Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.
Beta'd by HollettLA
Happy New Year! I hope everyone had a safe and healthy holiday season. Thanks for reading!
For the record: "I" did not take Riders off of TwiWrite. My story disappeared. THEY took it down, and I've contacted the site admins WEEKS AGO, and have yet to receive an answer. Idk what I did, especially since it's under the correct rating and such. And it is an 18+ site . . . I have no clue. It's not on TwiWrite. A few of my fics have disappeared. *shrug* I don't have answers for you.
Also, for those of you who didn't receive the SU4K compilation of stories, I posted a new Quiet Storm outtake. It's under the Quiet Storm story, Chapter 49. Check it out.
NOTE: I hope you all enjoy this breath of fresh air...a lighter chapter, even if it's in Dame's POV. LOL. The next chapter . . . You know what? I can't explain, give rhyme or reason. It is what it is. You'll either enjoy it or you won't. Whatever. They speak to me; I write.
Enjoy!
"Riders on the Storm"
Chapter Thirty-Nine: Chicken
Damion POV
Secrets can't hide in science. Medicine has a way of exposing the lies. Within the walls of the hospital, the truth is stripped bare.
How we keep our secrets outside the hospital…?
Well, that's a little different.
One thing is certain . . .
Whatever we're trying to hide, we're never ready when the truth gets naked.
That's the problem with secrets. Like misery, they love company—they pile up and up until they take over . . . Until you don't have room for anything else.
Until you're so full of shit, you feel like you're going to burst.
Jordan kept her word.
Unless it concerns patient care, she doesn't utter a thing…to me.
She hasn't given me the time of day. She's content to ignore me, and I refuse to chase her. Sonny told me to give her time, but it's almost been a whole week.
In two days, it'll be a week…one of the longest weeks of my life.
My eyes tend to linger when she's around. They just have a way of finding her, or know when she's around—they go right to her.
She's caught me staring quite a few times, too.
Jordan—who previously didn't give a shit about her appearance—is now doing her hair and wearing makeup to work. I think she's doing it to torture me, or she's in the market . . . for a new fuck-buddy.
The thought alone ticked me off, and I nearly snapped the Bic pen within my grasp in half.
"Really?" Jordan asked Rodriguez, our resident, excitedly.
It brought my attention over to them.
"Definitely." He smiled back.
"Oh…I should finish my notes…unless there's no time? I can do them after—"
"Procedure starts in thirty minutes. Do whatever, and I'll see you down there." He squeezed her shoulder before he walked off.
I swallowed the bile back down and studied the chart in my hands as Rodriguez sidled up to me.
"She's looking good, huh?"
I raised a brow, managing to conjure half of a smile. "Who, Yogi?"
He grinned, looking back over to her. "She lost weight."
I didn't comment, but I disagreed. She hasn't lost a pound. Jordan has just taken to wearing scrubs that are actually formfitting. They're not as loose as the tent-like ones she used to rock.
The new ones show off her hourglass figure nicely . . .
"I'm flying solo—lap chole. You can come watch, too . . . Or you can chill in the pit with Mackay until it's time to go."
"Cool," I said, knowing I'd rather chill in the ER, especially since our shift ends in ninety minutes. If I went down to the surgical wing and watched the procedure, I'd likely be made to see the patient through to recovery . . .
I'd be here until late tonight.
And I'd rather sulk in my room, or maybe I could go to the bar…chill out with Ethan?
Nevertheless, Rodriguez patted my back and walked off.
When Jordan's eyes met mine, from over the chart she read, I averted my gaze quickly.
What game was she playing?
Was she trying to make me jealous?
Whatever she was doing was working, being all smiley and sweet to that asshole . . . I mean, Jordan doesn't know what they call her behind her back. I never said a word, not wanting to hurt her feelings. If I brought it up now, I'd be the ass—it wouldn't sound genuine.
So, she won't speak to me, yet she's content to jump through hoops to get reactions out of me? I'm a champion at hiding my emotions.
