8. Jordan
Chapter Eight
JORDAN
Days of bliss followed our peace treaty, although it might have been a stretch to call them that.
They were good days nonetheless. They were fun days.
And we kept them that way by the sheer force of will.
We refused to have a serious conversation.
We steered clear of any sort of criticism or even advice.
Undoubtedly, I wanted all the best for Asher, but I was starting to realize that he might know better what was good for him. It wasn’t my place to nudge and push him. Not now, at least. Not when things were going just fine.
We didn’t stretch the limits of how long we could keep this thing going.
We microdosed our time together. It became a habit to leave hot coffee in the pot for him, then wonder if it would spoil by the time he dragged himself out of bed.
And when he came down to claim his prize for waking up, I wondered how heated his body still was from sleeping.
I wondered if he had made his bed before coming down or if it was a cozy mess of his body’s heat, a burrow of comfort.
The days were hot and lazy. The lake was inviting. Beckett and Caden were stressed out of their minds and Nate Partridge was hard to handle. Harder still on the day they released him from the hospital. He dragged a dark cloud wherever he went and nobody could blame him.
Dad called daily to update us on the progress.
The pipe was fixed, but it required parts of the wall to be removed.
When they would do that, they found even more parts that were damp.
They were treating the inner side one day and reconstructing the wall another.
Dad didn’t get into the details, but from the exhausted tone he used, I figured there was tension all around.
“When are you coming, then?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said with a long sigh. “I don’t have the faintest idea. It’ll be up to Eileen.”
My guts knotted. I didn’t want to get involved when I couldn’t do anything to help.
And I especially didn’t want to get involved in a situation that would pit me against Asher once again.
If I delved deeper into the tension between them, I would have to tell Asher what was up.
And if there was discord between our parents, then there would be discord between us.
It wouldn’t be the first time. Married couples had disagreements; their respective children mimicked them.
And while I didn’t know if we would still fall into those bad habits, I didn’t want to test it.
The truth was, I enjoyed spending these moments with Asher.
After the first night of playing games, we did more of the same. Sitting next to him on the sofa, cans of beer on the coffee table in front of us, and his scent in my nostrils became my favorite evening ritual.
At times, I would forget myself and look at him for too long.
He would grow so still that somewhere in the depths of my mind I knew he was aware of my gaze.
He let me look. Knowingly or not, he always let me look at him.
And when our limbs touched by chance, my breath hitched.
There was no way he couldn’t hear it. But I was far too tempted to let things continue like this to worry much about restraint.
Even the risk element seemed more exciting than I’d anticipated.
How long could my knee be touching his before he moved it away? Before he suspected something? There were times when I held my breath and waited for him to call me out. Would he be disgusted by me? Or would he melt into me like I dreamed? I feared to find out, but I longed to have that answer.
To his credit, Asher did the dishes while I did the cooking, and he brought a pretty good mood to our dinners.
There were moments, as ever, when a wrong word made us both tense.
There were moments when we stood at a crossroad, having to choose peace over chaos.
Going down memory lane wasn’t easy. Too many of those memories were soaked in hurt and pining for me.
Too many summers around him had felt like hell because of his proximity and his blatant dislike of me.
Too many times had I chosen to keep my distance in order to protect this thing we called family.
On the fifth night of our truce, I went out of my way.
That morning, I discovered I’d forgotten to charge my phone, so it was dead.
I plugged it in and left it behind. It was hotter than expected, so I stayed indoors.
There was no stopping Asher, though, who had burned despite the sunscreen on his first trip to the lake.
He was lucky that I had found him when I had.
He avoided the peeling skin in a matter of minutes.
His skin now had a bronze tan and it was hard not to lose myself in gazing at him.
Partly out of boredom at being holed up inside and partly to impress him with no end goal in mind, I prepared an elaborate dinner.
For starters, I prepared a quick and delicious Mediterranean quinoa salad using a pre-packaged frozen medley of bell peppers, cherry tomatoes, and cucumber.
