Page 9 of Limbo

A strange request, but I hand it over.

“We have another thirty-minute set before I’m finished for the night. And then I’m going to win you over.” He backs to the door and pushes it open. “Drink. Stay. Good Callie.”

“You’re going to win me over?”

“Yeah, you don’t want to miss it.” He steps back once more into the house and winks, shutting the door.

I return to the banister and smile. He’s right; I don’t want to miss whatever winning me over entails. Especially after the work he’s put into getting me to stay. In all fairness, though, I would have gone back inside regardless of Jordan Waters chasing me down. I kind of have no choice.

Felicia’s my ride.

The band starts playing as I walk over the threshold. I immediately feel Jordan watching me. Surely, he credits himself with my reappearance, so to avoid further inflating the kid’s ego, I climb the stairs without looking at him.

When I come down from dropping off my coat, all the bodies crammed into the living room increase the level of difficulty in locating Felicia. I navigate through a maze of backs and shoulder blades and fight my way out near the couch where she’s perched. Well, she is until she launches herself at me. She seizes hold of my chin and points it toward the stage.

It’s worth the possible bruise on my jaw to see Jordan playing his guitar, sporting the hat, scarf, and nothing else but a towel. He directs a grin at me, and despite the overconfidence playing across his face, I smile back. How can I not at this point? His expression softens in response and develops into a real smile. Fuck if I don’t feel that one everywhere at once.

A tug on my hand drags me over to the couch. I squeeze in between Felicia and Becca to watch the show. Other than a few times when he glances down at the guitar and once when he says something to the singer, Jordan’s attention stays on me through the entire set. A few times, I look away just to break his gaze. Only one other person has ever stared at me so intensely. I don’t want my mind to create an association between the two.

Jordan holds the last note to the song well after everyone else has stopped. By my approximation, his half hour is up. The singer nods in his direction and then checks over his shoulder. Behind the drums, Johnny laughs, his head falling back.

“Unfortunately, boys and girls, our evening with you has come to an end.” The singer grins, one hand on the microphone, and the room fills with groans. “I know. I know. But lucky for you, Jordan, in all his scantily clad glory, has made one final song request.”

Jordan regains the crowd’s favor as he plays the easily recognized notes of the eighties hair classic, “Sweet Child o’ Mine.” At least I know he pays attention. For the chorus, he joins the singer at the microphone—eyes always on me.

During his guitar solo, Felicia leans over. “You’re the girl with the blue eyes.”

I roll those blue eyes at her but smile. As it turns out, changing my mind is completely possible. It only takes a rambling confession, embarrassing outfit, and a Guns N’ Roses song.

At the end of the song, the singer rips the towel off, leaving Jordan onstage in his boxers. Unfazed by the move, he gives a deep bow, throws off the strap, and sets down his guitar. He makes yet another dramatic exit, leaping off the stage and dashing through the crowd to the stairs.

“All right, guys,” the singer says, “for real this time. Have a good night.”

Space opens up as people disperse throughout the house. Becca’s one of them, returning to the other room. The same guy from earlier regains Felicia’s attention. It allows me to make my way across to the stairs without her eagle eyes noticing.

He’s in the room of coats, back to the doorway and dressed. I watch his reflection in the mirror on top of the dresser as he sticks my hat and scarf into my coat pocket.

“So much for being fully clothed for all future encounters,” I say.

He looks up, his gaze meeting mine in the mirror. “A senseless thing to say.” He rotates around, facing me. “I meant, all future encounters in public. But I failed on that front as well.”

On my way over to him, I run my hand along the objects on a shelf lining the edge of the room. It’s been a long time since I followed a guy into a bedroom at a party. The only reason I chose to now, I can only blame on that damn smile and song.

“An interesting song choice.”

“What can I say?” He steps to the right, bumping the corner of the dresser. His eyes close for a second as if it hurts, but he quickly recovers. “Inspiration struck.”

I stop in front of him. Even in the limited light streaming in from the hallway, I watch his gaze lower to my mouth. My pulse picks up, breaths faster. The moments leading up to a kiss are intoxicating, all the want and anticipation.

When he pushes my hair back, he keeps his warm hand on my face. His eyes flick up for a second before he lowers his lips onto mine. The hand on my cheek moves to the back of my neck. Mine slide up his chest as he deepens the kiss.

Jordan’s tongue glides over mine until a creaky floorboard in the hallway sends me backing across the room. An overreaction? Maybe. But one Callie rule I won’t break: no public hook-ups. No matter how tempting the idea or guy. They can destroy a reputation, and those things are damn near impossible to repair.

“Sorry.” I touch my lips, the sensation of his lingering on them. “I’m unsure about this…”

A laugh from the hall has me checking the door. Given my current level of paranoia, this is definitely not the place for us to continue.

I’m about to finish my explanation and suggest we go somewhere else when Jordan smirks. “If you put your tongue in my mouth unsure, I’m dying to see you certain.”

---