Her attempts are futile . . .
Well, maybe not.
Also, what if she's not doing this to bother me? What if she's truly looking for a man? And if she is, then why am I wasting all this time thinking about her?
Jordan doesn't know some things about me. Like, how soon—I don't know when exactly—I'll stop caring and move on, or just stay the same because I have no life outside this hospital. Either way, sooner or later, I wouldn't give a fuck.
Something had to give…
'Cause I know.
As soon as I lose interest, she'll be knocking on my door…
All females are like that.
Then again, the sight of Rodriguez in a scrub cap might do it for her . . . She could jump his bones and forget about me. He's a resident. I am no one, and she gets off on that shit . . . power and/or medical personnel, scrub caps, smart minds…men who know their shit.
But when she walked toward me, stopped at the counter and reached for a chart, her arm brushed against mine, and a sigh fell from her mouth.
I moved away an inch, feeling all this tension to my right, but I refused to look—acknowledge her.
When it didn't look like Jordan was leaving any time soon, I took my new cell phone out of my pocket. Sonny hooked me up with a top of the line iPhone. My old one was nothing special. This thing could probably detonate nuclear bombs and shit. It took a while for me to get used to it, too—work out the mechanics.
Gazing at the screen, I saw I had two missed calls: one from my brother and another from Maggie. Curious, since I've been keeping touch with both of them, I went to . . . call Maggie back, knowing Sonny was likely busy or at La Bella Italia already.
Luckily or ironically . . . I mean, sometimes, in life, shit just works out.
Things happen for reasons unknown to me; my phone buzzed in my palm.
It was Maggie calling me again.
"Hello?" I answered and saw Jordan peep me in her periphery.
"Oh, hey." Maggie sounded tired and cleared her throat. "Sorry to bother you."
I grinned. "For you? Feel free to bother me whenever. It's no bother."
Jordan snorted so low, probably thought I couldn't or didn't hear it, but I did.
"So, what can I do for you, sweetheart?" I asked.
"Um…nothing. I know you were supposed to come over tomorrow—"
"I'm looking forward to it, meeting up with you," I lied.
All I've been doing is checking in with my brother, making sure he doesn't kill his wife. I've also been giving him physicals, even though he's okay physically. You never know, though, so I listen to his ticker.
"We won't be here," Maggie said through a yawn.
"Oh…I was looking forward to seeing you, baby."
"Baby?" Maggie exclaimed. "I don't, um, don't be weird again. Please?"
I chuckled. "I promise to be on my best behavior."
"Good. Hang on. Santino wanted to talk to you." There we muffled sounds. She was likely going to get Sonny, and I took a peek at Jordan.
She was still stuck on the same CBC she was reading five minutes ago.
"Santino…?" Maggie asked. "Oh, sorry."
"Close the door." Sonny actually laughed, seemed like he was in a lighter mood than he's been in.
Maggie guffawed. "Oh my gosh…he's pooping. He'll call you later."
I let out a small chuckle. "Love it when you do that." And I said it low, hoping Jordan would hear, but Maggie wouldn't.
Unfortunately, Maggie had heard me. "What? When I poop? I don't understand. Don't be a weirdo, Dame." Maggie was confused, and I'd tell her all about it at another time—why I was talking to her like this. "We had drama here before."
"Really?" Now she had all my attention; I was leaning my elbow up onto the counter, blocking Jordan from sight. "What happened? You need me there now?"
"No…no. Everything's okay now. Well, sorta. Your mom was here and everything—she set it right. I'll let Santino fill you in on the rest. I just…I had to talk to someone, and I know we haven't always gotten along…and now you're being weird."
I clamped my eyes closed, rubbing my face with my palm. "You can always talk to me…You know that." We've developed a small bond with the both of us worried sick about Sonny, trying to help him.
We're allies now, the coke police.
"Santino will call you . . . but we won't be around for a few days."
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"I can't…you know."
"I do know." I made it sound suggestive, my previous objections not forgotten.
