Page 171 of Crew
Typical Jordan. I laughed. "Of course."
Cross tugged me to him again, his hand sliding down my arm and curling around my waist. His fingers moved up under my shirt. "And that means we've got the whole night to ourselves."
And the whole house.
"Where are your parents?"
He grinned wolfishly. "Who the fuck cares?"
The cough should've alarmed me.
Cross was never sick, and I hadn't coughed. But it didn't. It only woke me. I was too sleepy to process it all the way. I opened one eye to find Cross sleeping, his face turned toward me. He was half-curled in a ball, his head missing the pillow. His long eyelashes... I reached out to trace my hand down his face.
I'd always thought it, but it was only reinforced now: he had so much potential. He was smart. He was handsome. He was funny. He could follow, but he was a leader. He was my leader. I looked down over his strong jawline to the muscles that moved up and down with such ease as he breathed. He was a specimen, a perfect and masterful specimen.
He was mine. That's what he was.
"Are you done ogling Cross, Bren?"
Both Cross and I reacted at the same time. I flipped around, one hand going for the sheet and the other for my knife. Cross merely leaped over me.
It was Jordan sitting in Cross' desk chair, but Cross had lunged for him. He couldn't pull back, even after he saw who it was. They both fell to the floor, and Cross rolled away and to his knees. He'd had the foresight to put his boxer briefs on again, but not me. My underwear was on, but he'd talked me into letting my boobs breathe free.
"Jordan!" Cross scrambled to his feet, breathing harshly, which highlighted every single one of the muscles in his chest and stomach. He raised a hand, but stopped. He looked from me to Jordan. His hand lowered. "Shit."
Jordan wasn't smiling. His mouth was set in a firm line, and he looked worried.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Put your clothes on, Bren."
"Jordan--" Cross started, pointing to me.
Jordan cut him off, waving his hand briskly in the air. "I don't care about that."
I grabbed my tank and pulled it on. The same with my jeans. I couldn't find my bra, but at the moment, I didn't care. Something was wrong.
"What happened?" I asked again.
Jordan hesitated, glancing back to Cross. "Maybe you should sit for this?"
No one sat.
I rubbed a hand over my face. "Just tell us, Jordan." I looked to the open door.
"No one's here," Jordan said. "Zellman's at the hospital." He started to say more, but stopped. His eyes closed, and he seemed to shrink in size, becoming half the guy he usually was.
"Jordan." A low warning from Cross. "Just say it."
He opened his eyes, first finding me. An appealing look flared for a second, and I stepped toward him. I felt like he was asking me to draw near, but that wasn't like him at all.
"Race went to the hospital last night. He was there with your sister."
"Yeah. We knew that." Cross was frowning. He crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging with the movement.
"And we all went to Manny's. We heard Alex was there."
"We knew that too."
