Over one shoulder, our eyes lock and I nod.
He hesitates before gripping my waist. An illicit warmth takes residence in my bones. The strength of his touch drowns out whatever he’s communicating. I let him guide me, move and handle my body. Jaxon’s breath bathes the back of my neck and clings to my spine.
We’ve been close before—he’s invaded my personal space in attempts to make me laugh, been pushed into me in crowds, knelt before me to clean my skirt, spotted me in the weight room—but this…is different.
At least for me it is.
“How’d that feel?” Jaxon projects his voice, and I wonder how far into my thoughts, lost to the feel of his hands on me, I fell.
“Huh?”
“How’d that feel? Does that make sense?” At least one of us appears unfazed, unaffected by the others proximity.
“Oh. Um. Yeah.”
“Let’s try it again and then we’ll call it a day.” One hand falls from my waist, the other lingers, skimming my lower back, till only his fingertips dance across the layered clothing I suddenly wish weren’t between us.
We run the drill again, and with no surprise I mess it up. Jaxon reassures me we’ll keep working on it till I get it successfully.