Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JO
“Jordan,” I groan from my perch on the kitchen counter, my tone of voice perilously close to a whine. “Please, please, please, can we go to fireworks?”
Jordan turns from the sink where he’s doing dinner dishes and studies me. He’s got his doctor face on, which doesn’t bode well for the jail break I’m planning. “Did you take your temperature?”
“I promise I did. It was normal. Like it has been for the last entire day,” I mutter moodily.
“Did you take it before or after you got out of the shower? You like your showers weirdly cold, and that brings down your body temperature. It can make it seem like you don’t have a fever when you still do.”
I drop my head back against the cabinets, just barely resisting the urge to scream because I’ve been cooped up in this apartment for a week. One whole fucking week with nothing to do. And okay, I was, like, deathly ill for the first four days, and my fever didn’t break until last night, the night of day six. I’m still not feeling totally back to normal, but I haven’t had a fever for twenty-four hours, and that’s cured enough for me.
I eye Jordan consideringly, swinging my legs where they hang off the counter. “I took it before my shower like a good girl.”
Jordan’s doctor eyes disappear in an instant, and those deep pools of blue heat in a way that has a shiver running down my spine, even as everything inside me glows neon at his reaction.
It’s been like this for the last couple of days. My feelings for Jordan are alive and have been for weeks. And it seems like maybe, just maybe, he might feel the same for me too. I never, ever thought that would happen, and I was fine with just being his friend because Jordan Wyles is my favorite person, and any way I can have him in my life is better than no way at all. But now I want to scream into a pillow at the excitement and anticipation of it all.
Since the day I first got sick, Jordan has barely left my apartment. He switched his shifts at the hospital around and ran home a couple of times to grab clothes and assorted other things, but other than that, it’s been us and these four walls.
The first couple days, I could barely stay awake, and when I was awake, I couldn’t lift my head off the pillow. Jordan did everything for me. He made sure I was hydrated and fed when I could eat, which wasn’t often. He doled out medicine, listened to my lungs, and made me wear that pulse ox thing like three times a day. He held me on his lap in the steamy bathroom when my coughing got bad, sat on my bed while I took a shower in case I needed help, and brushed my hair for me when I was too tired to do it myself. He read me a book when my head hurt too much for TV, built a blanket fort on the living room floor when I got tired of lying in bed, and did my laundry for me when I ran out of pajamas.
He literally washed my underwear. Jesus Christ.
And every night, he laid down with me in my bed, my head on his shoulder and his strong arm around my back, anchoring me to him. I’ve never slept better in my life, and I’m not na?ve enough to think the flu is the only reason why.
It feels like everything is shifting.
In the past twenty-four hours since my fever broke, we’ve been circling each other like a predator and its prey. I don’t know which of those I am, but honestly, either way is fine with me.
It’s his hand on my hip as he passes me in the kitchen, and no space between us while we sit on the couch. His lingering gaze when I picked my skimpiest pajamas to wear to bed last night (on purpose, of course), and me almost swallowing my tongue when Jordan strolled out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam wearing a smirk and a towel, water droplets rolling down his extremely well-defined abs and disappearing into terrycloth. I deserve a ticker tape parade down the Canyon of Heroes for the restraint I showed in not just jumping him on the spot.
The change is palpable. The tension delicious.
“Like a good girl, huh?” Jordan says, a smirk on his face as he takes a step towards me, situating himself between my legs. Too close to be entirely friendly, but not nearly close enough.
I run a single finger from the base of Jordan’s throat, between his pecs and down his torso, grinning wickedly when he sucks in a breath as my finger stops just short of the waistband of the black athletic shorts he wears.
“Come on, J. I wasn’t meant for this kind of boredom,” I complain. “I was meant for movement. For activity. For being outside and feeling the sun on my face. I want to burn down this fucking apartment.”
“It’s already getting dark out,” Jordan says, with a glance at the window.
“Uh, yeah, that’s the whole damn point. Fireworks happen when it gets dark out. It’s like a sign that they were rescheduled to tonight because of the storm on the Fourth and that they’re back on the West Side for the first time in a decade. We have to go. Come on, J. Let me live. It’s our summer of fun, and the last week has been the opposite of fun.”
Jordan cocks a brow at me. “You don’t think hanging out with me for the last week has been fun?”
I scoff. “I was deathly ill for half of it and coughing up a lung for all of it. I wasn’t anywhere close to my best, and none of that was fun.”
Jordan’s eyes lock on mine, his gaze boring into me. “See, that’s where you’re wrong, Hurricane.” He rests one of his hands on the counter by my leg and anchors the other to the cabinet above my head, leaning in so close his mouth brushes my ear when he speaks. “I never don’t have fun when I’m with you, and you are always the prettiest girl.”
