But even as my mind wanders over the idea, Lemon steps in close to Jordan, sneaking a thin arm around his waist.
Jordan snorts. Tugs him in for a side hug.
Then steps away from Lemon and closer to me.
“I have a thing this morning, but …” There’s a slight pink flush on his cheeks and suddenly I don’t give a shit that Lemon just tried to stake a claim because Jordan’s looking at me with something that looks an awful lot likehopein his navy blues.
Fucking fuck, I missed him so goddamn much it hurts.
“What are you doing later?”
Fluttering erupts in my gut, and I do my best to tamper the resulting grin.
It doesn’t work and I’m certain I look every bit the madman I feel.
“You asking me out, Tyro?”
That pink darkens the slightest bit, but then his lips tip up in an almost smile and he fuckingnods.
I’m dying right here on the hardwood.
Send everyone my love, because I’m following the reaper into this afterlife.
“Yeah, Vida,” he breathes out and steps closer, his knuckles brushing my abs and I nearly swallow my fucking tongue. “Yeah, I am.”
Gawd damn.
Another burst of fluttering steals all the oxygen in my lungs.
The only answer is one word and it cracks; “Okay.”
“Okay.” He nods again, searches my gaze for a beat with hands wringing in front of him.
Then he leans in, steals what’s left of my breath and presses his soft lips to the stubble on my cheek. It’s quick. Swift. Over too soon and leaving me staring after his retreating form.
Yet ... it’s everything.
Chapter Seventy
Jordan
I told my therapist.
Not that she didn’t already know about Mac, but saying the words out loud only made them feel more real. Solidified them. Gave them a crackling of sunshine in the perpetual darkness.
She warned me to go slow. To take my time and make sure this is what I want. But also to be safe and enjoy myself for once.
Do the one thing I’ve wanted to for two and a half goddamn years.
It’s a date.
Holy mother of fucking all things … I have a date with Mac Thompson.
I’m nervous.
Jittery.
Excited.