Page 66 of Heated
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CYRUS
“Why am I here again?” I ask Jordan just as my cell phone vibrates. I remove it from the front pocket of my black dress pants, glance at the screen, and decline the call.
This shit again. What the fuck?
“Because you ain’t doing sh—jack else,” he says, quickly correcting himself for the benefit of the preteen holding the basketball jersey out to Jordan. “What’s up, lil man?”
Jordan greets the boy, scrawling his name across the number. For the next couple of minutes, he talks with the kid, and by the time the youth leaves, he’s grinning and grasping the top to his chest like it’s a treasure map.
And so on and so on with all the middle and high school children who approach him to have jerseys, basketballs, posters, photos, and even limbs signed. The charity event, held at one of the local middle schools, invited several athletes from various Denver professional sports teams to come and speak to handpicked inner city youth from several different schools, hand out sports paraphernalia, and sign autographs. It’s a great event, and the smiles on the kids’ faces, even those who appear determined to remain unaffected by all of this, are inspiring.
Still ... I’m not sure why Jordan called me at the ungodly hour of 4:00 a.m. and demanded I accompany him here. Not when he has an agent and a manager.
My cell vibrates again, and though I’m 50 percent certain whose name will occupy the screen, I can’t risk ignoring it. Not when I’m hoping to seeanothername.
It’s been a week since I left Zora’s house. A week since I’ve heard from her.
I could’ve called, sent a text, tugged on the fake-girlfriend arrangement. But I meant what I said to her. This is her decision, her choice. And I won’t influence her in any way. No matter how much it goes against the grain not to do just that.
I remove my phone from my pocket and peer at the screen again. And hit declineagain.
This is getting ridiculous and annoying as hell.
Several hours later, the crowds start to thin, and Jordan walks up to me where I’ve found a shadowed corner, a wall, and relative privacy. As much privacy as one can find in a gym full of excited middle and high schoolers.
“Hey, ready to go?” Jordan appears in front of me, interrupting an email reply to my legal assistant.
I don’t bother looking up at him as I continue to type out my message.
“In a minute. Let me finish this. In the meantime, mind answering my question from earlier? Why am I here?” I hit send on the email and tuck the cell in my pocket. “Not that this hasn’t been a great event.”
He slaps me on the shoulder. “Shit, I did you a favor and saved you from yourself. If I hadn’t called, you either would’ve been holed up in your office working or holed up in your house working. On a Saturday. You’re welcome.”
“So you’ve appointed yourself my personal savior now? No thanks. And you don’t want that job. It’s a thankless post. Ask my last guardianangel. You can probably find him at the local bar or on his therapist’s couch.”
“Savior?” Jordan snorts. “Martyrdom is so last year. Honestly, I just didn’t want to come alone, and since my agent would annoy the fuck out of me, I chose you. So here we are. Now”—he claps his hands and rubs them together—“let’s go eat. I’m starving. And on the way, you can tell me who’s been blowing up your phone.”
Shit. He would notice that.
I sigh, and he smirks.
“Val.”
Jordan skids to a stop in the middle of the gym floor and scowls down at me from his six-foot, nine-inch height.
“You’re shittin’ me.”
Several adults within earshot throw disapproving glances his way, but he either doesn’t see them or just doesn’t give a damn.
“No, I’m not shittin’ you.”
If possible, his scowl deepens.
“I thought you weren’t talking to her anymore.”
“I’m not. We haven’t spoken since—” Since she sent Zora to my house to dump me. “Since we ended things. That’s been weeks. I have no idea why she’s suddenly calling me now. And don’t care.”
