Page 26 of Limbo

Now for my Lauren imitation—my voice but a tad higher and breathier. Like I’m flirting with everyone in a five-mile radius. “This is Lauren Henders. Connor’s staying home for the first few periods today.”

“Just a second, Ms. Henders.” She taps on a keyboard.

Someone knocks on my bedroom door. I swing it open to see Jordan standing there with coffee. Jesus, he can pull off thespent the night on a couchlook—disastrous hair, wrinkled shirt, more aggressive stubble.

“He’ll be absent, you said?”

Gloria brings me back to my primary task, and I walk away from him, hiding a smile.

“Yes, for the morning classes.”

“Everything’s okay, I hope,” she says, her concern sincere.

“Just feeling a little under the weather.”

“Oh, the poor dear. Make sure he stays hydrated and comfortable.”

“Right, rest and fluids,” I say. “Thank you, Mrs. Rodriguez.”

Oh shit. I forgot to call her Gloria.

Luckily, she misses my slipup and says, “You take care, Ms. Henders.”

“You too.”

I toss my phone on the bed, and when I spin around, Jordan’s leaning against the doorframe. His mouth turns up at the corners, eyes on me. Once my focus shifts onto him, the emotions of the weekend finally lose their hold. Apparently, Towel Boy provides the perfect distraction from all the shit.

I relieve him of the coffee in his hand. “Good morning, Jordan.”

“Good morning, beautiful.”

I hate that my stomach flips when he calls me that since it’s probably a pet name he calls every girl. I throw in an eye roll just for good measure.

“Please don’t make a habit out of sleeping on our couch.” My amusement almost betrays me, remembering how close he came to waking up with Jess on top of him, but I lock it down. I grab my messenger bag and phone and point at the bed on my way out. “The blanket needs to be folded and put back on the bed.” Halfway through the common area, I retreat, poking my head in again. “And, no, I don’t need a ride, but thank you for the coffee.”

He smiles that damn smile. Since I haven’t seen it in a few days, it cuts through me more than ever. So much in fact that it sends me dashing out the door.

Just a smile, Henders.

But Jesus Christ, it’s one hell of a smile.

Determined to enjoy the full college experience, Felicia twists my arm—literally when I try to run away from her—into attending a party. We meet Becca at the house off-campus, and the night proceeds like every other one. Keg in the kitchen. Beer pong set up in the middle of a room. Music blaring from the living room. A pile of coats upstairs where you might retrieve yours from, if no one else takes it home with them first.

“I asked Jordan to come,” Felicia says as we wait for the bathroom. “He said no.”

A safe choice, considering our last experience at a party together.

Her gaze travels over my shoulder, her expression all I need to know that a man is standing behind me.

“Hey,” she says.

I step out of the way, not wanting to come between her and the object of her affection. Average height, average face, average all over nods at her. A friend pops up beside him, just as unmemorable with blond hair and blue eyes, like half the partygoers. His eyes dart between the lovebirds, acknowledging their connection before they land on me.

“A long line for the bathroom at a party,” he says. “So passé.”

“I heard most places are completely doing away with them.”

Felicia and Average Joe stay locked in their stare, neither capable of speech.

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