by Elise Faber
I stepped between them, leaned back against Jordan.
“Just go,” I told my father.
Jordan was rock hard behind me and the fury radiating from him was almost a tangible thing. But when his arm wrapped around my waist, it was gentle.
Mac walked over and leaned down to whisper in my father’s ear. My dad listened for a minute before turning disdainful eyes in my direction.
“I can’t deal with this”—he sniffed at Jordan and me—“I have more important business to attend to.”
Max glanced at me and shook his head. I knew he’d made up whatever he’d told my father to diffuse the situation.
I nodded my thanks and followed them to lock the door behind them, collapsing back against it with a huge sigh. Tears were threatening but I didn’t want to let them fall.
My dad was a jerk. No sense crying about it.
“Come here,” Jordan said gruffly.
My eyes flashed open. He had his arms open and I didn’t hesitate, just walked into that embrace.
“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered.
And even as I held the words close, I couldn’t help but mentally shake my head at the irony.
I may not have gotten this comfort as a child, but I found that receiving it as a grown woman was just as good.
Actually, it may have been better.
“Why am I so nervous?” I asked Jordan the next morning as we drove to his father’s house. He’d stayed for a little while the night before, long enough for me to heat up some leftovers for him and crochet a couple of rows on the baby blanket I’d decided to make for the nugget cooking in my belly.
He’d passed on the crocheting, opting to sit next to me watching the sports highlights as I’d worked.
The scene had been domestic and, scarily, I’d liked it.
He wanted to hang around longer, but I’d made him go home. The dark circles under his eyes spoke volumes. He needed more sleep, and that meant I couldn’t monopolize all of his free time.
Even though I wanted to.
Even though I was quickly realizing that I wanted to spend every spare moment with him.
Even though I was as horny as a teenager.
“There’s no reason to be nervous,” he said, resting a hand on my thigh as he drove.
I mentally reset the conversation in my head and focused on the current task at hand. We were going to see Hunter, and I was freaking out.
I didn’t do small children well. I was the youngest, had never been around little kids. And this one was sick. And special to Jordan. What if I said the wrong thing? What if—God forbid—I made Hunter cry? What if—?
“Why are you emotionally spiraling over there?” Jordan asked.
The question made me blink and squint over at him. Blue eyes flicked from the road to mine before returning forward.
“How—?”
“Sweetheart,” he said, “I notice a lot of things about you.”
“Scary,” I muttered.
He squeezed my leg. “No hiding now,” he said. “Not when I’m finally cluing in.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I said. But I felt the smile tugging at the corners of my lips.
“Spill.”
“I’m scared Hunter won’t like me.”
“Sweetheart.” His voice was gentle. “Just be yourself, and I guarantee he’ll like you.”
Aw.
“You think so?”
He winked. “I know so.”
I blew out a breath and nodded. “Okay. I’ve got this.”
“Yes, you do.” His eyes met mine for a moment and there might have been a dash of nerves in the blue depths. “So,” he said, tone far from confident, “I wanted to ask you something.”
The thread of nervousness in his voice made me study him closely. “Go ahead,” I said carefully.
“Do you want to go on a date?”
I cocked my head to the side, relief pouring through me. “Isn’t that what we’ve been doing for the last few weeks now?”
“Well.” He winced. “Sort of.”
“We’ve spent almost every night together,” I pointed out. “And had lunch. And”—I smiled—“you’ve brought me breakfast nearly every day. Now that I think about it, just about the only thing you do with me is try to shove food down my throat.”
His cheeks went a little rosy. “It’s important you eat. No more passing out.”
“I agree.” I put my hand over his. “And thank you,” I said, joking aside. “I haven’t felt dizzy since you started making me fat.”
“It’s nothing.” His shoulders came up and I put my hand on the one I could reach, stopping the shrug in progress.
I didn’t want him to dismiss what’d he’d done for me.
