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Shaking my head, I smile. “Nothing saystough guylike stickers.”
“Maybe an energy drink logo? Something like‘DOES NOT PLAY WELL WITH OTHERS.’ One of those Pissing Calvins... You get the idea. Really lean into the douchebaggery.”
“I could bring an acoustic guitar to a house party?”
“Can you perform a shitty rendition of ‘Wonderwall’?”
“No need, I’ll figure it out on the spot.”
“Alright, alright.” She nods along, smirking. “Wanna roll with the big dogs?”
“Obviously,” I answer.
“Can you start a fight at the party?”
“Baby, I’ll make the cops show up.”
Her grin widens, crinkling the corners of her eyes, and she claps me on the back, and her touch makes me sit up straighter. “You’re gonna be okay, kid.”
We return to our bowls, eating silently shoulder to shoulder.
Who is this girl? How did we get here?After the night I heard him berate her, I formed a soft spot for Jordan, like I do with every victim I meet at Safehouse. If it weren’t for that, I would have assumed she was another rich housewife-in-training. But she has this way of understanding me—and doesn’tjudge me for it. She’s not one of those women who thinks they can be the one to change me.
She nudges me with her shoulder. “You’re a lot different than I thought you’d be.”
I glance down at her focused on her meal.
“You are too,” I mutter.
It’s a good thing I’ll be gone for a couple days.
10
We’re about thirty minutes from landing in Arizona, and I’ve been watching game footage for the last two hours, hunched over my tray table with a tablet and phone, comparing two games playing on each device. It’s become my new process while we fly. First, I go through our team’s performance, then our opponent’s so I can pick out any weak spots I didn’t see before, and finally, I wrap up with footage from my favorite players so I can improve my personal game.
I spoke to the coaches about switching around one of the lineups earlier this week. We have two players who aren’t in sync. They can’t read each other, but there are other guys we can switch them with to mitigate the problem. I gave them a solution, but they weren’t having it. Pissed me off and put me in a bad mood.
I’ve been focused on this game, but whenever I’m not thinking about the team, my thoughts are on her. Before I left for Arizona, I made Jordan promise she would wait to get her things from her old condo until I got home. I’m hoping she keeps her word. I have seen little of her since we ate dinnertogether a couple nights ago. She’s been focused on work, which she’ll be doing remotely for now. I instructed her how to use the VPN so her location isn’t traceable on her work laptop.
She’s welcome to raid my closet if she needs anything to sleep in for the time being. I suppose I could ask Raquel to pick her up some clothes, but that feels like crossing a boundary. She’s a grown woman. I’m giving her a place to crash and helping her get some shit from her ex. I don’t have to take care of her every need. That’s not my job.
As if she knows I’m thinking about her, a notification pops up at the top of my screen. Since I’ve left home, my heart has been in my chest every time she texts me. My mind goes to the worst-case scenario. I gotta deal with Bryan so I’m not getting a hit of adrenaline with each ding of my phone.
Jordan: Where’s your step stool?
Me: Why?
Jordan: I can’t reach the coffee beans.
I smile, picturing her up on her tippy toes, stretching for something out of reach, making her tits look even perkier.
Me: Garage wall, on the right.
A minute-and-a-half passes, and I don’t hear back. I open my security camera app to watch her, simply to make sure she’s found it. At least, that’s what I tell myself when the screen loads.Fuck me.Her blonde hair is tied up in a ponytail and she’s wearing the yoga pants from the other day, but this time she’s ditched the track jacket for a sports bra. Before Iget a good look, she marches into the pantry. After a few seconds, she returns with a bag of coffee beans. I take in her curves. She’s not toned, her midriff is supple and sexy. My fist flexes, wanting to dig my fingers into her softness. She picks up her phone to text me back, and I feel like an asshole for watching her like this.
Jordan: Thanks!
This is where I’m supposed to go back to my videos of hockey games. Leave the text messaging and surveillance apps and focus on my responsibilities as a captain, but I no longer have control over my lizard brain as my fingers fly over the touchscreen keyboard.
