Chapter 11 – Jordan
ELEVEN
JORDAN
“Carmichael.” A hand is waved an inch in front of my face, dragging me back to the soft indie-folk record playing and smell of coffee beans roasting.
The manager on duty at work doesn’t look pleased with me.
I’m not pleased either; I’ve had a Jaxon-sized distraction my entire shift.
“Table seven needs cleared, and the bathrooms are out of paper towels.”
The training plan, a packet of over fifty pages with notes and affirmations scratched into the margins, is burning a hole in my brain.
Jaxon must have slipped it into my bag. Tucked between the pages of a crossword book, the stapled corner was sticking out.
I stared at the minuscule triangle while submerged in an ice bath and then again while getting ready for my shift.
Lost track of time contemplating what it meant, questioning why Jaxon would do this—do anything—for me while brushing my hair, braiding and rebraiding the strands.
Hours have passed and I can’t steer my brain away from the packet. When the cafe hits a lull, I find myself flipping through the pages and asking the same questions—Is this why he was looking for me? Does he also think this is a joke?—that overwhelmed me during my workout.
I can’t steer my brain off of him either.
Since I’ve met Jaxon, today was the first time I’d seen him wear anything but a smile. The fight to maintain his composure was apparent, but I could tell he was upset, possibly hurt…and I hate that I caused it.
But it was bound to happen when this is who and how I am. I’m exhausted being like this, involuntarily protective and cold, but I don’t know how to stop.
I’m quiet as I clear table seven and four others, a wave of customers leaving at once. We close in twenty minutes, and there’s only a handful of regulars left.
“Jord.” Rose leans over the counter.
“Yeah?”
“Do you care if I change the music? Anything you prefer?”
I shake my head no, moving to another table that just left. Placing a half-drunk black coffee into the bussing container and stacking plates with crumbs of baked goods before adding it to the rest of the dishes. “You pick.”
Music. I snort a humorless laugh as I drop off the container in the kitchen, scooping the plastic bathroom keys on my way out the swinging door. Jaxon included suggested playlists. All with ridiculous names and cover photos when searched.
I’m exiting the bathroom when I spot Xanie’s unruly, dark hair flipped to one side, then the other as she peruses the remaining bakery items.
“You’ll want the cookie butter banana bread muffin,” I tell her.
Xanie stands, a bright, glossy smile on her face. “Exactly what I was in the mood for.”
I slide in next to Rose, tapping her shoulder. “I’ve got her if you want to start closing.”
Rose agrees, disappearing into the back.
“Stan, five minutes,” I inform our most loyal regular.
Stan might be as old as the place. Here most days from open to close reading the newspaper, then doing a crossword, before playing chess by himself.
Occasionally, another customer will sit across from him for a game or two.
I downloaded a chess app on my phone to teach myself the basics.
I’m not very good, but he doesn’t mind and neither do I. Stan’s good company.
Xanie is focused on her phone, but I register the dark circles forming under her eyes and tumbler tucked in mesh pocket of her backpack.
“Cold brew?” I already rang one up, knowing that’s her go-to before a PCA shift.
“Please.” She hands over the tumbler which I fill to the brim as she lets herself around back, slipping onto the counter. Xanie kicks her scrub-clad legs back and forth, doing a remarkable job of getting muffin crumbs everywhere.
“What time are you off tomorrow?” I ask over my shoulder.
“Seven. Then a quick napitizer and a shift here at ten.”
“I can take your shift tomorrow,” Rose offers, peeking her head around the corner.
“That’s okay. Thank you, though.”
“Don’t overwork yourself, Xan.” I place a hand on her knee. “The semester hasn’t even started yet. We don’t need you burning yourself out.”
“I promise I won’t.” She sips on her coffee, eyes flicker down at her bright lilac and turquoise sneakers.
Xanie chews on her bottom lip. “I need the money, and with no hockey…I have the time.” The tension in her tone is a rope being pulled by two sides.
Xanie despises confrontation, and quickly defers from herself as the topic of conversation when I open my mouth.
“Did you ask Cooper why Jaxon was looking for you yesterday?”