Holy. Hell.
Butterflies flit around my stomach and then swarm when Jordan presses a kiss to the sensitive skin below my ear, lingering there before leaning back to look at me. “Definitely no fever.” His voice is low and a little gruff, and it does crazy things to my insides. And…other parts of me.
“So does that mean you’ll grant me compassionate release from this prison on account of extreme boredom and fireworks?”
Jordan chuckles, and it breaks some of the tension simmering between us. “Yeah, Jo Jo, let’s go to fireworks.”
* * *
The energy in Hudson River Park is electric. People mill around and sit on blankets in groups, waiting for the show to start. A group of kids toss a beach ball around, and a man sings “America the Beautiful” in a deep baritone that carries over the crowd. The sultry July air wraps itself around us, and the city lights reflect in sparkles off the waters of the Hudson River. The most perfect snapshot of summer in New York.
Jordan and I sit on a low stone wall right by Pier 84, fountain Dr. Peppers and an assortment of snacks between us. After a week spent inside, I feel wild and free.
The night buzzes with possibility.
“This is the best Fireball I’ve ever eaten,” I say, crunching on the remnants of my first Fireball since I got sick a week ago.
“Your throat feel okay?” Jordan asks. I tried a Fireball a few days ago, but with my throat so raw from coughing, it was like pouring gasoline straight down my esophagus. While I appreciate Jordan’s concern, that’s not what I want from him right now. His entire demeanor from the last twenty-four hours tells me that whatever is going on here is moving past friendship town and straight to more-than-friends city.
The excitement is electricity in my veins, with a current of nerves too. Jordan made it clear weeks ago that he wasn’t ready for anything beyond friends, and I don’t want him to do anything he's not ready for. But I also have to trust that he knows his own mind and heart and is the best judge of what he’s ready for or not.
I know that at some point, we’ll have to sit down and have a real conversation about it, and I’m sure we will. But then I crunch the candy between my teeth again, and Jordan’s gaze dips to my lips, lingering there before his eyes drift back up to mine. In the deep, dark blue of his are a million questions and also every answer I have ever needed.
“My throat is perfect.” I reach for my soda, taking a long sip and pulling two more Fireballs out of my pocket, tossing one to him and keeping one for myself. “I know I gave you shit earlier, but I appreciate you taking such good care of me while I’ve been sick. You really earned your doctor title this week.”
Jordan’s eyes never leave mine. “I knew how to take care of you because I’m a doctor. I took care of you because the only thing that mattered to me was that you were okay. And I loved that you gave me shit, because it meant you were well enough to do it. I didn’t…” He breaks off and clears his throat, shifting a little like his thoughts are trying to escape and he’s trying to wrestle them back. He loses the fight. “I didn’t like seeing you so sick. You’re my most important person, Jo.”
The intensity in his words, in his gaze, the fact that he uses my real name instead of my nickname, the way his light brown hair falls across his forehead in a way that makes me want to push it back just to see how it feels between my fingers, have my stomach shimmering with nerves and anticipation.
“You’re my most important person too.”
We stare at each other, eyes locked, electricity humming between us when the first booms sound overhead. Both our gazes snap towards the sky, where an explosion of pink and gold lights the dark night.
“It’s starting! Come on.” I hop off the wall and turn, holding my hand out to Jordan.
He’s so used to my antics at this point that he doesn’t even question it, and something about that warms me all the way down to my toes. Jordan wraps his hand around mine and slides off the wall, following me to the fence along the water.
I find an empty spot and stand facing the river. My heart jumps into my throat when Jordan comes up behind me. His warm, hard body presses against my back, and he rests a hand on the fence on either side of me, caging me in. The fireworks shimmer above us, and Jordan surrounds me. His clean laundry scent fills my senses, and every thrum of our hearts beats with possibility, and I know.
Tonight is for magic.
“Why are we down here, Hurricane?” Jordan asks, bending to speak close to my ear. His proximity makes me a little light-headed in the absolute best way. “You told me earlier that the wall was the best seat at the pier.”
The fireworks boom in the sky above, and I lean back just slightly, resting my head on his shoulder. He slides his hands over so they’re covering mine on the fence. “That’s the best seat for pre-fireworks snacks. I like to be closer to the river to see the show, so I can watch the colors reflect on the water. It’s like seeing the fireworks from above and below. See?” I gesture to the shimmers of blue and green dancing over the water, matching the sky above. “It’s so pretty.”
“It is. The most beautiful thing.”
