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Jordan glanced over his shoulder. “She’s not my type.”
“Serenghetti, they’re all your type. What’s wrong with her?”
“Too young.”
Marc gave a mock gasp and clutched his chest. “Be still my heart. You cruised past thirty, and suddenly twenty-five is too young?”
“How do you know how old she is?”
Marc gave a sly smile. “On my way over here to keep company with your sorry cooking-competition-losing self, I happened to find out she’s already got her degree and is going for another in marine biology.”
“As I said, not my type.”
“Well, well,” Marc drawled, “look which kitty cat has changed his stripes.”
Vince laughed.
“Maybe you’re still thinking about that physical therapist,” Marc commented.
“Appearances can be deceiving,” Jordan responded, refusing to be drawn in.
He’d rather eat a hockey puck or two than admit to...feelings. He’d never hear the end of it from his teammates.
“Meaning?” Marc prompted.
Jordan raised his eyebrows but made sure to keep his tone nonchalant. “Maybe Sera’s just my biggest challenge yet.”
Or he was hers. Damn. He and Sera had never discussed the future, and he’d been content to live in the moment. And what moments they’d been... Still, the last thing he needed was for his teammates to latch onto the idea that his relationship with Sera was anything more than casual. Although, how he and Sera were going to continue to keep things on the down low after shattering the final barrier in their relationship on the night of his cousin’s wedding, he had no idea. Sera hadn’t said anything, but they were already skating on thin ice with Mia in the know.
“What about our bet that you could make her melt?” Marc asked. “Are you conceding defeat?” His teammate tut-tutted. “You’re on a losing streak, Serenghetti. First, the cooking show, now—”
“I’m not conceding anything.” Jordan made a motion indicating he was zipping his lips and throwing away the key. Let Marc speculate all he wanted. He wasn’t going to admit anything—or divulge intimate details.
When Marc just laughed, Jordan glanced over his shoulder and then sobered. “Hi, Dante.”
He wondered how long Sera’s brother had been standing there and what he’d heard and then shrugged off the thought. His words could be read in many ways.
* * *
She’d never felt this way about a guy. There, she’d admitted it. He’d been a laundry list of her nevers, but Jordan had somehow become her must-have. She couldn’t wait to see him again, jump his bones and float in a happy bubble of coupledom.
Her former self would have found it all ridiculously saccharine instead of cause for a goofy smile. Few would be able to tolerate her right now—even her own past selves.
Take Marisa, for example.
She’d just run into her cousin in the produce aisle of the local supermarket, Bellerose. Pushing her cart and daydreaming, she’d almost jumped when Marisa had called out her name.
Her cousin knit her brow. “Are you okay?”
“Just peachy,” Sera managed, even though all she wanted to do was throw her arms wide and twirl. In the middle of the produce aisle. “It’s been ages since I’ve run into you here.”
“That’s because I’m normally trapped in the baby aisle comparing package labels and feeling guilty about not pureeing everything myself,” Marisa quipped and then tucked a stray strand behind her ear. “These days, if I manage to get out of the house without spit-up on my shirt, I’m good.”
Sera smiled. “And where is the marvelous Dahlia?”
“At home with Daddy and, with any luck, napping. Cole had the day off.”
As they continued to chat, lingering in the aisle, Sera shifted from one foot to another.