"Right . . . Santino will call you soon. You take care. Bye." Maggie ended the call; she hung up.
I smiled brightly. "I miss you, too. We'll talk later, all right, baby?" No one else was on the other end, and I was officially talking to myself. "Goodnight, sweetie," I laughed. "All right . . . No, you hang up." I waited like an ass, counting to five in my head. "No, you hang up."
"Just fucking hang up already. Christ!" Jordan threw her hands up, rapidly walking away from the nurses' station.
Satisfied with that, and myself, I placed my phone in my pocket.
Ecstatic, I followed after Jordan. She'd walked down the hall toward the stairs.
I was happy because—for the past week, I'd been waiting for a reaction, for her to acknowledge me. Good, bad, or ugly, I didn't give a fuck. I wanted her attention, and I finally had it—by fucking with her head.
Before I entered the stairwell, I spied her through the small window. Jordan was sitting on a step, her head on her folded arms that rested on her knees, like she was crying.
Thinking her ridiculous now—I mean, tears? That's too much, and I'm right here if she wants me—I pushed the door open. "What's wrong?" I asked.
She lifted her head, a scowl marring her beautiful face. Jordan wasn't crying, either.
Huh?
"Nothing," she said.
"You stormed off all dramatic-like." I sat down next to her. "That's not like you." And I held back a snigger.
She scooted farther away. "You were just . . . You were being . . . I don't know." She stood up and went to leave.
I yanked on her hand, making her fall into my lap. "Can you stop your shit? Please!" I was nearly begging now, not giving a fuck if my actions were too bold. "Please, baby?" My tone was a whisper, her lips so close to mine . . . It was hard not to kiss her, but that would be going too far.
She pushed herself off of me, got back to her feet. "No. I told you . . . We weren't anything, right? Nothing mattered."
"You know that's not true," I sighed.
"It was for me. I don't care about you like that." She scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. "And how dare you? Stop my shit? Who was that? Amelia? Crying you another river? Are you guys back on?"
I bit my lips together to hide my grin. "If you don't care . . ."
"I don't." She's just as stubborn as the rest of the females in my life.
"Why ask?" I held up my palms. "If…you don't care."
She shook her head, wouldn't look at me. "You lied."
"I had to . . . but everything else, Jordan." I swallowed, my stomach in knots as I pushed off the step. "Everything else that was me and you—" I waved a finger "—all of that was true. The way I felt, the things I said, the way I felt about you, how I still feel, how beautiful…" I pushed her hair behind her ear. "I only lied about my family. And not even…really. Everything I said about them was true. I only denied what you'd asked."
She nodded, studying her shoes.
"Guess I'll see you in the O.R.?" Even so, even if everything I'd just said was true, I didn't want Jordan to think…that Rodriguez was treating her differently, special.
I'm an asshole.
"Rodriguez said I might be able to scrub. He invited you down, too, didn't he?" I winced. "Sorry if he didn't."
She didn't reply.
And I was . . .
There was a fork in my road of life.
But I had no idea what else to say.
Ignoring each other seemed like a ticking time bomb, the sexual tension—just the tension between us was unbearable.
The truth just got me nowhere . . .
Fucking with her head only granted me this one moment, and I was blowing it—not knowing any-fucking-thing.
Between the both of us, we're pretty fucking clueless when it comes to love, relationships, and the like.
Hey, she hasn't said much.
Maybe she really doesn't give a fuck—our relationship or whatever it was might have been one-sided.
"I was talking to Maggie…Sonny's wife."
"Your sister-in-law . . . You talk to her like that?" she asked.
I shrugged. "Like what?" I played it off so she'd think it was in her head.
I'm an asshole.
But doing nothing wasn't getting me anywhere, so that's where the games come to play.
"She's young, likes to play phone games—who hangs up on who." I rolled my eyes. "I'll see ya." I went to pat her back but though better, leaving the stairwell and feeling like I hadn't gotten anywhere.
Maybe it was time to just cut my losses?
