Trouble(55)
He slides his hand back along mine. Palm to palm. His fingers gently rest against my pulse point.
I can only hope he can’t feel that it’s practically beating the blood out of my body.
Tilting the salt shaker over our joined hands, he runs two lines of salt. One on mine. One on his.
“Do you mind if I…?” He tilts his head in the direction of our connected hands.
Unsure of the question, I raise a questioning brow.
“The salt?”
Still lost, I just nod my head, not wanting to come across as stupid. Hoping that by agreeing, I don’t end up looking stupid.
Then Jordan does something that I will forever remember as the most insanely intimate moment of my life.
And his question makes perfect sense when he leans forward and licks the salt from my hand. Slowly.
Holy. Crap.
Head still lowered, he looks up at me through long dark lashes with a look that turns me to mush.
“Your turn.”
What? He wants me to lick the salt from his hand?
Holy Jesus.
This is a really sexy thing to do. I’m not sexy. I have no clue how to do sexy.
No, come on, I can do this. New Mia here. I can lick salt from Jordan’s hand. No big deal.
Taking in a breath, I lean forward and sticking the tip of my tongue out, I lick the salt up onto my tongue.
All I can taste is him. The salt doesn’t even register. And now I’m begrudged to drink the tequila and take away his taste in my mouth.
“Drink,” he says, his voice sounding husky.
Glass to my lips, I tip the shot back at exactly the same time as he does.
His hand leaves mine.
I’m left feeling bereft without his touch, dizzy from the alcohol, and wondering if that just actually happened.
My hands start to fidget of their own accord. I reach for my beer.
“Second time easier?” Jordan asks, sounding completely normal as though we haven’t just licked salt of one another’s hands. Or maybe this is just what normal people do. What do I know?
Clearing my throat, I force a casualness I don’t feel. “Much easier.”
He smiles.
I start in on my beer label again.
“So…” he says.
“So…”
“I guess I should explain about earlier, what happened in the coffee shop.”
“Only if you want to.”
He gives a tight-lipped smile. “You remember I told you I used to gamble?”
I nod.
His eyes lower. “After my mom had died, I went off the rails. I’d always liked to play cards … but this went further. I was playing, gambling way more than I ever had. I was winning for a while, then the losing streak kicked in. I kept trying to make back what I lost, but before I knew it, I’d run up a massive debt that I had no way of paying back.”
“You owed the money to Donnie?”
He laughs a humorless sound. “No, Donnie’s just the hired monkey. I owed money to the guy he works for – Max. I used to regular a few places in Farmington to play, then I got involved in a poker ring that Max ran. There’s not much in the way here for card players like me. Like I was,” he corrects. “But over in Farmington … there’s plenty for a seasoned player.” He leans close, elbows on the table as he scrubs his hands over his face.
He folds his arms on the table, looking down. “I’m just real sorry that you got pulled in it back there, Mia.”
That’s why he didn’t want me to tell Donnie my name. He didn’t want those horrible people knowing who I am. He was trying to protect me.
Something about that touches me.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m just glad you’re okay now.” I put my beer down. “Do you still owe the money? Is that why he was trying to pick a fight with you?”
If he does, I’ll pay his debt. It’s not like I can’t afford it. He’s been so good to me, helping me with the Anna stuff, and I can finally do something good with Oliver’s money. Helping Jordan would count as something good to me.
“No, my debt was paid.” He scrubs his hand over his face again. “My dad. He used the money from my mom’s life insurance.”
Oh. Right.
Now I know where his guilt comes from.
I try to conjure up something worthy to say, something to make him feel better, but I come up with nothing. So I say the only thing I can, “I’m so sorry, Jordan.”
He takes a long drink of his beer. Drying off his mouth with the back of his hand, he shakes his head. “Don’t feel bad for me. I don’t deserve your kindness.” His eyes close on a long blink. “Do you remember I told you that my dad used to be a cop?”
I nod and take a drink of beer.
“Before the debt was paid, before my dad knew about any of it, the gambling and how deep in I was, I was out one night in town. Not in this bar,” he adds like that would have some bearing on his story. “I was out drinking with some buddies of mine, and later on in the night I was … uh, leaving the bar with … a girl.” He scratches his cheek, looking uncomfortable.