Page 52 of Crossing the Brooklyn Briggs
I blink. “What?”
“Mark who? Hunky Landscaper is in town and taking center stage.”
“No.”
“Your drooling says otherwise.”
I wish I had a pillow right now; she deserves a good whack. “This conversation is over and I’m going home.” I gather up my purse and hope I don’t limp too badly as I head for the door.
“Is Jordan going to be there? He is! Your face says it all.”
Curse my inability to control my expressions! I wonder if Jordan could teach me that like he taught me how to flirt. “Bye, Jaydin.”
“Have fun with your sexy gardener!” Her words echo in the empty hall as I head to my car.
As much as I’m looking forward to seeing Jordan again, which is a strange feeling, I doubt tonight is going to befun. I’m going to be on edge, trying not to continue my experiment because Jordan made it clear that he won’t be pursuing romance with me anytime soon. Or ever. We’ve known each other since we were fourteen, so you’d think he would have done something by now if he was ever interested.
And okay, yeah, there were those ten years after high school where we didn’t interact at all, but it still feels like I’ve known him forever. And unlike the rest of the baseball team, Jordan never tried to ask me out. He had plenty of opportunities, but our interactions almost always involved some sort of prank or pushing all my buttons.
That’s what I keep telling myself the whole drive home, but it doesn’t do anything to make me less nervous as I stress-clean the basement in anticipation of Jordan coming over. I know it’s ridiculous—he just spent three days in this basement with me and cleaned a lot of it already—but I want to make a good impression. Why? It’s not like a clean toilet is going to change his mind about dating me.
When I pull back the shower curtain to give the tub a scrub, I freeze when I see the dark bottle of body wash that isn’t mine. Jordan must have forgotten to grab it this morning when he packed up his stuff and headed back to his parents’ house.
I have no idea what time it is—my phone disappeared soon after I got home—and Jordan will probably be here soon, so I should get to scrubbing. Instead, I open the bottle of body wash and inhale deeply. Yep, this is my new favorite scent, and I will absolutely be keeping this bottle. It’s basically empty, so he’ll need to get more anyway. I’ll just tuck it away in the cabinet and—
“Pilfering my stuff, Queens?”
I scream and squeeze the bottle, which sends a stream of luscious body wash straight into my nose. Guess it wasn’t as empty as I thought…
Jordan bites his knuckle, which is probably the only reason he’s not dying of laughter right now. He really needs to stop because that combined with his grin is not doing me any favors.
“Towel,” I demand, holding out my hand. Thank goodness none of it got in my eyes or mouth. A small miracle, I suppose.
He tosses the hand towel at me and then leans against the door frame, arms folded. Yep. That’s worse. My little bathroom is suddenly a million degrees. “I promise I didn’t mean to scare you.” He purses his lips and tilts his head. “Okay, maybe a little.”
Once the bulk of the soap is off my face, I stand to wash off the rest in the sink. “How did you get in here?”
“Door was unlocked.”
“So you just let yourself in?”
“I knocked. And tried calling you.”
“Ah, right, I don’t know where my phone is.”
As if he knew the conversation would go here, he holds up my phone. “Sitting on the welcome mat outside.”
Well, that’s embarrassing. “I think it was trying to run away from me,” I grumble. Clicking it on, I find two missed calls from Jordan, as well as a text, and it looks like Micah just sent a text to our sibling group chat.
Micah: Good luck with your game tonight, Houston! Break a leg!
“I’m surprised Micah remembered Houston is playing tonight,” I mutter and start limping my way to the living room right as Houston replies. I only make it two steps before Jordan slips my arm around his shoulders and basically carries me to the couch.
“How’s that foot today?”
I hadn’t realized how much it was throbbing until Jordan elevates it on a pillow. “It’s mostly better,” I tell him, “but I did a lot of walking and standing today. Do you think you could…never mind.”
He rolls his eyes and heads for the kitchen, going straight for the ice. “I’ll rub it out for you, and then you’ll ice it.”
