Chapter 15
LIBBY
Sunday night, two nights before our flight to Denver, my—our—apartment is packed up and already shipped off, so we order takeout even though I prefer Jordan’s cooking.
We choose pizza from a gourmet place nearby, but it’s got nothing on Mrs. Atkinson’s crust recipe.
We should go out and be seen doing cute stuff, but considering we’re going to be on display a lot more in Denver, I crave a night in to be myself.
Besides, hanging out with Jordan with no pressure is fun.
When we’re not worried about what people think of us—or when I’m not worried about how I feel about him—it’s easy to hang out and be friends.
Jordan can even usually manage not to flirt.
Not always, but he’s working on it, which is endearing.
Jordan goes to the door to get the pizza when it arrives, and when he comes back into the kitchen with the box, he asks, “Dinner at the table or on the couch watching hockey?”
“Hockey,” I say. We’ve been going over film the last couple weeks, talking about the guys on our team and the strategies Jordan wants to share with the coaches and administration staff when we meet them on Tuesday.
I’m feeling more confident about my knowledge, especially when I have Jordan around, but every little bit helps.
“My kind of dinner arrangement,” he says, setting the pizza box on the coffee table and heading back into the kitchen for plates and utensils.
I move to stand and help, but he waves me away.
“Sit down. I’ve got it, bab—” He cuts himself off, his cheeks going red.
He busies himself in the kitchen, gathering the items and ignoring that the term of endearment he uses for me in public almost slipped out.
I don’t blame him. And like I said, it’s cute when he has to hold back from flirting.
I ignore it too, for his sake, and instead set up my laptop on the coffee table. It’s what we’ll have to make do watching since the TV is already gone.
“What do you want to watch tonight?” I ask.
He comes back into the living room, plates, forks, and napkins in hand. “There’s a preseason Outlaws game on in about ten minutes. Do you mind if we watch that?” He sets the stuff down on the coffee table and heads back to the kitchen for cups and drinks.
“Of course not.” I find the channel it’s on while he’s back in the kitchen and navigate there to stream it.
When he returns, he sets a cup of ice and a can of Diet Coke next to me, and I bite back a grin that he knows me so well. It’s not really that big of a deal—the waiters at my favorite restaurant know my drink of choice, so of course Jordan does. But it’s still thoughtful and sweet.
The first few minutes of dinner are in comfortable silence as we get pizza, pour our drinks—Jordan is drinking ice water, as usual—and settle back to watch the game.
The teams are still warming up, so I say, “Baylee said you finally stopped avoiding her the other day.”
Jordan swallows a bite of the supreme pizza. “You guys are texting?” There’s a hint of worry in the question.
I smile. “Here and there. We’re not besties or anything. I don’t think she fully trusts me yet.”
He grunts an affirmative to that. We don’t need to voice what we both know: she doesn’t trust many people right now. “I went to pick up stuff I might need from the office. There wasn’t much.”
“I bet she’s really going to miss you.” My sister, Ellie, is tough and independent, and still being away from our family has had some rough moments for her the past few months.
He nods. “We’ve always been close, but of course working together the last year has brought us even closer. But I spent a lot of time away from home when I was playing hockey. I’m sure Baylee will adjust quickly to me being gone again.”
“And will you adjust quickly to being away from your family?” I ask.
He casts me a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine, promise. I always expected I’d move away for my next job. It would’ve been incredible luck if the Outlaws had hired me on the coaching staff.”
“Maybe someday?” I wait until Jordan’s eyes are on the game to quickly pick a couple olives off my slice.
I don’t like them, but Jordan does, and if he sees me taking them off, he’ll insist on not ordering pizza with them.
It’s silly. I can pick them off easily, but I’ve already noticed that he bends over backward when he knows something makes me happy. Like I’m a real wife.
That should worry me. He could be trying to manipulate me, show me how good he is. But that doesn’t feel right with Jordan.
Not that I trust my instincts anymore.
The referee is about to drop the puck for the start of the game, but Jordan turns to me. “Maybe I’ll like Denver,” he says, a twinkle in his eyes.
It’s an innocent phrase, and yet it warms me through and through. I suspect he’s insinuating that maybe he’ll want to stay with me. It’s a throwaway flirty line, one that he knows I won’t call him on, because on the surface he’s just saying Denver could be a nice place to live.
But as usual, I like thinking about the idea of a future with Jordan, even if it’s impossible.
I try to watch the game with him. I definitely need the experience.
But it’s way more fun to watch Jordan watching the game.
He shouts out things that are easy to interpret for anyone who’s a sports fan, like “Stay with him, stay with him!” and “Come on, move your feet!” And other things that I’m starting to get.
“Oh yeah, this is a good line,” and “Good gap. Don’t give up that middle!
” He leans so far forward while he watches, and I’d blame that on the tiny screen he’s watching on, but he does it when he watches on the big screen too.
The way he leans with the guys as they skate reminds me of how my brother-in-law Will still dodges and sways when he’s watching football, like he can control the movements of the players.
Jordan catches me watching him from time to time, but he doesn’t address it. Just gives a little smile and turns back to the game.
“Awww, Lib, you must be Ford’s good luck charm,” he says. “I’ve never seen him play this well.” He holds his hand up for a high five.
I giggle and oblige. “Here’s hoping I’ll be the White Wolves’ good luck charm too.”
“You will be,” Jordan says in a tone that says, Obviously. He leans back, and I notice there’s some kind of break. Time-out, I think. A glance at the clock says it’s not the end of a period. “You excited?”
His grin is contagious. For so long, ownership of the White Wolves has been about my show and the image of myself I want the world to see. But with Jordan?
It’s also going to be a lot of fun.