Jordan gets in the car a few minutes later. He turns to me. “So … she’s not your mom.”
“What gave it away?”
I’m at an impasse at the moment. I either laugh or cry. I really don’t want to cry in front of Jordan, so laughter it is. It bursts out of me. I know I’m probably coming off as a little crazy, but I can’t seem to stop, or find the will to care.
When I finally regain control of myself, wiping my eyes dry on my hands, I find Jordan staring at me with an expression on his face that I’ve never seen before.
No one has ever looked at me like he is looking at me right now. Like he cares. Really cares.
He relaxes his gaze, a wicked grin sliding onto his lips. “You seem to be taking the disappointment well.”
His smile has me laughing again.
“Sorry, I abandoned you back there.” I gesture, still a little breathless from my crazy laughing.
“No worries. Come on.” He starts the car. “Let’s go grab some lunch.”
Food. Not a good idea for me right now.
“I’m not hungry.” I put my seatbelt on.
“Well, I am. You can watch me eat.” He flashes me those whites of his, and I’m too dazzled by him to disagree.
***
We end up in a coffee shop that Jordan seems to know well. Apparently, this place make the best Key Lime pie in the world.
I’ll have to take his word on it because eating right now is not a good idea, not while I’m with Jordan. I’m afraid that if I start, I won’t be able to stop, and then I’ll end up exposing a part of myself that I never want anyone to see, especially not him.
“Guess it was a waste of time coming all the way out here.” I sigh.
“Depends on how you look at it.”
I rest my elbow on the table and prop my chin on my hand. “And how would you look at it?”
He leans back in his seat. “That it’s one less Anna Monroe on the list. Narrows the odds. Leaves us with two. So that’s a fifty/fifty chance on the next one we pick being your mother.”
Or neither are her.
“And I’m getting to eat the pie I love. I’d call it a lose/win.”
“Do you assess everything that way?”
His eyes darken. “Not everything.” His lips lift with a flirtatious tilt as he leans closer, over the table. He lowers his voice. “Only things that I know are a sure thing. And when I really want something … I get it.”
Gulp. Heat infuses my skin, firing off my pulse.
The waitress interrupts our moment, arriving with our coffee and Jordan’s pie.
I’m relieved.
And disappointed.
He was absolutely, definitely flirting with me then.
I’m not complaining. It’s nice to have someone as gorgeous as Jordan flirt with me. I guess what bothers me is that I don’t know what it means for him. Or more so, what I want it to mean for me.
“How’s your pie?” I ask, watching him dig into it like it’s god made.
“So good,” he murmurs through a mouthful. The sound is as delicious as he looks. “You wanna try?” He holds out a pie-filled fork.
I shake my head.
“You’re missing out on the best pie you’ll ever taste.” He waggles the fork in front of my face.
Laughing, I shake my head again.
He grins and puts the fork in this mouth, letting out an over-exaggerated groan of pleasure.
For a split second, I actually wish I was the fork.
I have serious issues.
I pour some sugar in my coffee. “Thanks for coming with me today. It really means a lot.”
“We’re friends. Friends help each other out.”
“We’re friends?” I tease, unable to help the smile that’s crept on my face.
He lifts a dark brow. “Hadn’t we already established that?”
I bring the cup to my lips and blow on the hot coffee. “I don’t think it had been confirmed, no.”
“Well, consider it confirmed.” He digs his fork in his pie, eyes smiling. “We’re friends.”
With benefits?
Holy cow, I can’t believe I just thought that.
“Well, well … Jordan Matthews. Didn’t expect to ever see you here again.”
I turn my head and see a guy about Jordan’s height and build, shaved head, arms sleeved with tattoos, heading in our direction.
My eyes move beyond him, and see two other guys walking behind, both tall and skinny.
From the corner of my eye, I can see that Jordan’s whole demeanor has changed. His body is rigid, tense.
The air instantly prickles with discomfort, and the sound of Jordan’s fork clattering to the plate makes me jump.
“Turn the fuck around and walk away, Donnie,” Jordan hisses, the level of anger in his voice surprises me.