Something in Jordan’s voice has butterflies exploding in my stomach, my head turning to meet his gaze. Because he’s not looking at the fireworks. He’s looking at me. His pupils are blown; streaks of color from the sky above are reflected in the dark orbs. I’m moving before I realize it, sliding my hands out from under Jordan’s and turning in the circle of his arms. His expression is heated and determined, with a touch of vulnerability that matches the enormity of this moment.
I know, without consciously knowing, that this is when everything changes. And when Jordan moves just a little closer, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear with a tenderness in his touch, I know he feels it too.
“Are you sure you’re ready?” I whisper, our faces inches apart. Jordan’s hand cups my cheek, and my hands move to his waist, the heat of him seeping through his shirt and warming my palms. “It’s okay if you aren’t, J. You’re important to me, and I want you to be sure.”
Jordan’s eyes search mine, and in his gaze, I see gratitude and heat and something else that has my heart beating madly. He strokes his thumb over my cheekbone, his eyes never leaving mine as he speaks. “Hurricane, I haven’t been sure of anything in more than two years, but I’m sure that you are my very best friend. You’re fun and caring and full of joy and so beautiful it makes my chest ache. I was barely living, but then you found me and brought your Fireballs and your sunshine and your wild ideas and the best summer I’ve had in years, and I started living again. I never thought I would be ready. The idea of opening myself up to someone a second time terrified me. But it’s you, so it turns out it’s not so scary after all. You’re important to me too, Jo Jo. I’m ready, and I really, really want to kiss you.”
I stay quiet for a beat, soaking in his words. Memorizing this moment.
And then.
“So kiss me, J.”
And he does. Jordan cups my face in both of his hands, leaning down and pressing his lips to mine. It’s slow and steady, soft and sweet. It’s already the best kiss I’ve ever had. I let out a little sigh and Jordan pulls back, his eyes locked on mine, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The desire and determination on his face match the way I feel inside.
“Jo.”
My name on his lips is reverence, and then he’s sliding his hands around to the back of my neck, tilting my head up with his thumbs as his lips dive back down on mine. Fireworks explode in the sky, and heat unfurls in my belly, igniting in my veins as Jordan slants his mouth over mine, taking the kiss deeper.
He pushes me against the fence, and I slide my arms around his waist, locking our bodies together, flattening my hands against the cotton of his T-shirt. His lips are soft, and his scent surrounds me, and he tangles his hands in my hair, gliding his tongue over my lips, seeking entry. The second I open for him, he dives inside, a groan rumbling in his chest as he licks into my mouth, tongue dancing with mine as he tastes every inch of me.
It occurs to me that maybe I should be concerned about this kiss messing up our friendship or the fact that I’m leaving at the end of this summer and we live our lives in two different states, hundreds of miles apart, or the fact that we’re standing in Hudson River Park surrounded by thousands of people. But I’m concerned about none of those things because Jordan tastes like cinnamon and happiness and everything good. He presses closer to me, and I feel him hard against my belly, and my blood is swimming with a mixture of emotion and arousal, and nothing in my entire life has ever, ever felt this good.
Jordan pulls back and our gazes lock. His eyes are dark and his lips are wet and this time, when his hair falls over his face, I reach up and push it out of the way, smoothing my hand over the soft strands, resting my hand on his cheek. He leans into my touch and closes his eyes. Our chests rise and fall in sync. Our hearts beat out a matching rhythm that sounds a whole lot like mine .
This man is mine.
Jordan opens his eyes and dips his head, taking my mouth again in a long, slow, dizzying kiss that has sparks racing up my limbs and my body humming with need for the kind of more that requires a dark room and a bed and the kind of bravery I’m not entirely sure I possess, even as arousal swims in my veins.
“Fuck, Hurricane,” Jordan murmurs, a smile curving his lips where they still rest against mine. The exploding fireworks illuminate the hollows of his face, and he is the most beautiful man I have ever seen.
“Probably later,” I half breathe, half gasp, trying to get my heart rate back under control while my brain is doing a happy dance and screaming I kissed Jordan Wyles on repeat. “Too many people around for that now.”
Jordan tosses back his head and laughs. It’s the happiest and freest I’ve ever heard him sound, and my night gets a million times better, if such a thing was even possible. Then Jordan spins me around to face the river, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and tugging me back against him. I lean my head against his neck, wrapping my hands around his forearms and staring at the colorful sky, sure that I have never been more content in my life.
Then the grand finale starts, and the sky is a rainbow, and Jordan dips his head and kisses my neck, whispering, “Thanks for this, Hurricane. This is my favorite night.”
And I know, without a doubt, that it’s my favorite night too.