“About that.” I tug my bag free from the storage space under the counter. Handing her the packet that Jaxon gave me.
“What is this?” She flips through the pages, her dark eyes widening and blinking before sliding to me. Lips curled inward, I press a crescent moon into my thumb. “Did someone—” I see her calculating something. “This is Jaxon’s handwriting. Did…did he make you a workout plan? Why would he do that?”
“Last page.”
She skips ahead, finding what had my heart plummeting. Written like a crossword clue, Best new player on the Lakeland Bear’s men’s team? and then doodled in boxes: Jordan Carmichael #11.
Xanie returns the packet to me, licking her lips. “Is he offering to help you?”
I shrug a shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe? I sort of shoved it back at him and bit his head off before hearing him out.”
My best friend tilts her head, giving me a look that if anyone else did would have me feeling more guilty than I already am. “Jordan,” she tacks on.
“I know. I know.”
The driveway to the hockey house is always a mastered game of Tetris, which is why I park on the street. There are too many cars to risk accidentally blocking someone.
Walking up to their front door, I clock whose cars are in the driveway. Everyone’s here, at least I think. Jaxon doesn’t have a car on campus.
I texted Jaxon after Xanie left and before locking up at the cafe, but that was an hour ago. And I didn’t expect him to respond after how I dismissed him.
Their stoop is as masculine as it gets. A concrete slab with a dilapidated plant they didn’t water all summer and a Christmas doormat with dogs wearing hats and scarves which is where they typically hide their spare key.
It’s not there, forcing me to knock and wait.
Dawson opens the door after my third knock, hand running through his hair. “Sorry about that.”
“All good.” My mouth tight except for the minuscule raise to my cheeks. It’s the closest thing to a smile I can manage.
“You gonna be here for a bit? I’m making dinner.”
“Nah,” I decline despite whatever he’s making smelling a lot better than the ramen waiting for me back at my suite. “Thank you, though.”
At the sound of my voice, my brother looks over the back of the couch and graciously acknowledges my presence. “Jords, what’s up? Didn’t know you were coming over.”
Sutton, tucked under the blanket with him, turns her head. Auburn curls shift wildly with the movement, cheeks flushed. “Hi!”
“At least someone is pleased to see me.” I stick my tongue out at my brother. He’s lucky he’s my favorite—and only—brother. He blows a raspberry at me. I walk around the couch, resting the side of my butt on the edge.
“What are you wat—” I stop myself, recognizing the paused scene immediately. “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, nice.”
“We were supposed to watch all of her faves before she moved for the summer.”
“Isn’t that like one hundred movies?” I ask at the same time Sutton says, “I did not move. It was barely two months, Superstar.”
“Yes, it’s one hundred,” he answers me, then her, “and you weren’t allowed to leave till we watched every single one, but you still did.”
Sutton makes eye contact with me. “Regret dating him yet?”
Her expression softens. “Not one bit.” She leans in and kisses him on the cheek. “What are you up to? Wanna finish the movie with us?” she offers.
“Actually…” I pause. “I came to see Jaxon. Is he home?”
Cooper’s brows spike, tone just as sharp. “Why?”
“I need to ask him a question.”
“Ask me.”
“No.”
“Why not? I’ve got a lifetime of knowledge.” The two of us are like an Olympic-level game of ping-pong. I’m the only other person Cooper fires off back and forth with besides Sutton.
“You’re twenty-two. That’s not a lifetime.”
“More years than you. Now, ask me.”
“It’s specific to him.”
His jaw drops, then snaps closed. “Specific to Jax?”
“Yes. Do you know if he’s busy?”
Sutton finally gives me the answer I’m searching for. “He went upstairs to call his dad an hour ago. Hasn’t been back down since.”
“Thanks, Sutt.” I slide off the couch and head to the stairs.
I’m on the fourth step when my brother becomes unnecessarily over-protective. “Door remains open and hands where I can see them.”
Spinning to face him, I cross my arms, popping a hip. “I can’t see your hands.”
Cooper shrugs, smirking. Sutton’s cheeks turn the same color as her hair, breathing too intentional.
“Are you serious right now?” I groan. “On the couch.”
