Chapter 8
Victoria
When my boss offered me her tickets to the Knights game, it was like karma smacking me in the face.
I walked away even though I didn’t want to, and as a result, I couldn’t sleep or eat for a week.
He’s all I’ve thought about, so when the opportunity to see him again arose, there wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to ignore it.
Handing him that piece of paper was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
I was somewhat worried he would just ball it up and drop it on the floor right in front of me, but Jordan isn’t like that.
He might do it as soon as he got back to the locker room but not in public where everyone would see.
It makes him look callous and me look like a fool, and somehow, despite our history, the guy who saved me from getting assaulted wouldn’t do something to humiliate me.
Still, I’m surprised when I see his text as Ivy and I are leaving the arena. My sister was the only person available to go with me on short notice, and even though my mom gave us the side-eye when we told her where we were going, she has no idea Jordan and I have been in touch.
Ivy didn’t know either.
She knows now, of course, and I stare at the screen of my phone for a beat.
“Is that him?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I look at her, and she grimaces.
“Well, this is what you wanted, right? To talk to him?”
“Yeah.”
No.
Maybe.
I don’t know exactly what I wanted. To get in touch with him—to have a way to stay in touch with him—but beyond that I didn’t give it much thought. And now he’s asking if I’m still here.
“What am I going to tell Mom and Dad if I get home alone?” Ivy asks.
“Hang on.” I type out a response.
VICTORIA: Yes, but heading to the parking lot.
JORDAN: Do you want to meet up?
VICTORIA: I can’t. I’m with my sister. Breakfast tomorrow?
JORDAN: It would have to be really early, I have practice at 10.
VICTORIA: 7:30 at our usual place?
JORDAN: See you then.
I stuff my phone in my purse and we continue walking.
“I’m going to see him tomorrow,” I say.
“Why?” she asks.
I glance at her. “What do you mean?”
“What’s the point of this? You’re going to get back together?”
“Of course not!” I snap. “I just…” What? What am I expecting to happen?
“I know this isn’t a bootie call.”
“No. Although it’s been a while. I could use some of that.”
She grimaces. “Not me. If I never have sex again it’ll be too soon.”
“Willie was a selfish ass. Good sex is glorious.”
“Not in my experience.”
“Then it might be time to change your experiences,” I tease.
“Dating is hard in South Florida,” she grumbles. “You know that.”
“Yeah, but there are good guys out there. You just have to find them.”
“I notice you didn’t say we have to find them. Just me. As if you’re already taken.”
Something inside me squeezes painfully.
It does feel like I’m already taken.
It’s always felt like that.
There’s never been anyone but Jordan in my heart.
I’ve slept with two other guys, dipped my toe in the dating waters, and done my best to move on.
But deep down, it was and—if last week was any indication—it’s still only Jordan.
I want to continue hating him, but after our talk it’s abundantly clear that things didn’t happen exactly the way either of us thought they did. Now that the narrative has changed, so have my feelings.
And it’s terrifying.
“Dad will lose his shit,” Ivy says when we get to my car.
“I know.”
“But you’re going to do it anyway.”
“I can’t not do it,” I admit, looking at her across the roof of my Toyota. “It’s like an addiction, a pull so strong I can’t resist it. I tried and then fate intervened with these damn tickets. So now I have to see where it goes. Please don’t say anything.”
She shakes her head. “Oh, hell no. I get too much free babysitting from you to do that.”
I laugh and get in the car.
* * *
I get to the restaurant at 7:15 and sink into the same booth where we sat last week.
I’m being ridiculous but can’t seem to help it.
I honestly don’t know what I’m going to say when he gets here.
There was no plan beyond getting him my number.
Part of me figured there was a good chance he would just toss it.
Instead, he texted me and I fell asleep wondering how to explain why I reached out.
Granted, since he had the option to throw out my number, there has to be a reason he texted me. It’s just a matter of digging deep to get to the bottom of whatever it is we’re dealing with.
I see him the moment he parks. He’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt that pulls tight across his chest. He was always gorgeous, but he’s filled out beautifully.
His blond hair is longer now, and curlier than I remember, and I love the way it blows back as he walks.
Twenty-three-year-old Jordan is the personification of masculinity and sexuality, something I’ve struggled to find in anyone else.
He walks into the restaurant, smiles at the hostess and then his gaze zeroes in on me. Warmth heats my skin, and I manage a small smile to acknowledge him as he walks in my direction.
“Good morning.” He slides into the seat across from me, eyes never leaving my face.
“Good morning.” I want to say more but the waitress is upon us, taking our order.
“So.” He rests his arms on the table in front of him. “Why are we here, Victoria?”
“Isn’t that the million-dollar question?” I ask ruefully. I take a deep breath and then do my best to explain. “The truth is, I’m not really sure. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since you saved me at the club. That’s as much honesty as I can muster up.”
He frowns. “You said you didn’t want to see me again.”
“I answered with my brain instead of…my heart,” I whisper, finally looking away.
“Victoria, we’re too old, and have been through too much, to play games like this.”
“I know. It’s not a game. I swear. I just… once I saw you again, there was no way to go back to pretending you didn’t exist. Especially after what we talked about last week.”
He rubs the fingers of one hand back and forth across his forehead, eyes closed, as if he’s thinking about something really serious. Like this is difficult for him. It probably is. God knows, it’s hard for me.
“I think about you a lot too,” he blurts after a moment. “And it pisses me off.”
“Why?”
His eyes open and he narrows them. “Why? Really?”
“Do you hate me, Jordan?”
“Do you hate me?”
“I thought I did. Until you saved me at the club.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m just…confused. Sad. Thinking about all the what ifs. What if our baby had lived. What if my dad wasn’t such a jerk. What if…we were still together.” I swallow, feeling incredibly vulnerable. I don’t know what I’ll do if he says something obnoxious.
“We’d be married now,” he says without hesitation. “Maybe divorced, but we would have gotten married initially. Been a family for our baby. I would have tried to make you happy. I don’t know that I was mature enough back then, but I loved you enough to try.”
“I think we’d still be married. Probably have another kid or two.”
For some reason, that makes him smile. “You’re probably right.”
“Do you ever think about him or her?”
“Not really. Not until that night when I dropped you off and I saw your nephew. He looks like what I imagine one of our kids would look like, so it hit me hard.”
“I grieved for a long time,” I admit. “I lost my baby and the man I loved in one fell swoop. I barely graduated. Didn’t go to prom or any other senior year activities.
Mostly, I stayed home and cried myself to sleep every night.
My parents didn’t have any sympathy at all, and of course, then Ivy got pregnant and it was all about her drama. ”
“I’m sorry you were alone,” he says. “I was alone too. My teammates said it served me right for being stupid. My parents said this was a life lesson or something to that effect. And then I got sent down to the minors, so I was pissed off at the world.”
“We both suffered alone,” I say gently. “I wish we’d had each other to lean on.”
“I wish that too.”
“It’s been four years, Jordan. Do you think it’s possible to…start over?”
“Start over?” He blinks, as if he wasn’t expecting that.
“Yeah. You know, spend a little time together. See if there’s still a spark.”
“Baby, you know damn well there’s still a spark. If there wasn’t, we wouldn’t be here.” His gaze is practically burning into mine.
There is absolutely still a spark. It’s so evident the whole restaurant could probably see it if they look close enough.
It’s just a matter of whether or not we want to act on it.
I know I do.
“So…what do we do?” I ask finally.
“I leave on a road trip tomorrow,” he says slowly. “But I’ll be back Sunday and if the flight isn’t delayed, I’d like to take you to dinner.”
“Okay,” I whisper softly. “Yes.”