AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I glance around the room while he’s in there, trying to spot my robe before he comes back, so at least I’ve got some dignity. What the hell happened in my bedroom? It’s like a minor explosion happened in my closet. There are clothes all over the floor and my chair. The faint memory of my meltdown on finding the perfect outfit for last night comes flooding back. Great, now Jordan thinks that I’m not only an alcoholic but a slob too, judging by the state of my bedroom.
Bending down quickly to grab clothes is not a good idea but I push through it anyway. I shove them all in the clothes basket in the closet even though they aren’t dirty. I’ll sort them out later. Holding back the bile that keeps washing into my mouth, I grab my robe as I hear the bathroom door open again.
Maybe if I wait here long enough, by the time I walk back into the bedroom he will be dressed and I can think rationally again.
Pull yourself together, woman, you are stronger than this. You’re going to see him several times over the next few months with the wedding coming, so you need to get a grip.
Standing up tall, shoulders back, I tighten my robe around my waist. I take a deep breath and tell myself I can do this as I walk out.
“Where are your clothes? You’re supposed to be dressed!” Why am I shouting so much this morning? It’s like I’m totally out of control.
He’s still standing in his tight gray briefs that should be a crime to look that good on any guy. Who am I kidding? This is why they make underwear commercials, just for women. If this is how it makes a guy look then we will buy ten pairs of them for our other halves.
Stop looking at his cock, stop looking. It will only make things worse.
“Great question, Nat. You tell me? They were next to the bed and now they aren’t.”
“Fuck.” Mumbling under my breath, I realize I’ve picked them up with my clothes in my crazy whirlwind moment and now they’re in the clothes basket. Rummaging through the clothes, they all end back on the floor where they came from. I should have just left them alone.
I throw them across the room like they’re on fire because I know if I get too close to him, I’ll just want to touch him again, and that can’t happen.
Yet my libido is crying watching him drag his jeans up his legs.
Staring at each other, neither of us speaking, and he isn’t even attempting to put his shirt on. Without a word, I motion at the shirt on the bed.
“I need to ice my shoulder again first.” The playfulness in his voice from before is gone and in its place is the flatness of his tone.
“Jordan, tell me the truth. What happened last night?” I wrap my arms around my waist for a bit of security. I’m not sure I’m going to like the answer.
“What, with my shoulder or you?” Taking a step toward me, I back up one step. Distance, I need to keep the distance.
“Both.” It’s all I can muster, turning and walking out of the room to get ice. Plus, I need to have this conversation out of my bedroom. The scene of the crime, whatever that crime is.
Hearing his bare feet following me, I try to stay calm and not let the scary bitch out that I was about to unleash this morning when I first woke. She doesn’t come out very often, but I had a feeling she was just under the surface when I was panicking.
“Let’s get coffee first then talk, okay?” he asks from behind me as I open the freezer to find a gel pack I keep in there for any injuries. It’s buried under the tub of ice cream I had started to consume the night before as I was burying myself in self-pity.
He’s probably right, coffee and some pain relief are probably a good idea.
“You sit and I’ll make the coffee. Then no more stalling, spill your guts before I call Xavier.” I hand him the ice and watch with interest where he places it on his shoulder. My mind is racing trying to work out the injury and how I can help.
“Well, I don’t think that would be the best idea. Not sure you want to ask your brother why his best friend was sleeping in your bed with you last night. Hmmm?” He has a point there, but I’m not telling him that.
“Shut up and just tell me how you take your coffee.” Popping the pod into the machine, I grab two mugs ready for the caffeine lifeline I need pronto.
The sound of the machine and me crashing and banging around the kitchen leave no space for talking anyway. Well, I probably wasn’t crashing and banging, but in my head all the sounds today feel amplified by a hundred times.
Coffee poured, pain relief, and a glass of water consumed, I carry the mugs to the table to sit across from Jordan. No way am I sitting next to him where he can touch me. That’s just asking for trouble.
“Right, now start talking.” I take my first sip of heaven in a cup.
“What do you want first?” The smugness on his face tells me I’m not sure I want to hear some of what he is about to say. Let’s talk about him first.
“Shoulder first. Talk to me, let me help.”
“That’s sort of starting halfway through the story, but if that’s what you want.”
I hesitate, my mug on my lips about to take another sip, and I wave for him to continue.
