Jordan #2
I am. And it annoys me just a little bit that he’s not. It’s a sign. Evidence. He’s not thinking about what happened. It didn’t leave a mark. It doesn’t burn inside him. I don’t have any hold over him.
I rub the back of my neck in a futile attempt to erase his touch. “What… what are you doing?” I ask. It doesn’t come off as conversational or curious. It comes out as freaked out.
“I was checking to see if you’re freezing your ass off. It’s barely forty-five degrees outside, and you’re in a hoodie.”
I hadn’t even noticed the temperature.
He grabs my hand, clutching my icy fingers.
“Jesus. You’re gonna catch a cold,” he says, and starts to unzip his coat.
“I’m fine. I’m fine.” I’m anything but fine.
He rolls his eyes. “Sure you are. Just take the jacket.”
“So you get to catch a cold instead?”
“I thought you were fine,” he says smugly.
“I am. Toasty.”
He studies me with a frown, and the more he does, the more difficult it is to keep my body from trembling. I tell myself it’s from the rapidly cooling temperature, but I’m not sure that’s true.
Milán sighs and shakes his head. He unwinds the scarf from around his neck and takes off his beanie, then he leans over me, wraps the scarf around my neck, and plops the beanie on my head.
“There,” he says.
I force a smile.
You are grateful.
You are not weird.
The scarf smells like him. The hat, too. I smell like him.
Grateful.
Not weird.
This practice can’t end soon enough.
Although, what happens when it does? I doubt I will magically revert back to my normal self, no matter how much I wish I could just forget the almost-kiss.
I just… I want to be myself again. I want blissful ignorance. The naive comfort of not knowing.
“Holy shit!” Milán says. He’s suddenly alert, leaning forward. “Holy shit!”
On the field, Theo’s dribbling the ball down the sideline, cleats kicking up bits of turf. Two defenders are closing in fast, their shadows stretching long across the grass.
I blink, unseeing gaze on the scene in front of me, my brain fully occupied because Milán is clutching my thigh.
Rory darts upfield like a spark.
Theo fakes left, nudges the ball forward, and sends a clean pass slicing through the gap. Rory catches it in stride with barely a touch, his speed carrying him past the last defender.
Milán’s fingers tighten, fingertips leaving burning hot marks. The muscles of my thigh tense painfully.
My heart slams against the inside of my chest.
There’s a faint ringing in my ears.
The goalie rushes out, but he’s too late. Rory angles his foot and sends the ball neatly into the corner of the net.
He comes to a sudden halt and looks genuinely baffled by the goal.
Theo whoops and rushes over with the rest of the team, and they all pile on top of Rory, and Rory’s laugh is so loud it rings all across the field.
Milán is up out of his seat, cheering like his team has just won the World Cup and not scored a goal in a practice game.
I can still feel his palm on my thigh.
My thoughts are a blurry mess.
Milán whirls around to look at me. He’s beaming.
“Did you see that?” The words rush out of him. “Holy fucking shit!”
I force a nod. A grin.
His palm still burns on my thigh. It might be a permanent mark.
“He was on the side, and then he started running. And the way they just seemed to read each other’s minds? It’s like Theo knew exactly where Rory would end up. That was some next-level telepathy shit.”
He falls back into his seat, still grinning like a lunatic, and my pulse kicks violently, but this is something wholly different and so much worse, because this is me being hooked, enchanted, enamored by the way he loves his little brother.
I should think it’s cute. I should figure it’s charming.
I shouldn’t have this feeling of my heart beating out of my chest. I shouldn’t be burying my nose in his scarf to better inhale his scent.
It almost feels like I’m going to be sick from the way my stomach swirls, but it’s also not a bad feeling.
I don’t like it on principle, though. The principle being that I want to be my usual, boring self. I don’t need to go through an existential crisis. Nobody asked for this!
Setting everything in order after practice is me simply going through the motions.
My head isn’t in the game. Instead, it’s dealing with the grim, reluctant truth that this confused feeling isn’t going anywhere on its own, and the smart thing to do here is not to continue sticking my head in the sand, but to do what I usually do and just confront my problems. It’s what I try to teach Theo, and I do my best to lead by example.
Milán and I walk home afterward with Theo and Rory running ahead of us, so by the time we make it to the front steps of my house, they’re already barreling out again with Dog.
“A quick one tonight,” Milán tells Rory. “You still have homework.”
“That crap is easy. I’ll do it in five minutes.” He jumps from one foot to the other, eyes moving between where Theo and Dog are standing and the direction of the park.
“Language,” Milán says. “Homework. Bedtime.”
Rory rolls his eyes. “Whatev—”
“I’m making a list of chores,” Milán says conversationally.
“I already have a list of chores,” Rory says.
“I know,” Milán says. “But hear me out. I can make it longer.”
They have a short, silent battle of wills.
“We’ll be twenty minutes,” Rory says.
“Actual twenty minutes,” Milán says. “Every minute that goes over twenty means an extra day of bathroom cleaning duty.”
“That’s unfair,” Rory says.
Milán glances at his watch. “What do you know? The first minute already started. Would be a shame to waste all your allotted time on arguing.”
For a moment, it looks like Rory figures it’d be worth it, but then he glances at Theo, his shoulders slump, and the two of them hurry away.