However, just having those few minutes to get shit off my chest, tell Jordan the truth—because I think she believed that I lied—felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
/=/=/=/=/=/
Arriving at my dorm, I racked my brain for something to do. Ethan really hit it off with Melinda, and they were currently occupying our room—the scarf on the door. I didn't feel like going to Brooklyn, nor did I anticipate a phone call from Sonny.
Mom would tell me what's up and they're going on vacation tomorrow, so I called her to see what was up and to wish her bon voyage.
She didn't answer, which I thought was odd.
When I called my father, he answered on the third ring, out of breath. "Hello?"
"You okay?"
"Are you okay?" He panted.
"Uh, yeah. Just checking in…wanted to say goodbye before you guys left."
"I can't talk right now…but you're good?" he asked.
"Where's Mom?" I furrowed my brow.
Dad groaned, sucked his teeth, and then my mother greeted me, "Hey, baby." She sounded winded as well.
"Oh, fuck. My bad." I cringed, as they were obviously fucking.
"Um . . . What?" She hummed and then giggled, "Edward, stop."
I took my phone from ear to look at it before I ended the call.
At a loss, sitting in the quiet common room, I left the sofa. Then I left the building to walk over to the chicken spot. It has a pay phone—a dying breed here in New York—and I'd be able to call Sonny.
After I bought a bucket of fried chicken, I took out my phone to look at my contacts. Sonny gets a new prepaid cell phone every week—sometimes twice a week if some shit is going down. Those phones can't be tapped or tracked.
"Yo!" Sonny boomed.
"What the fuck's going on?" I asked, chewing.
"What are you eating? I'm fucking hungry again." Sonny's tone was low, like he was talking to himself.
"You sound good," I commented. "And I'm eating chicken."
"Chicken . . ." he mused. "Maggie, my love. You want chicken?" His tone was sweet, which . . . He hasn't been sweet to Maggie at all. The past week he's been taking his anger out on her. I even suggested she go stay with my parents until Sonny got his shit together.
I couldn't be there every second, no matter if my father has my dean by the balls.
"What's up, bro?" I shook my head.
"Nothing." Now there was a crinkling sound.
"What's that?" I asked.
"Frozen broccoli . . . got into it with Sal and Tommy."
My eyes widened. "Why?"
"Bullshit. Don't worry about it. I just—I can't get into it, not now. I'm hoping to put today and the last two months behind me. Know what I mean?"
"I do." I nodded. "You're going away, too?"
He didn't answer me right away. "Yeah . . . Look, you have any problems, you go to Carlisle. It just worked out this way. Aro's going somewheres . . . Mom and Dad are heading to Bermuda, and Dad gave me the OK to head out with Mag. We'll be in the Poconos for a few days."
"Sounds cool. But are you okay to be . . . alone with Maggie?" I briefly had a horrible thought of Sonny going out to the woods with Maggie but not coming back with her. His temper has been horrible, the worst it's ever been, and my only hope was that his immense love for her would make him stop his shit.
"I'm good, bro. I swear to Christ. I was buggin', but I have my head now. I'm good."
"Okay," I said. "You're—"
"Damion, I'm sure. All right?" His tone was playful, not aggressive. "And I wanna thank you for—not only having my back—but having Maggie's as well."
I grinned. "Don't mention it."
"I have a lot of . . . making up to do. I should die—fucking put a bullet in my dome and be done with it."
"What?" I shouted. "Sonny—"
I heard a door close on the other end. "You don't know, Dame. You. Don't. Know."
"I can be there in twenty. Just—"
He sighed. "I'm not going to do anything stupid—not anymore. I've fucked up enough for three lifetimes. And Maggie, she's—she's not even holding a grudge. I want—I need her to hate me, and she won't. I don't understand."
"Neither do I." I was honest. "She knows it's not personal; I told her that. Why should she hate you?"
"Because I'm a piece-of-shit husband, that's why." He sniffled.
