Page 6 of The Boy

“Su—” Jordan pauses mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. The corner of his mouth lifts, that familiar spark igniting behind his eyes. Then, his whole face lights up. His grin grows wider, boyish and unguarded, and it’s in that moment when I feel something deeper than physical attraction.

I am not someone who enjoys spending time with others, but with Jordan, I don’t mind. Odd, for sure, and it makes me feel like I’m standing in the middle of a rocking boat, ready to topple any time. This whole thing is weird from the start, but watching him this happy has just become one of my favorite things ever.

“I’ll do you one better,” he exclaims, his excitement contagious. “How about I cook for you? I’m a great cook. No, scratch that. I’m an amazing cook.”

I fold my arms over my chest and cock my head to the side. “Your confidence is really something else.”

“I know, right?”

“You wouldn’t know humility if it struck you in the face.”

“That’s because humility knows better than to mess withmoi.” He emphasizes the last word by dragging his hands from his hair to his chest. “Besides, if something does hit me in the face, my hair will still be fabulous.”

I groan and give him the side eye. “Let’s go before your vanity makes me lose my appetite.”

I guessI should have expected it.

His two-bedroom apartment, which he shares with his friend Toby, is messy and chaotic. The moment I step inside, I’m hit by the smell of pizza and something burnt.

He probably sees me scrunching my nose because he says defensively, “That’s Toby. He burned his breakfast after reheating a slice of pizza on the pan.”

I turn to look at the kitchen. “You have a microwave?”

“Yeah, but he says it’s more delish when you put it on the pan, except he forgot he needed to put a bit of water on it.”

“Right.”

God, this living situation is an absolute nightmare. I would never want to live with someone who burned his pizza and left the whole place smelling like it. I mean, I live in a small space where I can go from the door to the porch in three seconds flat, but boy, I can never take this kind of mess.

The couch is half-buried under a pile of throw pillows, hoodies, and socks. Three empty coffee mugs are on the table, right beside two controllers and a tangle of wires.

Jordan grabs the hoodies and socks and throws them into the bedroom. He pats the cleared space and tells me, “Make yourself comfortable.”

So I do. I sit there and watch him darting around the room like a man on a mission. He grabs a couple of shirts from the floor and flings it to the same bedroom before quickly slamming it shut.

“That’s your bedroom, right?”

Jordan gives me a lopsided grin that makes my heart skip a beat. “No.”

He stuffs papers and small electronics into the cabinet under the TV. A stack of books topples over, and he catches them just in time, muttering a curse under his breath.

“If you throw those books, I’m going to leave.”

He blinks slowly. “I wouldn’t dare. I love books.”

“You only ever bring one notebook to class.”

“So you notice?”

Damn it. I walked in on that one, didn’t I? “I see it when you come to annoy me.”

He doesn’t believe me, if that shit-eating grin is any indication, and he whistles as he brings the books to a single-seater couch. Jordan looks around and sees one stray sock before shoving it into a drawer that doesn’t seem like it’s for socks. “Done. Now I’ll make you lunch.”

Jordan rolls his Henley shirt to his elbows and begins washing the dishes. His arms and back muscles stretch under the thin fabric, and I’m well aware I need to look away before he catches me and teases me again.

Yet, I can’t.

From the broad shoulders and chest tapering to a small waist, he is the very definition of sexy. He’s tall enough that his head reaches the overhead drawers. If I have to guess, I’d say he’s at least 6’2.

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