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I sit right beside him and turn to face him fully, throwing one leg on the bed while the other hangs above the ground.
“Well, I guess I’m the one that is going to put you to sleep today,” I joke, and he lets out a breathing laugh, which is a hybrid of an exhale and a chuckle.
“It takes a lot to put me to sleep, in that regard, you have to make me tired first,” he plays along.
Does this mean we’re on even ground now? He is no longer mad at me.
I just have to find out.
“No wonder you have the energy to watch Skylar; you’re both alike,” I chuckle, and slap his shoulder playfully.
"Nope! Skylar definitely has more energy in that regard." He shakes his head.
"Well, then. What can I do to tire you out? Hopefully, it's not something strenuous?" I ask cornily.
"You think you can keep up with my energy?" He smirks.
"I can try."
His reply to that is standing up and stretching his hands out to me. Of course, I take them, even without knowing what he wants to do.
“I’m going to teach you a dance. I taught Skylar the exact same dance before you came back,” he clarifies when I am now up.
I love the music, and it prompts me to ask the question, “Where is this from?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he answers. “What matters is the dance you’re going to learn with it.”
And so, for the next thirty minutes at least, Jordan and I practice this weird, jumpy dance that, for some reason, livens me up. But, at the same time, it drains all the life from my bones.
This is what he meant by putting him to sleep? It was so exhausting, but at the end of the day, it was worth it.
I jump and jump, even when I’m out of tune, making him laugh.
I love making him laugh, and I jump at one point, solely with the aim of tumbling.
I mean, we both find it funny, so why not?
I don’t realize when I jump into his arms, and he has to catch me to stop me from plummeting to the ground. That’s when I come face-to-face with his eyes again, and this time I’m drunk on happiness. So much so that my mouth has no filter.
“You know, I really like you, Jordan,” I giggle like a thirteen-year-old confessing her crush. I even feel that way.
As he pulls me back up, the smile on his face is broad, and with my arms around his neck, I do the most natural thing in that scenario: I accept his lips.
This time, I don’t even know who initiated the kiss, but I don’t care. All I want is to taste him. Even when we are now standing, I don’t pull my mouth away from his.
Even if I have to stand on my tiptoes, I do everything it takes to make sure I’m still latched to him because I have no idea when next this opportunity would come.
When we finally pull away from each other to catch a breath, I realize that we’ve done it again.
What do I even say this time?
“Rebecca,” he whispers my name just above my lips and takes a lick at my bottom lip. But this feels like it’s not for me, and I push myself away from him.
“I’m so sorry, Jordan.” I shake my head. “I don’t know what came over me; I got too caught up in the moment; I… I…”
I back up as I slowly run out of excuses, and in due time, I bolt out of the room, ignoring his silent calls for me.
What the fuck did I just say?