"You're not. You're just…going through some shit. You'll be fine. I know it. You know it, and Maggie knows—"
"You don't know."
"What are you trying to tell me?" I asked.
He was quiet again. "I can't even…but I should die. Thank God for Dad. He—" Sonny abruptly stopped speaking. "He knows what's up."
"How? Did Maggie tell Mom?" My stomach was in knots, but then I was confused again. My parents were just fucking their brains out . . .
"No, Dad guessed. Listen, lemme go. I have to brainstorm, think of ways to make it up to Maggie. She's packing for us now . . . I just—"
"Get some rest. Okay? If you need anything, you call me. Even if you're up in the mountains. You know? I'll get a whip and go up there."
"Thank you." He sounded weepy again.
"Sonny…" My heart broke for him; meanwhile, I still had no idea what had gone down today.
"I love you . . . We'll catch up when we get back."
"I love you, too. But you—" He ended the call before I could finish my sentence, but I hope he calls if he needs anything.
I slowly hung up the phone and then turned from the booth.
Some homeless dude actually stood there expectantly, and I had no idea how long he'd been behind me.
"Hey, man…Can I get some chicken?" His clothes were dirty and he stank of booze.
And I handed him a wing.
"God bless you." He went to touch me.
I backed up, leaned away. "Enjoy."
In the blustery, wintery cold of February, I walked along the avenue back to the dorms, hugging my bucket of chicken close to my chest.
My food was likely cold now, but it seemed like that'd be the only thing I'd be holding for a while—me and my deep fried poultry, my only friend.
I chuckled but composed myself quickly when I passed by a pharmacy.
There were hearts and teddy bears in the window display.
That's when I realized tomorrow's Valentine's Day.
Stupid fucking holiday.
I tore into a drumstick and kept it moving, quickly walking to my building.
Once in my hallway, I got a Pepsi out of the machine, and then went for my room. The scarf was still there, so I kicked the door—out of spite and jealousy. It looked like I'd be sleeping in the common room.
The bucket of chicken, my soda, and my ass got settled on the sofa. It was late, nearly ten o'clock, but I wasn't alone. Some chick sat across from me. She was a skinny blonde, who had books littered around her.
"Hey…" I said.
Her eyes flashed to me, went back to her book, but then she looked at me again. "Hi…" She grinned.
I gave her a small wave, and I'd seen her around here before. That doesn't mean I know her. The woman I was obsessed with . . . I worked with Jordan every day and never knew she lived a few floors above me. "Locked outta your room?" I asked.
She blew out a breath, puffing her cheeks. "Yup."
"What are you working on?" I was curious, as I sipped from my soda.
Her shoulders dropped. "Getting a head start on my dissertation. You?"
I raised a brow, looking down to my chicken. "You want?" I held out the bucket.
She giggled, acting shy and shaking her head. "I'm Pam."
"Damion." I pointed to myself.
"You're in the med program." She nodded.
"Yeah . . ." I wondered how she knew that.
"I see you in your lab coat sometimes."
"Right." I nodded. "So, you're just Pam…?"
"Pamela Marquis." She had an accent when she said her last name.
"Damion…McCullen," I lied, reaching over to shake her hand, and I didn't know why I lied. After all, with the way things have been going, she could be the love my life . . . although I wasn't attracted to her at all. She wore socks with flip-flops, and . . . Well, most people around here wear sock with flip-flops. It's winter and all.
"Irish?" she asked.
"Okay." I bit into a chicken thigh and asked, "You sure you don't want?" with a mouthful.
She laughed, her cheeks flushing crimson. "No, thank you."
I sighed, relaxing back. But then a shiver ran through me when the front door opened, cold air invading the space. "Shit."
"Um . . . I—" Pam lifted, showed me the blanket that covered her thighs. "Sorry. Forget it." I wondered if all college chicks were easy—loose. What the fuck was this? It seemed, the ones I'd interacted with, were that way.
However, just because she blushes when she looks at me, offered me her blanket, didn't mean she wanted to sleep with me.
