Chapter 32 – Jordan
THIRTY-TWO
JORDAN
“Be back in twenty,” I call from the door frame, fishing my car keys off one of the plastic hooks. “Text me if there’s anything else you want me to pick up.”
She sprays the counter with disinfectant. “We’re almost out of toilet paper.”
“I thought—”
“Forgot.” Xan tosses the paper towels in the trash. “More hair dye if you want me to touch up your color.” She bounces on the balls of her feet to the bathroom, stretching her neck. “Never mind.”
The box I bought yesterday is sitting next to the sink. My roots are horrific.
Both doors close as my phone rings, Jaxon’s ridiculous picture popping up on my screen. A flutter in my stomach carries to my heart. I answer, tampering down my growing emotions.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” he says back, and even in such a small word, I can hear his smile. Sense the curve of his lips. “You busy?”
“Is this a booty call?” I drag my bottom lip between my teeth, taking the stairs down to our dorm lobby.
“It could be. I’m outside.”
Through the glass panels in the double doors to my dorm, Jaxon is leaning against a pillar, wearing camo cargo shorts and a cropped Bear’s Hockey shirt. His phone is pressed between his ear and shoulder. Both hands are balancing on the bottom of a plastic take-out bag.
I hang up, walking outside. Jaxon’s head tips in my direction.
“Hi.” There’s that stupid fluttering again.
“Hi,” he repeats. “I was picking up dinner, and this”—he gestures toward what’s in his hands, a receipt with my name in faded ink taped to the top—“was next to my ramen.” Jaxon lets out a non-judgmental laugh. “A lot of food for two girls.”
Probably so. I hunch one shoulder.
Chicken-miso ramen for each of us, a flight of three bao buns, and togarashi fries.
But we don’t care.
“Tradition,” I inform him, tapping the toes of our shoes.
“Ooooh that’s right. First game eve sleepover.” Jaxon’s brows shoot up in a playful arch. “Maybe we could start a new tradition.”
“What did you have in mind?” I ask, tilting my head.
Xanie and I’s takeout plays hot potato, leaving his hands to mine and back again before finding a spot at our feet. Jaxon stands, running a finger up my jaw to tuck part of my layered bangs behind my ear before cupping the back of my head.
“This.”
His lips are on mine, a hint of a stolen fry on his tongue pushing into my mouth. Jaxon’s free hand grips my waist as my hands find his shoulders to keep steady. I’m a slow-melting ice cube and don’t want to end up a puddle on the ground.
I could get used to this tradition.
Xanie has our pallet of cushions, pillows, and blankets spread on the floor in front of the couch when I finally find myself back upstairs.
The coffee table is pushed to the side, littered with bowls of miscellaneous snacks from our cabinets—gummy bears and things I can’t trust aren’t stale.
Our blinds and drapes are closed, a string of twinkly lights twisted through the rod at the top, the excess cascading down the periwinkle fabric.
I set the heavy bag, a hole in the bottom seconds away from giving out, on the counter. I love how the smell instantly consumes our suite.
We started this tradition freshman year.
The night before our first game, Xanie and I threw all the pillows from our lofted beds to the ground.
Dragged her twin mattress off the frame, then mine, remaking our beds on the floor.
A computer was propped up on a stack of our textbooks and a package of toilet paper.
I picked up what is now our regular ramen order while watching old reruns of CW shows—a rotation of One Tree Hill, Gossip Girl, and The Vampire Diaries—debating which Scott and Salvatore brother is better (Nathan and Damon, obviously).
We had every intention after demolishing our ramen to move on to whatever snacks we had until we couldn’t fit another bite in our bodies, but that’s never happened.
Then we sleep under the twinkle lights.
Xan pours broth over her noodle combination, taking the bao buns with her to the living room. “What season?” she asks, slurping a noodle from a spork because she’s terrible at using chopsticks. “I was thinking”—an end of a noodle smacks her chin—“season five.”
“You always want to watch…” My words trail off. “That’s fine.”
“You sure?” She picks up the remote, selecting a random episode in the season.
“Mhm.” I take a seat next to her, legs stretched out in front of me.
“You’re already up.” Xanie’s face falls with disappointment when she rolls over, finding me propped up on the couch with a coffee, a crossword, and fuzzy socks.
I’ve been up for hours. Awoken by a horrific, too real nightmare in a sheen of sweat.
Promising myself that I’d never forget to tie my skates or show up to the arena in a princess ball grown—I don’t even know where I’d get one.
I tried to go back to sleep, but a nervous anticipation was pumping through my veins.
Quietly, not to wake my roommate, I took a shower and climbed onto the couch. Did a few puzzles, read ten chapters of my book, and practiced a few new pull-through braids.
“Couldn’t sleep. It’s like Christmas morning.”
“Without snow.”
“But there is ice.”
There’s a rumbling outside our door. Elliot’s laugh has Xanie popping up, answering the door.
Sutton waltzes in with a vase of vibrant flowers. “Yay! You’re here. I didn’t know if you’d left for morning skate yet.”
“Need to leave in twenty.”
“Perfect.” She hands me what has to be a handmade vase. Painted a soft butter yellow with Jellycat hippos in ice skates. “Meave made the vase, and the flowers are from our moms’ shop.”
They’re beautiful.
“And an iced latte for our iced princess.” Elliot pops up beside me, an arm coming around me, presenting the plastic cup with scribbled go, ice princess, go in Sharpie.
I still my reaction, not wanting them to see what the nickname does to me. Swallow the unintentional bitterness. I know, deeply and firmly, that it wasn’t intentional or meant in ill, but…
Ice princess.
I hate the label. I hate being compared to ice. I hate feeling cold.
“Thanks.” I take it from her, moving to put it in the fridge. “I’ll save it for after.”
Sutton follows me, squeezing me into a tight hug. “We won’t overstay. Just wanted to pop in and wish you luck today! You’re gonna kick ass, I know it.” She squeezes me harder. “Love you, Jojo.”
“Love you too, Sutt.”
She lets me go. “We’ll see you after! We’re sitting with your parents.”