“It’s not nothing to me,” I said. “Thank you.”
A moment of quiet then, “You’re welcome.”
“Okay, since we’ve established the whole spending-loads-of-time-together thing. Which I think is dating, isn’t?” I asked. “What’s this about taking me out?”
“You deserve a nice dinner at a restaurant. Maybe a movie or a play. Flowers. Whatever.” I didn’t stop his shrug this time. “You deserve to be courted, Abs. We did this thing all ass-backward, I know. But I’d like to change that. Start from the beginning and have a do-over.”
I laced my fingers with his. “I don’t want a do-over,” I told him. “I like where we are now. It’s . . . easy? I’m not sure if that’s the right word and maybe this is completely too soon and ridiculous or I’m addled with pregnancy hormones, but I feel like I know you better than any other person on the planet.” I hesitated, biting my lip before I just decided to say it. “Maybe even better than Bec and Seraphina and I . . . I guess I kind of like it.” I wrinkled my nose. “No. That’s a lie. I really like it.”
Jordan was quiet for long enough to make me want to take what I’d said back. Then he turned his hand palm up and gripped mine tightly. “I really like it too.”
I released a breath, feeling like we’d made a big promise that I didn’t yet know the words to.
“Still, I wouldn’t mind a nice dinner.”
His laughter filled my heart. “Good,” he said. “Tonight, I’m taking you on a date.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Jordan!” A tiny pair of arms wrapped tightly around Jordan’s neck and I felt my eyes burn, my hand coming to rest protectively on my stomach.
“Sorry I missed you last night,” Jordan said. “You were asleep by the time I got here.”
“I’m always tired.” Hunter’s little freckled nose wrinkled. “It’s annoying.”
“Yeah,” Jordan said, ruffling his hair and leaning back. “I bet it is. Hey, buddy. This is my friend, Abigail.”
“Is she your girlfriend?” The wrinkle stayed in place.
Jordan looked solemn when he nodded.
“Ew. Girls are gross.”
We both laughed as Cecilia, Hunter’s nanny, came back into the room. “Hey,” she said, putting her hands on her hips, her voice laced with mock-outrage. “I’m a girl.”
“Well, that’s okay because I love you, CeCe,” Hunter said, and I promptly fell in love with him. “What’s in your hand?”
It took me a minute to realize that Hunter was talking to me and then I examined the little bear I’d crocheted and felt embarrassment course through me. His room was jam-packed with stuffed animals and books, all of which looked a hell of a lot nicer than the lopsided bear with unevenly placed eyes I held in my hand.
“Oh,” I said, turning it over in my hands. “It’s silly, but when Jordan told me you were in the hospital, I-I made this for you.”
Hunter tilted his head to the side. “Why?”
I nibbled on my lip. There was something about the fierce way his eyes focused on me that made me feel like a bug under a microscope. “I just thought you might be a little lonely and want something to cuddle.” I resisted the urge to slide it behind my back. “It’s not much, really.”
/>
“Can I have it?” he asked.
I nodded. “Of course.”
I walked a little closer to the bed he was lying in. It was hospital grade, cleverly disguised with blankets and pillows to hide the institutional materials. But it was still a hospital bed, and that drove the seriousness of his situation home. I’d give this little kid anything he wanted.
He took the little green bear with the misplaced eyes and studied it closely. “It’s lumpy,” he said.
“It’s the first one I’ve made.” I laughed. “I could use a little practice.”
“First ones are special,” he said solemnly, and hugged the bear. “It is cuddly.”
“Good. At least I got that right.”
Jordan was still sitting on the side of Hunter’s bed and he tugged me down into his lap. “So tell me all about it, bud. What have you been doing this morning?”
“Causing trouble,” Cecilia chimed in. She was sitting on the floor folding laundry.
Jordan raised his brows and Hunter stubbornly put out his bottom lip. “I wanted to play with my aunts and uncles.”
