16. Jordan
Chapter Sixteen
Jordan
For a solid two seconds, I forgot how to breathe.
She was standing there looking like every bad decision I was about to make this week.
She wore a tight, black halter that clung to her tits like it had been sewn on for me, loose trousers slung low on her hips, blonde hair wild, sexy and swept to one side like she’d just rolled out of bed. No—my bed.
My brain hit me with a full-colour highlight reel of last night. Her knees clamped around my ribs, nails clawing down my back, head tipped as she came with my name wrecked on her lips.
Jesus. I shook my head and cleared my throat, trying not to look like I’d just been kicked in the chest.
“Hi,” I managed, all casual and polite. Like I hadn’t spent the entire night fucking her into oblivion.
She smiled, just a little, but her eyes glinted with mischief. I wondered if she knew exactly what I was remembering. But judging by the way she was blushing, she was remembering it herself.
Gwen stood like a bouncer at the door…arms crossed, daring me to screw this up. I respected the hell out of it. You could tell they were ride-or-die.
“Be good to her, Taylor.”
I met her eyes. “I promise I will.”
And I meant it. Every single word. Because no matter how filthy last night had been—and fuck, it had been filthy—there was something about Kate that made me want to try. Show up properly. Be the man she let back in.
I pulled myself together as Kate stepped down toward the curb and spotted the car.
“Seriously?” she asked, pointing at it. “Couldn’t find a wankier car to pick me up in?”
My Porsche SUV. Jesus, girls usually loved the car.
Shit. That’s when I realised, she was going to call me out on all my crap, wasn’t she?
And I liked it. She wasn’t going to be fooled by the shiny stuff, which meant I had to up my game if I was going to impress her.
“Hey! This is low-key by tennis standards.”
She raised a brow, lips twitching. “Oh, my mistake. I thought you were taking me to dinner, not to a GQ cover shoot.”
I grinned. Couldn’t help it. She was a firecracker. All I could think about was getting her back into that shirt she’d left at my flat and nothing else.
I opened the door for her, resisting the urge to pin her against it and kiss her right then and there in front of Gwen.
It was torture. I pressed a warm hand to her lower back instead, guiding her in.
That perfume hit me like a drug all over again.
I made a mental note to find out exactly what it was.
By the time I rounded the car, I caught my reflection in the windscreen, grinning like an idiot. Like I’d already won Wimbledon.
She didn’t care about the car, or the labels, or the crowd waiting for me tomorrow. She saw through all the showy bullshit. None of that seemed to matter to her. She looked at me like I was just me. A man. Hers, maybe. And yeah, my knees went a bit weak at that thought.
I slid in beside her, trying to keep my hands to myself.
“So,” she said, buckling up, her eyes bright, “what are we listening to? Please don’t tell me you’ve got club bangers lined up to accompany this midlife crisis.” She gestured around the car.
I grinned and shook my head. Without a word, I tapped the steering wheel, then let “Worst Way” roll in.
She blinked. “Riley Green? You listen to this?”
I shrugged. “Grew up on country. My dad’s a fan. Mostly old stuff, but I like a lot of the newer ones, too. Got a thing for songs that tell a story.”
That cheeky smirk softened, just slightly. Like I’d peeled something back she wasn’t expecting. “Didn’t see that coming,” she murmured.
“You really think I’m that much of a tosser?” I glanced sideways, loving the way her laugh lit up the car.
“I’m still evaluating,” she said with a giggle, and I swear I almost missed the turn just waiting to hear it again.
The car fell silent for a while then, but it was a comfortable quiet.
I was just so damn happy that she was with me, I didn’t feel the need to fill the silence.
Her hand lay on the console as if it belonged there, and maybe it did.
I reached over, lacing my fingers through hers.
It was pure instinct, no hesitation. She looked down, surprised, but didn’t pull away.
I brought her hand to my lips, kissing it slowly, warmly, letting my mouth linger against the soft skin of her wrist, as if to remind her exactly how it felt.
What I’d done to every part of her. She didn’t say anything, just turned her face forward again, that small, secret smile playing on her lips.
The one she thought I couldn’t see. The one that said she wanted more, but wasn’t ready to admit it.
Same, sweetheart. Same.
I drove on, thumb stroking her knuckles, letting the silence stretch. Because I wasn’t just going to feed her tonight.
