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Seven minutes later, though, I pull into the driveway, and she hops out before I’ve even killed the engine.
“Jordan?” I call, swinging my door open.
What the hell? We’re not fighting again, are we?
But she glances over her shoulder as she walks toward the porch. “I’m just gonna get in my swimsuit.”
I stand there, twirling the keyring on my finger. Oooookay.
Awareness pricks on the back of my neck, and I turn my head, scanning the neighborhood for Cole’s car or his mother’s. Then I dart my gaze over the windows of nearby houses for peeled-back curtains or movement.
I’m sure there’s talk on the block by now.
People notice things, and Cole is rarely here, while his girlfriend and I are constantly together. It won’t take long for people to come to their own conclusions.
By the time I make it into the house, Jordan is nowhere to be seen. Trailing upstairs, I pass her closed bedroom door and head to my room to change into swim shorts. She’s still in her room when I come out, and I head back downstairs to grab some water bottles and turn on the backyard lights. The pool lights up, and I turn on the radio affixed underneath the cabinet, some chick singing about Guys My Age already playing on the station Jordan has it tuned to.
My phone beeps with an unfamiliar ring, and I walk over to the island and pick it up.
Jordan. Why is she FaceTiming me?
Answering, I see her appear on the screen, but she’s looking down at me, like her phone
is propped up on something lower than her. Like her desk. Her hair drapes around her, and I can’t really see anything else other than the glow of the overhead light.
“What are you doing?” I ask, carrying the phone into the living room.
But she remains silent.
I sit down on the couch, leaning my elbows on my knees and watching her. A small smile plays on her lips, and she moves her head left and then right, and I can tell she’s toying with me. She stands up straight, and I lose sight of her face, but her beautiful body comes into view, and I see that she’s wearing the shell bikini.
My heart skips a beat, and I have to fight back a smile. Her breasts bulge outside of the little pink fabric, and the thin strings look so delicate on her tan skin. I want to ask her to turn around, but I’d rather just have her down here.
The screen jostles, and I see she’s repositioning the phone farther back, and when she comes into view again, I can see part of the desk, her body, and her face now. She leans into the desk, eyeing me with a flirty look, her arms pressing into her body and, coincidentally, her breasts, too.
I quirk a smile. “Yes, Jordan?”
“I’m not a kid,” she says, her smile suddenly disappearing.
A feeling of trepidation courses through me, and I knew this was too good to be true. She’s teasing me, and she’s not coming down now.
I sigh and lay back on the couch. “Then stop acting like one,” I reply.
She stares down, pinning me with her defiant eyes. “I’m not a kid,” she says again.
And I watch as she reaches one hand behind her neck and the other behind her back and pulls both strings, the pathetic little pieces of fabric falling off her body and to the floor.
I swallow a hard lump at the sight of her. I was going to do that, dammit.
Her hard nipples stand out at me, and the skin on my palms buzz with the memory of her in my hands. My stomach flips, and my cock is swelling with need already.
Please don’t do this to me.
But I can’t look away.
I can’t hear the music in her room, or maybe she’s hearing mine in the kitchen, but she starts swaying a little bit and rocking her hips, closing her eyes and running her hands up, down, and all over her body, face and hair. She looks like dessert.
Biting her bottom lip, she plays with me, caressing her tits and slipping her hands down her stomach and playing with the hem of her bottoms, threatening to pull them down.