Or did it?
"I'm good. Thank you." I should tell her—medically speaking—that our naked bodies intertwined would heat us up faster.
I mean, WWSD?
What would Sonny do? If he was single . . . and lonely?
He would have been under that blanket, halfway to some swanky hotel by now.
Alas, I am not Sonny, nor do I have the funds to take . . . Pam to a fancy hotel.
All I had to offer her was chicken.
Pam continued to read, or she tried to. Every once in a while she'd look at me, and I'd pretend not to notice. The quiet was welcomed, and I ate in peace.
When I heard someone stomping down the stairs, I looked over my shoulder. Some dude I did not recognize waved to Pam, and then the cold wind blew through as he left.
"Finally . . ." Pam gathered her books. "That's my roommate's boyfriend . . ."
"Seems like a nice guy." I smiled.
She laughed, looking at me again, down to her books, and back to me once more. "It's cold down here . . . I mean, do you want company, or…um, I mean," she giggled, rolling her eyes.
"I'm cool. Go get warm." I didn't know what to say.
"Annie won't mind if you come up . . ." She trailed off, leaving the other sofa with her blanket, which touched the floor.
I got to my feet to right the blanket so it wouldn't get dirty. "I'm good here. Thank you."
"Annie's a drag." She plopped down onto my couch, staring up at me.
"Okay." I grabbed my bucket and sat next to her.
"What's your favorite part about the med program?"
I furrowed my brow. "What graduate program are you in?"
"Oh." She smiled. "I'm a psych major."
I blinked, piece of chicken raised to my lips, and I hated her now. "That's—that's something." Now she'll analyze me until I made a quick getaway.
When the front door flew open a third time, I was surprised to see hurricane Jordan storm through. Her hair was now a wreck, her nose pink from the cold. She shivered, pausing in the foyer for a minute.
"I mean, yeah. I like it . . ." Pam kept speaking, she droned on and on, but when Jordan met my gaze, I zoned out. "My professors are awesome . . ."
She stared daggers at me, was likely imagining my death, and I had no idea why . . . until I realized I was sitting in the same room with another female.
The horror!
Well, we were on the same couch.
"You planned this!" Jordan exclaimed.
I held my palms out. "I—"
"Don't mess with my head!" She walked toward me, and I thought she was going to hit me. "I hate you!" Jordan stole my bucket of chicken. "Gimme that Pepsi. You don't deserve Pepsi!" My soda was gone, too, and then she made a beeline for the stairs.
As soon as she was out of sight, I couldn't help myself and laughed my ass off.
"Is she your ex or something? She lives on my floor—is very quiet." Pam stared at me.
"Um, she's something, all right." I just kept smiling. "It was very nice to meet you."
"Likewise." She nodded. "If…you're single…can I give you my number?"
Fifteen minutes ago, I would have given her my number, but only because I thought I was single. Now, after that display, I knew there was hope—Jordan cared more than she wanted to admit.
"I'm not single, but thank you for keeping me company. I've gotta go get my chicken back."
Pam chuckled. "Well . . . have a good night." She left the sofa.
I followed her to the elevator. "Thanks. You, too."
We both went for the button, and then an awkward laugh ensued. The ride up to the fifth floor wasn't too bad, the silence was cool. But when we left the elevator, Pam went right, and my eyes went left.
Jordan was eating the chicken, pacing by the stairs.
Hoping to get her attention again, I quickly turned . . . like I was trailing after Pam, going to her room.
"You motherfucker!" Jordan shouted, and something hit my head.
Looking down, it was a chicken breast. Jordan also had my attention and Pam's attention, and she was just entering her room.
"What?" I hollered back. "Why am I a motherfucker?"
"You—" She pointed to Pam, who wasn't there anymore. She'd gone into her room and closed the door.
"I, what?" I walked toward Jordan. Speaking of, her room was two off from Pam's, so my next line was stellar. "I was just coming up to see you."
She looked behind me. "Oh." Jordan visibly relaxed.