I was going to wreck her all over again.
The second she was inside, I kissed her.
I couldn’t resist. I’d been craving it since this morning.
After just a day, I was already desperate for her lips, like she was my addiction.
I kissed her slowly, deeply, as if I needed it to sustain me.
She giggled against my mouth, sweet and breathless, and I immediately thought, I’m done for.
She glanced around as I headed back to the kitchen, her gaze settling on the table I’d prepared, the candle I’d unearthed from the back of a drawer, and the lingering aroma of garlic and rosemary.
I’d never done anything like this before.
Not for anyone. Dinners for one had become my normal.
“Jordan, you really didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” she said, shrugging off her jacket like she was home.
Honestly, it felt like she was. Like we’d done this a hundred times. “You have a lot on your mind.”
I shrugged, grinning over my shoulder. “Well, I have to have a decent meal before tomorrow. Didn’t feel like eating alone. You’re a good excuse.” I winked.
It was the truth. And maybe more than that. Maybe I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts the night before the biggest match of my life. Not when she was an option. No…that didn’t sound right. It felt like she was the right option.
She leaned on the counter, raising a brow. “You’re playing a Wimbledon semi-final tomorrow. Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, stretching? Meditating? Visualising?”
I didn’t look up. “I’ve been visualising all day. Just wasn’t all tennis,” I said with the biggest grin on my face.
Her blush was immediate, and fucking beautiful.
“You’re terrible.” She shook her head, a laugh bubbling up despite herself.
“Just being honest.” I smirked at her.
I turned on the playlist—Riley Green, obviously, as that had been a win with her. I held up a bottle of wine for her. Gesturing it to her, no pressure. She declined with that soft shake of her head, all grace and restraint.
“You’re being very responsible,” I said, amused.
“Well,” she said, sitting on the stool by the counter, “you need to be sharp tomorrow. I figured the least I could do was not lead you astray.”
I didn’t look at her when I answered. I didn’t have to. “You’re already leading me astray.”
Silence.
I could feel her watching me and smiling softly, my heart beating just a little too loud in the quiet space between us.
She changed the subject.
“So…how are you feeling about Reed?” she asked.
“Big serve. Plays loose until it matters, then tries to muscle his way through. And he’s got a temper. If he spirals, he’ll torch the whole match trying to hit his way out of it.”
I’d known him a while. Talented as hell, but too busy playing to the crowd half the time. Always had a smirk for the photographers, a chirp for the lines’ judges.
She tilted her head. “I noticed something in his last match. After he double-faulted twice, he started rushing his toss. And he tightens up on his forehand, shortens the swing, like he’s forcing it.”
I stilled mid-stir, turning toward her.
“You actually noticed that?”
She shrugged, all casual brilliance. “An eye for behaviour mixed with sporty genetics.”
“You realise that’s kind of amazing, right?”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell Gwen. She already thinks I can read people’s minds.”
I laughed, shaking my head and placing the plates on the table. Fuck, if only she could read what I was thinking of doing to her right now. “Seriously. If this psychology gig ever gets boring, come coach,” I said, trying to shake my thoughts to actually get through dinner.
“Only if I get to wear a cute tennis outfit.”
I smirked. “Done.”
We sat by the window, steam curling off the plates, the whole city folding away outside the window. It felt quiet. Almost like everything had slowed down for us.
She took a bite. I watched her, probably for too long.
“This is going to sound mad,” I said finally.
She looked up.
“I’m playing the biggest match of my life tomorrow…and I’ve met the most incredible woman in the same week. Feels like I should play the lottery just to see what else could go right.”
She froze for a beat, like she didn’t know what to do with that. Then she smiled, her cheeks turning pink.
“Jordan…”
“I’m serious.” I leaned forward, my voice low. “You walk in and everything feels calmer. Like the noise has disappeared.” I didn’t normally spill my guts like this, but she was so disarming.
She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”
“Only in the best ways.”
She cleared her throat. “So…what happens if you win the whole thing?”
I looked at her, dead serious. “I kiss you in front of fifteen thousand people and hope you’re still around when I land back from New York.” She held her breath a second before she took a sip of water, steadying herself.
“Jesus. I don’t even have a witty response to that.” I had a feeling that was a first for her.