Chapter 10
"I'm just saying, if you're not going to lock that down permanently, at least share the wealth." Molly leans against the counter, eyeing me over her phone. "There are starving women in this town, Bree."
I roll my eyes, wiping down the last booth. "Jordan is not a meal."
"He is when you’ve been starving, babe." She grins. "And you're hogging the buffet."
Madeline pokes her head out from the kitchen, blonde hair pulled back tight. "Looks like the prince has arrived to collect his Cinderella." Her eyes roll so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck.
I say nothing. Just fold my cleaning rag and toss it in the bin.
It's getting exhausting, this constant harping by coworkers.
Jordan and I barely go out anymore. We steal time — those few minutes when he picks me up, the quiet weekends at his place, the rare kitchen table rendezvous when the house is empty.
I suppose this is the price of dating one of the richest men in town.
"Bree, your shift ends at nine," Murphy says as he saunters in, his scowl locked in place. He jerks his chin at the clock. "Fifteen more minutes. And the front hall’s backing up. So go take some orders."
"Oh, it's fine," Molly pipes up. "I can cover for her. Bree needs to get ready for her hot date."
Murphy practically roars. "Unless you're willing to have it come out of your paycheck, Molly, Bree finishes her entire shift!"
I raise my hands. "It’s alright, Murphy, I wasn't leaving anyway. Jordan knows I don’t get off before nine. He’ll wait."
"Oooh, what do you know — rich, sexy, and a gentleman to boot. Hat trick," Molly says with a dreamy sigh.
"Get to work!" Murphy snaps, heading to the cash register.
"Somebody is jealous," Molly sing-songs to his retreating back.
Thirty minutes later, I grab my jacket. Molly, to no one's surprise, has hung back.
"Thought I’d walk you out," she says. "I need to see what Jordan’s driving tonight. Last week it was that piece-of-crap Civic, which, by the way, was hilarious."
"Molly—"
"Come on." She loops her arm through mine. "You still owe me for pushing you to him. Remember? You kept saying he was too old. I called it from the start."
"I didn’t ask you to—"
"You didn’t have to. What are friends for?"
She pushes through the door, and the cool evening air hits us. Then she spots him and actually gasps. "Jesus Christ, he’s leaning. Why does he always look like he’s in a cologne ad?"
There he is — Jordan. Leaning against the hood of that same rented, mud-colored sedan, hands in his pockets, hair tousled by the breeze. He’s watching the door, waiting. When our eyes meet, his whole face lights up.
Something warm unfurls in my chest.
"See?" Molly elbows me. "That right there is what I came out to see. The way he looks at you. Like you’re the only person in the world. If my boyfriend looked at me like that, I’d marry him tomorrow."
I shift. "Molly—"
"We should do another double date! Sam’s been asking. That new Italian place in—"
"Yeah, sure," I say automatically, already knowing it’s never happening again.
"Seriously, we should do it soon," she pushes.
"Sure. I’ll text you."
"You better! And Bree? Seriously. Lock. That. Down."
I wave her off and start across the lot, but her words land heavy in my chest.
The truth is, Jordan’s nothing like what people expect when they hear "Farrington heir.
" But whenever he comes around my friends, something shifts.
They get louder, or quieter, noticing the things I've learned to ignore — the way his clothes cost more than their rent, the calm certainty in how he moves, like the world’s never said no to him.
Jordan doesn’t even realize how much space he takes up in a room.
I still haven’t lived down the Spring Fling.
He took me — quietly, discreetly. No red carpet, no photos. Just us in the corner, trying to blend. But Molly made sure everyone knew that the older rich guy belonged to me.
The whispers started. The stares. The questions.
And suddenly, the gulf between me and Jordan lit up in neon.
Worse? He feels it too. The way he tenses when someone asks what he does for a living or where he lives.
My friends gush over my boyfriend but their pitying looks when my back is turned. Like they're waiting for the day he’d leave and I’d be the broken hearted.
The thought makes my chest tight. Because they're right. Jordan leaves for Houston in a few days.
I shove the thought away violently, refusing to let it ruin tonight.
Jordan pushes off the hood as I approach, and that devastating smile spreads across his face. "Hello, love."
And just like that, everything else falls away.
As soon as I'm within reach, his fingers catch in the waistband of my jeans, tugging me flush against him.
"You look edible," he murmurs.
"Nah, I've been on my feet for six hours. I'm beat," I whine.
His lips brush mine once, then he's stepping away.
I pull him back to me. "Hey, and you call that a kiss?"
He chuckles, low and sinful. "My apologies, ma'am." His hand slides up my back, into my hair, tilting my head just the way he wants it, and then his mouth comes down on mine for real.
His mouth is hot and hungry. He slides his tongue into my mouth like he's tasting his favorite sweet thing in the world. His other hand settles on my hip, tugging me into the hard line of his body even as he backs me against the car, kissing me like we have hours instead of minutes.
I vaguely register a door slamming from somewhere behind us, but Jordan doesn't twitch or break the kiss. Instead, he emits a low groan from his throat.
When he finally pulls back, we're both breathing hard, and I can feel his length straining against my hip.
"I thought you said you were tired," he says, voice rough.
"I was," I manage. "Then you showed up."
His eyes dance. "I live to serve." He rests his forehead lightly against mine, his breathing just starting to slow.
Then he murmurs, "You said there was something you've been dying to tell me all day."
I sink my teeth into my lower lip, glancing at him from under my lashes. "I'll tell you when we're in bed tonight."
He takes a step back, palms up. "Whoa, whoa. Nice try."
"Come on," I coax, reaching for his hand. "Just tonight."
"You have finals coming up. You need to study, Bree."
I groan inwardly, cursing his constant need to look out for me. Such as not having sleepovers on school nights, mainly because I usually don't walk right the next day. "So that's a no to staying over tonight?"
He leans in, presses one last kiss to my lips. "It's a big fat no, baby."
"Fine." I sigh. "Can you at least take me somewhere?"
"Now?"
"Now."
He grins. "Get in the car, Wells."