"I wanted my dinner!" I snatched the bucket away from her. "What's your problem? You ignore me for a week, and now you're fucking with me? You gotta problem with everything I do."
"Not everything!"
"Yes, everything. I was just sitting on a couch, and you hijack my dinner? I don't think so." This was so funny to me. While Jordan looked like she wanted to kill me, I was trying not to laugh. "Can you stop?"
"You stop!"
I groaned. "You're acting like a child . . . and what's this?" I tossed her hair away from her shoulder. "Wasting your anti-frizz shit on those cats? You never did that shit for me on the reg—wearing makeup, showing everyone your ass." I looked her up and down, and now I was getting angry.
Jordan's chest heaved, fire in her eyes. "It's none of your business."
I nodded, backing away. "You're right. I told you…All I wanted was the chance to tell you what I did earlier. And now…whatever. Now you know the truth. What you do with it . . . Hey, I had a good time nonetheless. Okay? Can we be friends?"
She calmed down again, fiddling with the fringe on her scarf, her eyes on the floor. "We can be friends," she whispered. "But…"
"But?" I stepped closer, 'cause being friends is better than nothing.
"I think we should only be friends—friends and that's it." She blew out a breath.
I nodded, taking one more step . . . just one more, which had our feet and chests almost touching.
I was tired of being away from her—the games, ignoring each other . . .
And standing in this one spot . . . so close and not touching . . . it was bittersweet.
It was a feat that we were in such proximity, and sad because she wasn't in my arms.
From where I was, I could finally smell her shampoo again. "Is that really what you want?" I couldn't help myself, crossing the line and lifting her chin.
Soon, my hand spanned her cheek, marveling at how soft her skin was, how cold it was from being outside, and how I felt so alive . . . getting excited because of the chaste contact.
"Yes," she whispered, leaning into my hand.
I spread my fingers, brushing her hair back. "And you're sure?"
"Yes." Her voice broke.
Meeting her gaze, I saw she was crying. "Okay." I held my breath, leaning in and kissing each tear away, reveling in the salty taste on my lips. "You know where I am . . ." I touched my nose to hers. "If you change your mind . . ."
"I'll—I'll know where to find you." She gulped and licked her lips.
I grinned, wanting to take her into my arms so badly—just grab onto her ass, drag her into her room and never come out, just hold on—hold on to her. "It's cold…but do you wanna share?" I held up the chicken.
She giggled, wiping her face. "Who says no to fried chicken?" She was smiling but then started crying again.
"Hey…" I grabbed her hand. "I meant what I said before. I told you one lie…just one."
She sniffled. "I'll stop my shit."
I swore my heart skipped a beat, my stomach in a knot again. "You—"
"I missed you." Her lip quivered.
I pulled her into my arms, hugging her tightly, and I only had one hand to grab her ass with. But that was okay. My lips found hers quickly, yet I didn't get carried away. "I missed you, too."
Jordan didn't say anything. She just continued to hug me, burying her head into my chest. I swayed us from side to side, the biggest smile on my face.
"I really, really missed you, Jordan." I kissed her hair.
"I only wore makeup and stuff to mess with your head."
"I freaked my sister-in-law out while trying to make you jealous," I laughed. "Sitting with that chick was just coincidental. She's a psych major—whatever."
Jordan gasped. "Not a psych major!" She leaned away, grinning.
"You know how I feel about that." With her hand tucked in mine, we walked toward her room.
"'Cause God forbid anyone find out how screwed up you really are."
I stopped us from going into her room. "I fucking missed you so much." I had to get that out again, and I'd likely tell her once more some time tonight.
"No secrets this time."
I nodded. "No one else either. I know we didn't have rules before, but this time…I think we should make some."
"Cool." She placed her key into the door. "How 'bout . . . We only fuck each other, and the rest we'll make up as we go along?"
"I can live with that." I followed Jordan into her room.
Thank you for reading.
See you next week! CH40 we'll hear from Edward and Bella!