Chapter 35 Jordan
jordan
This is the part where I crawl under a rock and die.
I want to run. I want to hide. The churning in my gut is not from the surprise biscuits and homemade jam Bev dropped off; she knows they are my favorite—it’s the imminent dread of Kennedy’s reaction.
I shift in my seat. Things are escalating, and I need to let her in on what’s going on.
My knee bounces under the table. If this is the end of our fake relationship, and any hope for a real one, I guess it was good while it lasted.
She’s still staring at me, her eyes filled with shock and disbelief. “To stay away from me? Like…Kennedy Kramer, me?”
I nod, watching the cream dancing in my cup. “Yeah.”
“Why would someone want you to stay away from me? Wait…is this why you asked me if I had a boyfriend that night?”
“Yes.” Among other reasons. “I thought.” I scrub my hand down my face. “I thought someone was jealous seeing us together and was threatening me because of it.”
“And you didn’t think that would have been helpful information for me to have had?”
I’m starting to pick up the vibe that she’s a smidge angry.
“I didn’t…” I groan, my words getting caught in my throat. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. You had a stressful day, then we had the whole shenanigan with Chadd McScumbag. I thought it would freak you out even more.”
“Well, I’m certainly freaked out now!” she shouts a little louder than either of us expects.
I wince, raising my hands in surrender to Beverly’s concerned look from across the diner as I mouth sorry.
She shakes her head and goes back to work, releasing me so I can turn my attention back to the most beautiful, angry woman I’ve ever seen, waiting for her to breathe fire from those gorgeous lips I can’t stop thinking about and burn me alive.
That actually might be less painful at this point.
“Maybe…” she speaks softly as she stares into her drink, her eyes not meeting mine. “Maybe we should just end this fake dating thing. Stage our breakup now, and this will all go away. Right?”
My heart stops, and it’s a few moments before it finds its rhythm again. She’s right.
“Yeah. If that’s what you want, we could do that,” I whisper. I’ve got to find a way to convince her this isn’t the answer.
She nods, her gaze still locked on the steam rising from her mug. “It’s probably for the best.”
Call the coroner. My life is over.
Unless I can miraculously think of a way to keep her.
I can’t lose this. I tap my foot furiously on the floor like Elle Woods before the drinking fountain scene where the pool boy gets irritated for stomping her last season Prada shoes at him, and then she asks douchebag Warrner what brand her shoes are, and he doesn’t know and… oh my God. That’s it. The douchebag!
“But…” I singsong, “it still doesn’t solve the other problem we have—Chadd McTwatWaffle. And despite him having a new girlfriend, who apparently has a fear of fluorescent lights, I think he’ll continue to be an issue even if we break up.”
I hold my breath as her eyes pop up to mine, an intrigued look in them I haven’t seen before. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right. That doesn’t solve the Chadd issue.”
“I say we just stick with the plan to at least keep that asshat away from you.”
“Okay.”
I exhale, the tension slightly melting now that she’s not leaving. Thank fucking God.
“Okay.” I nod. “And we’re going to get you security until we find out who is doing this.”
She glares at me. “Security? No. I don’t think so. How about we just call the police like rational people?”
I scrunch my face. “I know this probably sounds like another rich people thing you won’t like, but I know what is going to happen if we involve the police.
We’ll file a complaint that will sit on someone’s desk for months, and nothing will happen.
Then, if there’s a snoopy person at the police station looking to score some extra cash, they’ll leak the report to the media.
I’ve been dealing with things like this my entire life, and my family realized it’s better to control things ourselves as much as possible.
And before you ask again, no, we are not Mafia, and we do not ‘off’ people. ”
She huffs a slight laugh, lifting some of the weight off my chest. “So…how many texts have you gotten from whoever this is?”
Dammit. I swallow the lump lodged in my throat. Fuck. I don’t want to tell her this, but there’s no more avoiding this. “Maybe once or twice a week.”
“Every week?!” she whisper-yells, forcing a smile as she sees Beverly coming over with our order. Kennedy leans across the table. “Holy shit, Jordan. For how long? When did these start?”
“Here we go!” Beverly comes over with a tray full of plates, just in time to help me stall and think about how to tell Kennedy that I’ve been pining after her for months and that someone figured out I was sending her gifts and wanted me to stop.
At least when Kennedy places me in her own personal death row, I’ll go out with a great last meal.
“Thanks, Bev,” I say, grateful for the welcome interruption.
“You two need anything else? Do I need to grab syrup for the lady?”
“Oh no. She’s Team No Syrup.”