It took me a minute to comprehend that Hunter meant Jordan’s half-siblings, who currently lived in the house. From what I knew, they were all around Hunter’s age and would have been perfect built-in friends.
“He wanted to play football with his uncles and aunts.”
Jordan hissed out a breath.
“I miss running,” Hunter said, and crossed his arms. “It’s not fair.”
“I know, buddy.” The anguish in Jordan’s tone killed me. “I wish that I could make this go away for you. But—”
“You can’t.” A sigh. “I know.”
“I’ve got an idea,” I said, turning to Cecilia. “Can Hunter go outside?”
“He can sit outside.”
“No running. No jumping. No playing. No fun,” Hunter grumbled.
I stood and tugged Jordan’s arm. “Give us twenty minutes,” I said, “and I’ll see what I can do about the fun part.”
“Ready, Hunter?” I asked, adjusting Jordan’s shoulders so that he was standing straight.
He giggled. “This is going to go really bad.”
“Yes, it is,” grumbled Jordan.
Which only made Hunter laugh harder.
Cecilia tucked the blanket tighter around his shoulders then sat down in the empty chair next to his.
Chairs weren’t the only things we’d brought out onto the patio, but I had used a lot of them in my plan. And rope. And potted plants. And . . . a blindfold.
That was currently wrapped around Jordan’s eyes.
“Okay, remember what to do? You tell Uncle Jordan what direction to walk and when to stop and try to get him through the whole obstacle course without running into anything.”
Hunter nodded, his smile huge.
“Try not to make me fall off a cliff,” Jordan said.
Hunter broke out into peals of laughter.
“The pool’s not too far,” I stage-whispered and Jordan growled, making Cecilia and me join in with Hunter’s amusement.
“I fall in,” Jordan said, “and I’m taking you with me.”
“You’d have to catch me first.”
His arm snaked out and caught my wrist. He tugged me into his arms and pressed a kiss to my mouth, aim true despite the blindfold. “I always know where you are, sweetheart.”
“Abby-dar?” I said, my heart pounding in my chest.
He released me, fingers brushing the sides of my breasts as he set me away from him.
“Jordan,” I hissed, “Hunter is right there.”
“They’re not paying attention.”
I glanced over my shoulder to where Hunter and Cecilia sat. Jordan was right, they were in heated debate, the words “pool,” “uncle,” and “no” featured loudly.
“How would you know that they’re not—” I gasped, spotted one blue eye peeking beneath the blindfold. “You’re such a cheater.”
He grinned. “A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.” He swatted my butt, pretended to stretch and then said louder, “Okay, bud, time to stop plotting. Should we do this?”
“Yes!” Hunter yelled, eyes mischievous.
“Wait!” I grabbed Jordan’s arm and fixed the blindfold. “No cheating.”
“Woman—”
“Walk forward,” Hunter commanded.
I bit back my smile as Jordan took a step forward and promptly walked into a rope, knocking several chairs out of alignment.
“Sorry,” Hunter said, maybe a little too cheerfully.
“Hang on,” I told Jordan, and righted the chairs, then took his shoulders and aimed him in the proper direction of the course’s start.
“You’re doing this next,” I called. “So you’d better be nice to your uncle.”
Hunter’s mouth made a little “o” and just that quickly, he got serious about helping Jordan through the course.
“Walk forward. Stop.” He turned to Cecilia and held up a palm. “What hand is this?”
She whispered the answer.
“Go right!” he yelled.
“His right,” I said to Jordan, who turned left and managed to avoid the potted plant blocking the other path.
“Now crawl,” Hunter ordered.
Jordan dropped and attempted to squeeze through the cardboard box we’d found in the garage.
The sight of Thor on his hands and knees getting stuck in the tiny hole I’d cut out of the side of the box was too much for me. I started chuckling and couldn’t stop. Not when he managed to struggle through, not when Hunter told him to go left and he knocked over a plant, not even when he managed to get wrapped in the duct tape I’d strung between two chairs.