Tossed with pre-cooked quinoa and a sprinkle of feta cheese, it offered a vibrant and nutritious kick-off to our meal.
Moving on to the main course, I chose frozen wild-caught salmon fillets. I seasoned them with a zesty blend of herbs before grilling them to perfection. Alongside the salmon, I served roasted sweet potato fries and a side of steamed broccoli.
I topped things off with a medley of frozen berries in a bowl and a drizzle of honey for dessert.
While cooking, I had seen Asher pass through the house and heard him shower upstairs.
Since the first night’s incident, he had kept the bathroom floor dry and clean, although I felt bad for making him do that.
I mean, it was the right thing to do, but I didn’t want him doing it just because I’d said so.
Then I reminded myself not to overthink it. Deep breaths.
When he joined me in the dining room, which I lit with lamps and candles for the winning combo — and not to make it look like a date! I was only creating a cozy atmosphere — Asher’s appearance made me pause.
He wore gray pants that were lightly checkered with a darker shade of gray and that framed his ass to absolute perfection.
His shirt was a white, billowy thing with a Russian collar, rolled sleeves, and fitted to hug his shoulders and back snugly, but he had left the upper half unbuttoned, and the stiff placket made a wide opening to reveal his chest. In an instant, I knew it was meant to be worn that way.
The beady black buttons along the upper part of the placket were purely decorative.
Asher couldn’t button the shirt over his chest if he tried anyways.
It was too tight. Paired with a dark gray belt around his waist and a minimal silver belt buckle, he looked like a million dollars.
He’d styled his hair a little, too, making it wavy and slightly curly.
His strong jawline was stiff and his tanned cheeks smooth and shining like bronze.
He placed his hands inside his pockets, but several of his leather and string bracelets clustered along his lower forearm.
His watch was on his right wrist and I remembered he was a leftie when the thought to correct him crossed my mind.
“What?” Asher asked.
I realized I was staring. “Oh, nothing. You dressed up.”
He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and shrugged. “I figured I might make an effort. Three courses, huh?”
“Four if you want some cheese first,” I said and pulled a napkin off a tray of sliced hard cheese. “Why the effort?” I asked with honest curiosity.
Something danced in Asher’s eyes. “I could ask you the same.” He looked at the dining table.
Because I want you to think I’m nice, I thought.
Whatever I’d done to inspire this look, I felt two conflicting things about it.
For one, I was deeply grateful. I could feast my eyes on his smooth, bare chest all night long.
I could devour him with my eyes. I could memorize every line and crease of his shirt and every curve of his body.
But on the opposite end, I was terrified.
Why did he have to be so provocative? He didn’t even know what he was doing to me, yet he was leaving me stunned every time he blinked.
“Take a seat,” I said softly. I didn’t want to sound too commanding with him.
He had some mild issues with authority that I was becoming aware of.
It was yet another reason I was never meant to do anything more with him than what we had already been doing.
I was a pretty authoritative person in any situation, but even more so behind closed doors and with the lights off.
As was becoming a custom, I popped the cork out of a wine bottle and poured us each a glass. Suddenly, I felt awkward wearing my course jean shorts and a low hanging sleeveless T-shirt. “Gimme a sec, alright?”
Asher nodded and became interested in the label on the wine bottle.
I hurried upstairs and rummaged through my wardrobe.
The house was cool unlike the outside, the AC humming perpetually all day long, so I found a pair of dark green chinos and a light cream shirt.
I strapped on my wristwatch to show off, tucked my shirt in, did all the buttons up except the top one, then undid one more.
The shirt was tight, and so were the pants, but I decided to put up with it for the sake of good looks.
Why? I didn’t want to consider it. Maybe I just didn’t like being outmatched.
Maybe I wanted us to be on even ground. And maybe I was pushing my luck and testing the limits of how far I could take this thing before it looked like flirting.
I returned downstairs slowly. The closer I got, the more unsure I was about this. What did all this effort say about me? What did it mean to panic-change into my best-fitting clothes when I saw how unmistakably hot he was?