I stomp up the stairs, making sure to intentionally close Jaxon’s door after he tells me to come in. Cooper yells something up at us, all I can hear is Jaxon’s laugh. Deep, rich, captivating—
I gulp. Discreetly, I hope.
Jaxon’s lying on top of his comforter, a red and navy blue plaid, leaning against his headboard. Long, herculean legs stretched out. The inseam is short enough to display each curve and dip of his muscles, stacked and sculpted to lie perfectly.
Shirtless. Jaxon’s shirtless.
A narrow waist with a dusting of hair expands into a broad chest, sandwiching abs that are genetic and made in the kitchen. His right nipple is pierced—a stupid bet he lost with my brother to their roommates.
When my treacherous eyes finally make eye contact with his, it’s apparent he wasn’t oblivious to my perusal of him.
Of course, Jaxon is loving it.
Each second he devours, making the curve of his mouth creep further up.
I want to smack the arrogant, flirtatious, kissable, hot, enchanting, dangerous, bewitching—care to add any other adjectives? I ask my brain and my heart, both desperate for an above-average orgasm—smile off his face.
“Stop,” I demand of him, but mainly myself.
“I am not doing anything. You, however, well please finish.”
I glower at him, brows twitching.
This was a mistake. Coming here, deciding to take him up on his unofficial offer.
Jaxon shifts on his bed, crossing his ankles and patting the space next to him. I stand there. He pats the space, again.
“Oh, come on. I don’t bi—actually can’t say that and not be a liar.” He hums. “Okay, stand there.” When I don’t give an inclination that I’m going to move, he adds, “Good girl.”
“For fuck’s sake, Jaxon. Could you be serious for more than a millisecond?”
The recoil is small, almost unnoticeable. A clinching of his jaw, a quick blink, and nostrils flaring before his face softens. “Maybe someone is too serious.”
“I’m not too serious,” I snap. “If we—” I take a deep inhale, throwing my hands up in parallel with my shoulders. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have come here.”
Spinning to leave, a large hand circles my wrist. With a gentle tug, Jaxon spins me into him. His knees fall open, bracketing me between them.
“Don’t leave.”
I don’t bring my gaze to Jaxon, finding a Crosby poster thumbtacked into the wall to focus on. His thumb rubs against the inside of my wrist, playing with a mixed metal bracelet stack I’m wearing.
“If we are going to do this”—finally I set my eyes on his, the caress of his thumb softening my features—“I need to not be a joke to you or some project you’re taking on to benefit my brother.”
Jaxon drops my wrist. Hands palming his thick thighs at the hem of his sweat shorts.
“Let’s get a couple things straight, Blue.
” His hands flex. “First, the same brother who threatened my balls if I didn’t keep my door, the one you precisely slammed, open?
” I frown, tilting my head in slight annoyance.
“No, he didn’t ask me to help you. Pretty sure he’s under the impression you’re joining the figure skating team.
Second.” Jaxon pauses. “I can be serious. For what and who I want to be. Now, what is it that we’re doing? ”
“I…” The sentence falls away.
“You can do it,” he encourages, coaxing out a vulnerable side. “Say it.”
I take a steadying breath. “I want to join the men’s team.”
He smiles. “And?”
“I need—want your help.”
“I knew you couldn’t deny me.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Jaxon—”
“Careful. Don’t want your eyes to get stuck that way.”
Out of spite, I roll them again. “You’ll help?” He shakes his head up and down, greens never wavering from me. “When do we get started?” I start rattling off other questions about schedule and semester and ice time.
Jaxon cuts me off, voice firm. “Jordan.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t use all your words up for the year too quickly.
” Jaxon reaches for his phone, fingers firing over the screen.
I almost say something, but the screen goes black after a whooshing sound echoes and he tosses his phone behind him.
“Meet me outside your dorm tomorrow morning. Six thirty? We can catch the sunrise.”
“Six thirty,” I confirm, stepping backward.
My hand on the doorknob, Jaxon adds, “Wear something cute. That halter tank-bra situation you have would work.”
“Only if you wear that.” I gesture at his bare chest and shorts. He beams as I close the door behind me.