Page 41 of His Turn

“Well,” Jordan says, lifting his glass. “Here’s to the start of something special.”

Nadia lifts her glass and then takes a sip. When I look over at Jordan he’s looking at her the way I looked at Rochelle two weeks ago.

He says he’s not in love with Nadia. I wasn’t in love with Rochelle, either. But there’s a pull here between these two. Just as there was a pull there between Rochelle and me.

Maybe I should just bow out now? Why should I help him get what he wants? Why should I always be the one left over?

“Hey, Bric?” Jordan says, snapping his fingers.

“What?” I say, becoming annoyed.

“I asked you a question.”

“I was thinking about something else,” I admit. “Repeat it, please.”

“Do we really want to play the game here?” Jordan asks. “We could get our own place.”

“I don’t—”

“Quiet, Nadia,” Jordan says. Not mean, but definitely authoritative enough to shut her up. “Let’s look for one together.”

I glance over at Nadia. She’s frowning. She likes her apartment, I guess. The way Chella liked her house. But Chella settled in.

Yeah, and look what happened after that.

But I already tried the new apartment with Rochelle and Quin. That didn’t work out well, either.

“Think about it,” Jordan says. “We’ll go looking together. Make it ours, you know.”

Ours. Maybe that was the problem with the loft? It was mine. I guess, looking at this whole thing from Quin’s point of view, he probably thought I was trying to steal Rochelle and Adley away from him.

Was I?

It’s a hard question I don’t want to answer.

“Sounds fun,” I tell Jordan, then raise my glass of brandy in a delayed response to their toast. “To the start of something special.”

“Great,” Jordan says, smiling at Nadia. The table is set for three. It’s round, not the one we use to spy on people down below, and we are spaced evenly around the perimeter. So Jordan can look at her, he’d said earlier.

Didn’t Rochelle tell me Quin sat across from her for the same reason?

God, I need to get these people out of my head.

“This weekend?” I ask them, breaking their moment. “We should go look this weekend. I have a guy. I’ll have him set up some viewings.”

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m going to say it anyway,” Nadia says. “I like where I live. I don’t want to move. Why can’t we just… stay there?”

“No,” Jordan and I say together. At least we are on the same page as far as this goes.

“Why?” she persists. “Because living at my place would take away your illusion of control?”

“Illusion,” I say, laughing. “Don’t fool yourself, darling. We are in control.”

She smiles at me. But it’s not the sweet kind she seems to be throwing at Jordan tonight. “I’m not submissive, Bric. Making me feel good for one night? That’s not enough to change that, you know.”

I shrug. “It’s a start.”

Jordan’s phone rings in his suit coat. He pulls it out, frowns at the screen, and then tabs accept and says, “Jordan Wells,” as he stands up and leaves the table, holding up one finger to us in a, Just a second, gesture.