She smiles with a wink. “Holler if you need anything and I’ll be back with some coffee refills in a bit. Just gonna make a fresh pot.”
I slowly turn toward Kennedy, who, shockingly, is not staring at me, but at the breakfast for dinner laid before us. “Good God, this looks and smells amazing. Are those hash browns with cheese and onions?”
I smile, knowing I picked correctly once more. “Yep. Do you like them that way?”
“Smothered and covered is the only way to eat them.”
Be still, my heart. “Right?!”
She takes a bite of the delicious potatoes, and we, once again, bond over carbs. And dammit, I’m so here for it.
“Listen, I’m still mad…like, really mad, but…Grilled Cheesus, this is delicious. You weren’t kidding about the food here.”
“I take my cheat days seriously.”
“These pancakes…” she groans, her eyes rolling into the back of her head, making my cock twitch, “I apologize. I stand corrected. These are the best things I’ve ever eaten.”
I flash her a wicked smirk. “I’m glad you can finally admit I have a superior food palate.”
She glares at me as she takes another bite of pancake—yep, she’s still pissed.
Her lips twist as she chews, and I can tell she’s thinking hard as she devours the fluffy goodness.
We sit quietly for a few moments, and I give her some time to process all of this.
God, I’m such an idiot. My hands shake with every bite I take, wondering what she’s thinking.
She said she was mad. Is she like…mad mad? Or just…mildly irritated?
Fuck. If only I could see inside that beautiful head of hers. But I don’t have to wait long to learn what she’s mulling over, her voice breaking the rhythm of knives and forks as she asks another question.
“So, back to the texts.” Shit. My mouth goes dry, and I take a sip of my coffee as she continues. “How long did you say you’ve been getting them?”
“I didn’t,” I say, quickly shoveling a giant bite of pancake in my mouth, savoring the glorious blueberry delicacy as I try to avoid her question at all costs.
Her glare tells me I’m not going to get away with this. Dammit.
“Jordan, if you don’t want me to call the police right now, I’m going to need to know everything so we can figure this out.”
“Every-hing?” I mumble, my mouth still full of delicious, golden-brown avoidance.
“Yes. Every detail. Every text. Everything that seems out of sorts. Every…” she trails off as her eyes widen with absolute panic. “Oh my God. Son of a bitch—I completely forgot.”
“What?”
“When we were at the game, I got a message from the apartment complex that I had a package delivered. I’ve been getting random gifts lately.
Apparently, there’s another one there. They all come with a poem, too.
That’s creepy, right?” She wipes her lips with her napkin.
“Do you think this could all be connected?”
I shoot up straight in the booth. Ohhhh shit, double shit, triple shit on a hockey stick.
Pull yourself together, Boucher. “Oh no. For sure, no. I mean, probably, definitely not connected. I mean…” I clear my throat, “I wouldn’t even say it’s creepy per se.
Maybe it’s just…someone trying to do something nice? ”
Her lips twist, my heartbeat thrumming in my ears.
“Yeah. Maybe. I thought it was a secret admirer or something, but now that I know these people are threatening us, and apparently have my phone number…” She pushes her plate away, trapping her lip between her teeth.
“Do they know where I live? Having another package delivered this same day has to be connected, right?”
My pulse skyrockets throughout my entire body.
I didn’t send her anything. I haven’t since I talked to Vladi, and he said that was not the way to impress her.
Fuck. “Beverly, can you grab our check?” I shout across the diner, and she nods, giving me a thumbs up and heading to the register.
Then I look to Kennedy. I swallow hard, knowing everything is going to have to come out tonight.
As much as I want to, I can’t keep this in any longer. “We gotta go.”
She freezes, coffee cup half raised. “Why? What’s happening?”
“I’ll explain on the way.” She sets her mug down and grabs her purse.
“Beverly, never mind!” I shout, setting some cash on the table. “This should cover it. If not, I’ll hit you next time I’m here.”
“Jordan,” Kennedy says, calming some of the anxiety humming through me, “you just put down two hundred dollars. I think that’ll cover some pancakes.”
“Oh. Yeah. Right. Okay.” I reach for her hand before stopping myself. “Let’s go.”
“Good seeing you, Jordan! Kennedy, don’t be a stranger!” Beverly waves as we race out the door. As we get into the car, I try to take in a deep breath to calm myself down for more reasons than I care to admit.
One, Kennedy could be in real trouble.
Two, I could be in real trouble with Kennedy.
Three, I’m going to have to tell her I was the one sending the gifts.
Four…all of the above, and we get murdered in the process.
God, please let there be an option five.