“What was life on Earth like when you were my age?”
I shook my head in amusement. “How old are you now, twenty-seven?”
“Yes, Sir.”
I released a breath. To be that young again…
“Nineteen years ago, I guess I was gearing up to celebrate my one-year anniversary with Nate,” I answered. “Life on Earth was way easier back then. Gas was cheaper. Food was cheaper. The pretzels were better. After work, I headed over to Tower Records and bought a new CD—unless I picked up a bootleg on South Street. We were culturally still stuck in the ’90s. It was horrible being an Eagles fan, but at least it was easy to find parking in Center City after work hours. And people complain about the garbage smell today? Fuck. Nothing compared to what it was back then.” I smiled to myself and wiped my mouth with a paper towel. “There was this one place that had the best fuckin’ chicken fries too.”
Damn. Jordan’s attempt to brat me had not only failed but sent me down the rabbit hole of memory lane.
I sighed. “Then the world changed on 9/11.”
Jordan appeared to be done too, so he returned his food to the table. “I’d say my trolling failed, but I like listening to you.”
He was sweet.
I leaned back against the cushions and felt weirdly content.
“You’re not leaving yet, are you?” He mirrored my move and ended up right beside me, shoulder to shoulder.
“Nah. I gotta make sure you survive your illness first.” I lolled my head along the back cushion and faced him.
He tucked his hands together and trapped them between his cheek and the cushion, and he blinked sleepily.
Goddamn, he was adorable.
“Eagles. I don’t like them,” he admitted.
I narrowed my eyes. “Careful now, little one. The bird or Philly’s finest?”
He flashed a quick grin. “Both! Football is boring, and the bird terrorizes other birds. Some subspecies feast on penguin chicks! Did you know?”
He was just a bird trivia factory, wasn’t he?
“I had no idea,” I murmured. “How are you faring with your deadly illness?”
“The abdomflixifluxitis? It’s still pretty flixifluxy.”
I exhaled a laugh. “Sounds rough. Is it contagious? I don’t have the time to get sick.”
He shook his head and sat up straighter to reach his soda. “No, Sir. Only sweet boys can get it. Big, bad Sadists are immune.”
Big, bad?—
A smirk tugged at my lips. “You found my Mclean profile, didn’t you?”
I sure as fuck hadn’t mentioned I was a Sadist to him.
Jordan was suddenly extremely focused on his Coke—and avoiding eye contact.
I smiled slyly and tugged at his PJs. “Jordan…?”
“Crap,” he whispered and stared at the soda can. He licked his lips too and rubbed his nose. “MaybeI found you there?”
Was that a question?
Damn, I couldn’t shake the smile.
