Jordan #2
He debates the answer for a bit. “It’s uncomfortably personal.”
“Isn’t that the point?”
He shrugs. “Probably. I’ve never been a fan, though.”
I lean back in my chair and tilt my head to the side, studying him. “You don’t date?”
He leans back too. “Haven’t in a while.”
“When was the last time?”
He takes a slow sip of his drink and eyes me thoughtfully. “I had a girlfriend in high school.”
“No one after? Really?”
He snorts. “Why do you sound surprised?”
“I don’t know. You’re…” I can feel a flush creep up my neck.
“I’m what?” he asks with a shit-eating grin. I’m glad somebody finds this situation I’ve walked myself into amusing.
“Handsome,” I say, because I started this, and I’m an adult. Why would I have a problem with admitting another person is handsome? I don’t. It’s more my lack of practice. Let’s normalize saying nice things to other people.
“Thank you,” Milán says with the kind of easy confidence displayed by people who already know they’re good-looking.
“But there’s not much market for emotionally closed off, has-been tennis players who regularly skip town on a whim because of a persistent feeling that the grass is always greener somewhere else.
I don’t think anybody really wants to sign up for that. Man or woman.”
“You like your freedom.”
He considers that for a bit.
“More than anything,” he eventually says. There’s something about the way he says it, a slight pause and a look in his eyes, but the meaning stays hidden from me.
He smiles then. “What about you? A relationship guy?”
I have to think about that for a bit. “I think so.”
He raises his brows at me. “You don’t sound sure.”
“To be fair, I’ve only ever been in one relationship.
It’s been a while. And it wasn’t what most people would call an ordinary relationship, all things considered.
Kira and I were kids, and then we were parents.
We never got to grow up as a couple. People change so much.
We never got to that part. Honestly, I’m not sure I even know what an ordinary relationship would look like. ”
“You can find out.”
“I can try. Then again, there’s not much market for boring single dads with limited conversational skills. I tend to try and fill silences by talking about my kid.”
“You seem to be doing just fine with me.”
“Don’t jinx it,” I say, and he laughs. He orders another cocktail and raises his brows at me. What the hell, I think, and nod.
“Where’s your ex now?” he asks.
“San Francisco. Theo visits her in the summers and on school vacations, and she flies back here and spends time with him as often as she can. She’s coming to visit for Theo’s birthday.”
“You get along well?”
“It’s been over a decade. All the hard feelings have long since left the building.”
He tilts his head to the side. “What’s it feel like? Being a well-adjusted, levelheaded adult?”
That’s about as inaccurate an assessment as there could be. To this day, when there’s a problem, there’s always this moment when I expect a grown-up to step in before I remember that’s me.
“You probably meal plan,” he says thoughtfully.
“What’s that got to… Proper nutrition is important.”
“Do you have a favorite grocery store?”
“I order online. Saves time.”
“From the same store?”
“I have a loyalty card, so I get discounts. It makes sense financially.”
“Financially responsible. I don’t know how, but you managed to make that sound hot. A good two-thirds of the time, I forget to put in the order for groceries.” His eyes get a teasing light in them. “Do you check the weather report before you go out for the day?”
“How else do you know what to wear?” I roll my eyes.
His grin stretches wider. “You probably know how to keep houseplants alive, right?”
I scoff. “Unless you just outright ignore the fact that you have plants, it’s pretty damn difficult to kill most of them.”
“And you have a toolbox, and you fix things around the house.”
“I don’t.” I give him a smug smile. “I’ll have you know my dad does all the fixing in our household.”
“But if he didn’t, you’d know how,” he counters.
I give up with a resigned sigh. “Yes, I would know how.”
“I feel like I should ask for lessons.”
I nudge his ankle with my foot and try to glare at him, but I can’t keep my lips from twitching.
“Tell me everything, oh wise one,” he says solemnly.
“Adulting 101. First lesson. How to be thrilled about finding a good parking spot and how to pick your favorite burner on the stove.”
His brows hike higher. “You have a favorite burner on the stove?”
“Please hold all questions until after the lecture. Also, the only acceptable answer is yes, and it’s the front right one. You should really be taking notes.”
He leans forward, eyes focused on me, gaze sharpening. I blink at the sudden rush of warmth that moves through me at that look.
“This is also hot.”
I blink at him.
“Pardon?”
“This.” He waves his hand my way. “The whole commanding, slightly arrogant attitude. Sexy.”
I’m probably tomato red by the time he finishes talking. My face feels like it’s on fire. “Thank you?”
“I have to somehow repay you for those adulting lessons.”
“You can’t buy better grades in this class by complimenting my looks,” I say, because I can joke, too.
“I would say it’s more of a favor for a favor type of situation.” The teasing grin he’s been wearing this whole time turns softer. “I consider you my friend,” he says, “and I know we haven’t really known each other for that long, but…” He shrugs. “I like you.”
It’s such a simple statement, but those three words carry so much meaning.
It’s comfort and appreciation and acceptance.
It’s a hey, you’re my kind of person.
“I like you too,” I say.
You’re my kind of person, too.
Our gazes lock, and we stare at each other. It’s intense in a good way. It’s bonding with somebody over your mutual like of each other.
It’s simple.
It’s nice.
We keep talking. Random things that give me an insight into who Milán is. What he likes to do in his free time, the kinds of sports he likes, what music he listens to, and what kinds of books he reads.
We overstay our welcome at the restaurant without me even realizing, too deep in conversation.
It doesn’t feel like that big of a deal, even though it usually would.
I’m a rules guy. I follow them. I like them. Rules make me feel safe. I toe the line. I conform to expectations.
We pay the bill and head out. It’s a cool fall afternoon. Milán zips up his jacket and makes a face.
“Cold?” I ask.
“I’m like those birds that migrate south for the winter. Once the temperature drops below fifty, I escape.”
“I like seasons. Winter’s the best.”
He takes a huge, exaggerated step back.
“What?” I ask.
“I’m afraid whatever lunacy that is might be contagious.”
“I like the cold.”
“You shouldn’t,” he says in a voice so serious it borders on grim.
“I like rain, too.”
He rubs his fingertips over his forehead and sighs. “So many terrible takes.”
I chuckle, and the smile doesn’t leave my face the whole time I’m looking at him. We hover on the sidewalk. There are cars and people all around us. A burst of wind makes the mix of green and yellowish leaves on the young maple trees by the street rustle.
“I’ll see you?” I say.
“You will.” He grins at me.
There’s a small thrum in my chest. It feels so foreign that it takes me a moment to identify it.
Excitement.
I live a simple life. I raise my son, and I do my best to give him a good life and make sure he grows into a good man. I go to work.
I’ve settled into a stable routine.
I’m not unhappy.
Far from it.
I’m an ordinary guy who lives an ordinary life.
But this past week, it’s started to feel like I’m discovering new territory. Like finding a long-forgotten room in a well-loved home.
Hey, look here. We completely forgot this was here.
And it’s exciting.
“Great,” I say. “See you, then.”
“See you.”
I nod, turn, and start to walk. I don’t know what makes me do it, but just before I turn the corner, I glance over my shoulder, and there’s Milán, also glancing over his shoulder at me.
I can see him chuckle, and he gives a short wave.
I smile back.
Wave back.
Turn back around and roll my eyes at myself.
“Stop being weird,” I mutter under my breath.
And I don’t stop smiling the whole way home.