“Which left?” he called, covered in silver stripes like a metal mummy. He was bent over, trying to remove the pieces from his ankles and his voice was desperate. “Mine or his? Mine or his?”
“His,” Cecilia and I managed to get out while still chuckling.
Two more turns, one more crawl, and Jordan was free of the maze. He took his blindfold off and glared at me then Cecilia.
“This is not that funny!”
I held my stomach as I giggled. “My abs. Oh my God, laughing through that was the hardest workout I’ve had in months.”
Cecilia rubbed her cheeks. “Even my face hurts.”
“You’re in so much trouble,” he said and though he was looking at Hunter, I knew the words were directed at me.
“You can make it up to me later,” I joked.
He turned to me, eyes sharp. “You’d better count on it.”
“Sniff it,” Jordan ordered.
“Uh-uh,” I said, shaking my head and turning my face away. “The last one was bad enough.”
My stomach was still queasy. I’d smelled twenty-something deodorants at this point and they were all bad.
All of them.
“This is the last one,” he said, offering it up to me like it was a piece of broccoli and I was a finicky toddler. “Smell it, and I promise this is the end.”
“Promise?” I raised my eyes to his and when he nodded, I sighed in resignation. “Fine.” I carefully took the deodorant from his hand and removed the lid. I brought it about a foot from my nose and took a cautious sniff.
Blegh.
I capped it and shook my head, dropping it to the counter and backing away.
“Damn,” he said. “That was supposed to be the unscented stuff.”
“Well, it’s not unscented to me.”
He dropped it into the trash can then removed the bag and walked through the garage to throw the offending deodorants into the outside garbage bin. A minute later, he was back. “What type do you use?”
I was wiping my nose on a tissue, trying to somehow remove the scent from my nostrils. “Of deodorant?” I asked, slightly nasally.
“Yeah.”
I told him.
“Do you mind if we try it?”
“You want to put on my deodorant?”
I asked.
“Want is the wrong word. I’d like to be able to not stink my office up and also not make you sick. What you’re wearing doesn’t make you puke, right?” He shrugged. “Seems worth a try.”
I stood up and inclined my head in the direction of my bedroom. “Seems like we should have given it a try before you made me smell all of those other gross ones.”
“At least we did it before dinner?”
I groaned, stomach feeling a bit raw. “Don’t mention food right now.”
“Sorry.” He pressed close to my spine. “I’m trying to help.”
“I know.” I turned in his arms and hugged him. “Thank you.”
Hands slid down my back, cupped my hips. I wanted them to slide lower, to keep going and cup something else.
Unfortunately, Jordan released me, taking my hand and tugging me up the stairs.
“Jordan?” I asked as we walked through my bedroom door and headed for my bathroom. “Is there a reason you haven’t fucked me again?”
His fingers spasmed on mine. “What?” He turned to face me.
“I-I just—you haven’t seemed interested.” I shrugged, dropped my eyes. “You’ve held me and we kissed a few times. But it’s mostly—” I broke off.
“Mostly what?”
I grimaced. “Well, friendly.”
“You think I feel friendly about you?”
“I mean, I guess not. I just— We haven’t— Not since that night you—” I pointed south. “It’s okay. I just . . .”
Was making a royal mess of this.
“I’ve jerked off to the image of you coming against my mouth every night for the last three weeks.” His stare bore into me. “I’ve imagined the taste and heat of you. I’ve pictured myself inside of you.” He grabbed my hand, placed it on his . . . hammer, which was hard enough to pound nails.
Or maybe pound something—someone—else.
“I want you, Abigail. Don’t you ever doubt that.”
“Then why haven’t you—?”
“I was trying to give us time to get to know each other. We both have a lot of outside pressure right now. I didn’t want to add to it.”
“I don’t think giving me mind-blowing orgasms is a bad type of pressure.”