I raise my brows at Milán. “Impressive.”
He snorts and shakes his head. “If only.”
We look at each other and smile.
The anxiety that has been cornering me for days quiets. What’s left is a feeling of… safety. No racing thoughts. No tension. I’m in the eye of the hurricane. A temporary calm. A moment that allows me to breathe.
“I want to talk about the thing,” I say.
Milán’s lips quirk into a small smile, and he gives me a nod that looks reassuringly calm. “You gonna tell me why you’re being weird now?”
I sit down on the steps, the way we usually do, and drag my hand through my hair, taking a moment to prepare myself.
“The pretend kiss,” I say. It sounds pathetic. I’m too old to get this freaked out over something this small.
He’s still and quiet. Waiting.
“I’ve…” I say, and then I get stuck, not sure what to say or how to explain what I’m feeling or why I’m feeling the way I am.
I look up. Face him. “How did you know you were into men?”
He blinks for a moment while he processes the question. His eyes move in quick flashes as he takes me in. Eventually, he sits down next to me.
“A drunk kiss at a high school party,” he says, looking thoughtful. “On a dare. The night ended with a handjob in the bathroom and a healthy sense of curiosity for more. Kind of difficult to argue with that.”
I nod slowly while I digest that.
I could go for a handjob in the bathroom.
Or not.
Would I?
My skin prickles at the thought, covered in intense sparks of electricity I haven’t felt in a while. Maybe ever.
I press my lips together and try to think while I clutch the back of my neck. “I’ve been having these thoughts. Feelings. Lately. Ever since you and I…”
I shrug instead of finishing the sentence, then shake my head. Why is speaking so difficult all of a sudden?
I could still not say anything. I could backtrack and pretend I was headed in another direction.
But that’s not me. I’ve been working so hard over the years to learn to be upfront and say what I have to say.
What’s more, I want to tell him.
“You almost kissing me?” I say. “I find myself wondering what it’d be like. That maybe you and I could… That maybe there’s something I haven’t realized before. About myself.”
He’s silent for the longest time and when he finally speaks, it’s not what I expect.
“When was the last time you had sex?”
I snap my head up.
He quirks his brow at me, a small smirk on his lips. Like he already knows the answer.
“It’s been a while.” I’m not going to specify.
I bet he had sex… yesterday, and while I’m sure he isn’t going to mock me for my answer, I still don’t want to admit just how long it’s been.
“Why? Is this a way to eliminate people you don’t want to kiss based on their lack of experience?
” I’m joking. Only not really, based on the nervous hammering of my pulse.
He ignores me. “And you’ve never had… Never checked out a guy in the gym? Had a crush? Thought an actor was hot?”
I try to think. I have no idea.
I’ve thought a man was attractive before, but I have no idea if that was me actually thinking in terms of attraction or just noticing that somebody was visually pleasing.
“It shouldn’t be a big deal,” I mutter, because by now I’m getting really embarrassed about letting it get to me this much. Embarrassed about not dealing with this on my own.
“You know Chloe?” he asks suddenly. Almost conversationally.
I stare at him.
“The… Chloe from soccer?”
“She’s into you,” he says.
I don’t know what that’s got to do with anything I just said.
“Right,” I say slowly. “I suppose I’m flattered?”
Milán shrugs. He’s not looking at me anymore. Instead, for some reason, I get the feeling he’s avoiding eye contact. “You should ask her out.”
My eyes are glued to the side of his face now.
“Uh, why?”
He sighs and finally looks at me. “You’re not into me.
It’s just us being in each other’s space a lot lately, and then combined with that crap I pulled…
I shouldn’t have. It’s playing head games.
I owe you an apology. If you haven’t dated in a while…
All I’m saying is that it makes sense you’d feel whatever it is you’re feeling. ”
I lick my lips and consider his words.
“It’s sort of like a reboot, I guess,” he says.
“Just go out with Chloe. Or anybody else you happen to like. Have fun. I can babysit. And then if you still want to figure things out, I can introduce you to somebody. Just…” He drags his hand through his hair.
“You’re not into me. Believe me, you’re not.
You want a partner. I really don’t. I’m a bad bet overall. ”
We’re still and silent after that speech. Both of us.
I don’t know why I feel like this. Like something’s been taken from me. The sour taste of disappointment clings to the back of my throat and won’t go down.
“Yeah,” I say. “Okay.”
I’m not sure if I’m saying it because I believe his theory, or if it’s more that I want to believe it. It’d make things a hell of a lot easier if this was all just the result of an extended dry spell. It’d be an easy fix.
I was relatively sure about what I wanted before this conversation. Now I’m sure, but also hesitant, because I don’t think I’m directing my interest at somebody who’s also interested in what I’m offering.
I bet it’s a good sign that I sound so self-conscious even in my head.
“So? Chloe?” Milán nudges my shoulder. “She’s cute.”
I make myself nod. “Yeah. She’s nice.”
I really hope I don’t sound as unenthusiastic as I feel.
Neither of us seems to know what to say after that, so we sit in silence until we hear barking from somewhere. I sigh in relief when Theo, Rory, and Dog round the corner.
We say our goodbyes, and I can’t get inside fast enough.
Theo pounds up the stairs.
I lean my back against the door.
I blow out a breath.
I can’t seem to get myself to move for the longest time.