Page 36 of Crossing the Brooklyn Briggs
He goes stiff again, and he seems to be weighing his options as he looks from the bag of ice to my foot. He didn’t have a problem with this before, so something has definitely changed. “Sure,” he says eventually. He shifts in his seat, which pulls him farther away from me, and maneuvers his computer so he can keep working while holding the ice for me.
I notice he is careful to only touch the ice instead of my skin.
That adds evidence to my theory but doesn’t help me figure out whether he wants to touch me or not. I’ll have to try something else in a few minutes.
I think I last maybe five minutes before I give up on trying to concentrate on grading these assignments. I am not at all focused, and I’m more likely to mess up on grades right now than I would like. Can’t have my students suffering just because Jordan is distracting me.
He seems engrossed enough in whatever he’s working on that I can probably examine him a little more closely than normal without him noticing. See if I can try to read him better.
He changed out of his nice shirt and jeans as soon as we got back to my house, which probably means he isn’t planning on going anywhere else today, which is fine by me. Now that he wears sweats and a t-shirt, I’ve got a great view of his upper arm muscles and the way they have a fluid motion to them every time he moves. Houston and Chad are both plenty strong—Houston’s pitching arm is frankly a little ridiculous—but Jordan has a leanness to him that intrigues me. He’s like a jungle cat, built for speed and agility more than for power. It fits his quick and light personality, just like his near-constant smile. My resting face is a little more moody, or so I’ve been told, but Jordan’s showcases his general cheerfulness.
How does he do it? Sure, he has his own company right now, which is cool, but I didn’t get the feeling that it’s a raging success. His mom is dealing with cancer, and he is only a year or so off of a divorce, so it’s not like his life is super great. Maybe it is. Maybe he’s like Micah and only sees the good in things. Either way, I wish I could share hisjoie de vivreand be more confident that my life is how I want it to be.
Maybe if I win STEM Teacher of the Year, it will be. This is my only chance to do the one thing I’ve wanted to do with my life.
“How is that feeling?” Jordan asks, lifting the ice. Has it already been fifteen minutes?
I shrug. “Numb?”
That gets a smile out of him, which I am quite proud of. “I guess that’s better than in pain.” He hops up to dump out the ice, and when he returns, he seems to forget his goal to keep space between us. He’s definitely closer than he was before, even if he’s still on the other side of the couch.
I should get back to my experiment.
I pick up the remote and then pretend to lose control of it, sending it flying in Jordan’s direction.
He snorts a laugh and holds it out to me. “Does your war with technology extend to TV remotes too?”
My face heats. It adds to the illusion that it was an accident, so I only sort of care that I’m turning red. “All technology,” I confirm. As I take the remote, I make sure my fingers brush his. There’s definitely a spark of connection when we touch, but Jordan barely reacts. Hmm. “Actually, do you want to pick what we watch? I’m not really feelingPoldark, and we don’t have to keep watching period dramas.”
He eyes the remote, which I’m holding in an awkward way that will make it impossible for him not to touch me. It’s probably a little too obvious, but whatever. A crease forms between his eyebrows, but he takes the remote anyway. This time when our fingers brush, he grimaces.
Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for.
He switches the TV toDownton Abbeyof all things and goes back to his computer.
“Are you sure you want to watch this?” I reach over and touch his arm for half a second.
He looks down at the place I touched, closes his eyes, and then looks back up at me. “I like watching this with you. But I can pick something else if you want. I still need to finish the first season ofBridgerton.”
My reaction surprises even me when I take his arm in a death grip. “What do you mean,finish? When did you start watchingBridgerton?” And why would Jordan watch something like that?
He actually looks embarrassed, wrinkling up his nose and looking around the room as if looking for an escape. “I meant to keep that one as a guilty pleasure,” he mumbles. “I started it last night and got sucked into the story. Skipped most of the steamy scenes, though. According to the internet, the second season is better, but I didn’t get that far.”
I tried watching that show, but when I’m used to the “no touching each other” aspect of Jane Austen stories, the physical intimacy between the characters was too much for me. It surprises me that Jordan would be more interested in the story than in the other aspects, not that I’ve ever thought him to be that kind of guy.
“What?” Jordan says, and I realize I’m still gripping his arm.
I let go. “Sorry. You just keep surprising me. We can keep watchingDownton.”
I’ve ended up closer to him during this conversation, which means I can see his computer better. I’m not trying to pry, but I’m curious what a landscaper would work on online. “Is that your website?”
He turns his screen so I can see, but I scoot myself closer, both because I’m interested and because I’m still conducting my experiment. He tenses up yet again when my shoulder brushes his.
“What do you think?” he asks, his voice a little strained.
I think there’s something going on between us that I don’t understand, and I wish I did. “It looks really good! Though, being technically challenged, I wouldn’t know how to schedule you to work on my yard.”
He frowns, shifting the screen back to face him. “Huh. I never thought about that. There’s a contact form here, but otherwise you have to go to this screen over here to schedule a quote.” He shows me what he means. “I still need to take care of your yard, by the way. I’ll do that tomorrow.”
