Chapter 81
JORDAN
“Nervous?” Tate asks as we follow Bea up the front steps of Holly and Jeff’s place for her birthday dinner.
“Nope.” Yes. Extremely.
He gives me an amused look, holding Bea’s birthday cake. “Holly already loves you. Bea talks about you all the time.”
I clutch the bag with Bea’s presents a little harder. “She does?”
“Of course.” Tate gives me a warm, easy smile, like it’s all going to be okay. “You’re one of Bea’s favorites.”
Oh god. My heart. I can’t take it when he says things like that. It’s too nice, this feeling of being part of something.
“After Phoebe,” he adds, and I laugh.
“High praise.”
Bea throws the front door open. “It’s my birthday,” she sings into the house, kicking her shoes off and racing inside.
My heart pounds, my nerves jump in my stomach, and I’m sweating.
“Remember our safeword?” Tate asks with that look in his eyes. He lowers his voice. “Horny screamer.”
“Horned screamer,” I say just as a woman rounds the corner into the foyer.
“Hi.” She beams at us. “What’s this about horny screamers?”
Oh god. I close my eyes, ready to die now.
“Just going over the safeword Jordan and I like to use,” Tate says, tucking an arm around my shoulder as I stand frozen. “Hi, Holly.”
“Hi, Tate.” She’s grinning like she’s used to his weird sense of humor as she turns her attention to me. “And this must be the famous Jordan.”
Tate releases me and Holly gives me a bone-crushing hug. My arms are pinned to my sides.
“Come on,” she encourages, “your arms go around me.”
I huff a tiny laugh as I hug her back.
“Thank you for defending my girl,” she says, before she pulls away to look into my eyes. “And you’re right. He was a rat-faced fuck.” She perks up, gesturing for us to follow. “Come on in.”
After dinner, Bea opens her presents. When all of them have been opened except mine, she gives me an expectant look. “I saw you carrying a bag.”
“Bea,” Holly chides, and I laugh, even as nerves churn in my stomach.
“Nothing gets past you,” I tell her, and slide the smaller wrapped package over to her.
With a gleeful smile, she tears the paper off before recognition lights up her face.
“It’s me!” Her gaze roams the image. “And Phoebe.”
Something bright and happy expands in my chest. It’s an illustration of Bea reading a book under the tree in their yard, with Phoebe curled up in her lap, snoozing.
“Oh,” Holly says softly, leaning over to look. “That is lovely.”
Bea stares at the picture. Does she hate it? What was I thinking, getting a kid a drawing. “I know it’s a boring gift but—”
“It’s not boring,” Bea says suddenly, with wide eyes. “I love it. Phoebe will love it, too.”
Phoebe doesn’t have three brain cells to rub together, but okay. Relief crashes over me and I can feel myself smiling.
“I actually got you another gift, too.” I glance between Holly and Jeff and Tate with a wince. “Sorry. I couldn’t help it.”
“She has that effect on people,” Holly says with a sigh, but her eyes sparkle.
I set the larger gift box on the table in front of Bea and she tears the paper off.
“My own record player,” she hollers. Rumours by Fleetwood Mac is on top of the box. “And my favorite record!”
“We can go to the store and get you more.” I squeeze my hands together beneath the table. “I just wanted to give you one to get you started. And I can set it up for you and show you how to use it.”
This model is newer and simpler to use, according to the woman at the record store. It should be better for a kid but still last her years.
“I know how much you like listening to music on mine,” I say as she beams at the box.
“And now you can listen to it in your room. Or you can bring it here.” I press my lips together, a weird ache behind my heart.
My gaze flicks to Tate, and he’s studying me with his own strange expression, something intense and determined.
“Wow.” Holly beams at Bea. “Those are some incredible gifts. Somebody really cares about you. What do we say?”
I flush with embarrassment. Holly must think I’m ridiculous, spoiling a kid I barely know. Before I can make an excuse, though, Bea launches at me and I’m enveloped in her hug, her arms around my neck.
“Thank you thank you thank you,” she says, and I laugh, hugging her back. “I love it.”
A happy delight squeezes behind my ribcage. “You’re so welcome. Happy birthday, Bee.”
I didn’t mean to call her by her nickname. It just slipped out. It felt right, though.
“Thank you, Jordan,” Holly says with warmth before studying the drawing with a wistful look. “This is so freaking cool. Did you hire an illustrator?”
I nod. “Someone local.”
She hums. “I’ll have to look her up. She’s talented.”
Him, I don’t say, and he doesn’t have any information online about being an artist. I caught him doodling on the plane, and he only did the illustration with my promise to take his secret talent to the grave.
“I can get you a copy,” I tell her.
She lights up. “Really? I’d love that.”
“Me, too, please,” Tate says, and I nod at him. He’s still looking at me and Bea, with her arms still hooked around my neck. Abruptly, he stands.
“Jordan, would you mind helping me with the cake?”
There’s an odd urgency in his tone and eyes. His hand comes to my arm and he leads me—no, he rushes me—into the kitchen.
“What’s the—”
The second we round the corner, his mouth crashes against mine. My backside hits the counter as he presses me against it, his hands framing my jaw, tilting my head back to kiss me deeper.
I forget we’re in someone else’s home. I forget that his daughter and her mother and stepfather are feet away, talking. I forget that anything bad has ever happened to me.
Tate’s kiss consumes me, and I am powerless against him.
“I am so fucking into you,” he whispers in my ear before nipping my earlobe.
“Happy birthday, dear Bea,” we sing as Tate sets the cake with flickering candles in front of her. “Happy birthday to you.”
“Blow ’em out,” Holly calls, and Bea takes a big breath and blows all ten candles out.
We applaud and Tate cuts the cake.
Holly’s gaze bounces between the two of us with interest, her mouth tilting up at the edges. “Tate?”
He keeps his eyes on the cake while he cuts, and even his little frown of concentration is handsome. “Yes, Holly.”
“You have Jordan’s lip gloss on your face.” She winks at me, Jeff laughs into his hand, and Bea looks puzzled.
Tate wears a smug smile as he wipes the corner of his lips. My face burns hotter than the core of the earth and I stare at the table, wishing I could evaporate into thin air.
“Dad?” Bea asks as he resumes cutting.
“Yes, birthday girl.”
“Why do you have Jordan’s lip gloss on your face?”
He holds my eyes, the familiar amusement and steady affection in them settling something inside me. “Because I was kissing Jordan in the kitchen.”
Oh my god. I put a hand over my face. Damn him and his unwavering honesty.
“Oh.” Bea nods, seeming unsurprised by this. Holly’s eyes widen and she gives a meaningful glance to Jeff, who just smiles and shrugs.
I clear my throat. “This cake looks delicious.”
“Is it because she’s pretty?” Bea asks, and I close my eyes.
Someone giggles. It has to be Holly.
“Among other reasons,” Tate says, and when I open my eyes, he’s smiling at Bea. “But yes, Jordan is extremely pretty.”