Chapter 8 #3
She just wasn’t Jordan.
“I don’t,” I confirm.
“So why me?”
“Because you wouldn’t let me eat you out the first night, so I thought maybe I’d get to on the second,” I tell her, deflecting the question.
It works, at least for a second. Jordan throws her head back and laughs. “You’re ridiculous!”
“You gonna tell me if this is what a date feels like or not?”
Again she ignores me. “Why are you like this?”
Pressing her hands against my chest, I can feel her nails digging into me through my t-shirt. It’s not sexual, though. She’s just letting me know she’s there.
“Like what made you like this? You say you were an asshole in high school and never had a date, so I can’t imagine it was some broken heart that closed you off to anything but screwing.
What happened?” Her brows furrow. “Nate’s never said anything.
I mean, I’ve never asked, but he’s never mentioned it. ”
Not a line of questioning I’m willing to go down.
I don’t talk about my mother with anyone.
Besides my dad, anyway, and we haven’t spoken her name in years.
But I can still recall the days when I would get home from school and ask if mom had come home yet.
It was always the same old “not yet” from him, until one day he told me to quit asking, she wasn’t coming home. Period.
I don’t want Jordan to think I’m upset for her asking, so I kiss her forehead before answering. “I don’t talk about it.”
“Not even with Nate?” she asks skeptically.
I shake my head. “Nope. We’re dudes. We don’t have to do the whole sharing every piece of our lives.”
“It’s kind of a big part, though. I mean hasn’t he ever asked you?”
“Once or twice.” I shrug casually. “But I told you. I don’t talk about it.”
“Huh.”
Another statement.
I’m beginning to wish I’d never asked the date question, but at the same time I didn’t give my mouth permission to speak, either.
The filter was completely and utterly gone.
And now that I’ve asked it a couple times, and now that she’s interrogated me, I’ll admit I’m even more curious.
A little worried about the answer, but curious, nonetheless.
“You ever going to answer me on the date question?”
Jordan’s eyes are focused over my shoulder, deep in her own thoughts. A smile starts to take shape as she refocuses on me. “Well, I suppose there are different kinds of dates. The good ones always have a kiss in them.”
Ah, I see where she’s going with this. With a smirk, I nod my head slowly in understanding.
“So I guess this would be more like a friend outing. I mean,” she pauses, her eyelashes fluttering in my direction as her teeth catch her bottom lip for the briefest of seconds. “Unless you kissed me. Then I think it might feel like a date.”
“Interesting.”
Pretending to be modest, I angle my head upwards like I’m thinking about the idea, pursing my lips in thought for good measure. When I hear a little huff of indignation I can’t help but laugh.
Slipping my arm all the way around her waist, I pull her body tight to mine.
Reaching up with my other hand, I cup her face with soft fingertips.
Tilting my head, my lips gently brush across hers to savor this moment.
As her body melts into mine, she whimpers into the kiss, the sound feeding the beast inside of me.
I know I can’t get carried away here, but my mouth becomes firmer, moving against hers in a slow, delicious dance.
Before either of us gets too out of control, I break the kiss, though I keep close enough that I can feel her breath against my skin.
“Guess it’s a date then,” I whisper to her.
The smile she answers with makes that same indescribable feeling twist my stomach again. Whatever it is, I think I like it. It’s pleasant and warm.
“Does this make me your first real date ever?” Jordan asks, leaning away from me a little, eyes widening. It’s as though the idea has only just dawned on her.
“That would be affirmative, Fireball.” It’s only taken thirty years to get to this point.
Her lips mash together in a firm, thin line to keep her from breaking into a grin. There’s a giggle in her throat she’s trying to hold back, though she’s not doing a very good job at it. It bursts free and she slaps a hand over her mouth.
“I know I shouldn’t be that excited over this, but it really is exciting,” she tells me, stepping on her tip toes to plant her lips against mine. “Ladies’ man extraordinaire goes on his first real date with little ole me.”
Giving her ass a more or less PG swat, I nip at her bottom lip. “Yeah, yeah. Celebrate it up. But maybe let’s celebrate and walk at the same time. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover and not a lot of time to do it.”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
If she keeps talking like that, I don’t know how I’ll ever give her up come Sunday. If only fairy godmothers actually existed because Jordan is the dream. Jordan is the type of woman I never wanted to find. Not when I know how things can end.
Fairytales don’t fucking exist. Only reality does. I’d be smart to remember that.