Finding Jordie: Things aren't always what they seem. (The Love Lies Bleeding Series Book 1) (4 page)

“Did you just pull a Coyote Ugly *NSYNC style verbatim?” I heard a voice from behind me.

I froze mid drag, not daring to look behind me. I recognized that voice now. I turned my head. My eyes met Nathan’s. I let out a nervous chuckle when he sat next to me.
Jesus, he really is gorgeous.
I felt that same little pull in my belly as he bumped me.
There it is again. What is that? For fuck’s sake, Jordan, calm down. He’s at least eight or nine years younger than you. Besides, you don’t get feelings like this.

“Ahhhhhh, you caught that, huh?” I shifted my eyes to the light post in an attempt to hide my nervousness.

“I did.” He smiled his nut job smile and my belly began to flip flop.

Seriously, what the hell?

“How do you know it was verbatim? You had to be like ten when that song was out.” I grinned teasingly.

“I was sixteen for your information, and I must have watched that video a million times.” He leaned into me and bumped my shoulder this time. I stiffened up immediately.

Oh my god, do not touch me,
I screamed inside my head. Not because it was unwelcome. But because it was just a bit
too
welcome.

He leaned forward to look at me. “Jordie? You all right?”

“Yeah, fine.” I managed a small smile.

“Your lip looks better.” He reached his hand up like he was about to put his thumb on it.

Immediately I tossed my cigarette in the road and hopped to my feet. He stayed seated on the curb for a minute, looking confused, and then he stood up as well.

Jesus, he has to be what? Six-one? Six-two?

He towered over me with those eyes, which sent tingles right through me. All of a sudden I felt like some crazy electro-magnet was compelling me to take in all I could of him. You couldn’t pry my eyes off of him with the jaws of life. I could hardly breathe.

“So...” he said. His voice came out all quiet and rough. He cleared his throat. “Okay then, guess you need to get back to work. Don’t want you getting fired.” There was a hint of a smile at one corner of his mouth.

“Yep, don’t want to get fired.” I took a step back. “You say you were sixteen when that song was released, making you how old?” The cougar inside waited to hear the damage. “I’m shit at math.” He probably thought I was trying to fuck him with my eyes.
Quit staring.

“I’m twenty-seven.” He did this thing with his eyebrows.

So he was older than he looked. I felt a surge of relief pulse through me, and I immediately stifled it.
This doesn’t make it okay.

“How old are you?”

“Tsk tsk, Nathan. I’m shocked. You aren’t the gentleman that you claim to be, asking a woman her age.” I shook my head with mock disapproval.

“Touché. You don’t have to tell me. It really doesn’t matter.” He smirked, and I think my heart stopped beating.

Of course it doesn’t matter.

Someone standing nearby cleared her throat excessively loudly and turned to Nathan. “Excuse me,” she said, all shy-like and airheaded.

Where’d this bitch come from?

She seemed to think nothing of interrupting our conversation. I guessed she didn’t see me as much competition.

That’s because there is no competition, dumb ass. Look at her—young, skinny, blonde. Gorgeous by all of society’s standards. Sure, she has a wonky eye and wears far too much makeup. Her boobs probably aren’t even real, just some silicone gel push-up bra... Focus, Jordan.
I snapped out of the conversation in my head just in time for Blondie to give her sales pitch.

“Hi.” She turned her back to me.

“Hello.” Nathan’s tone was polite. His eyes were still locked with mine. The girl glanced back at me with an expression like she’d gotten a whiff of rotten eggs or something, then back to Nathan. She had his attention.

“Call me sometime.” She pressed a napkin into his hand and let her fingers linger in his palm a moment too long.

I’ll cut your hand off, twat
. My stomach sank.
Why are you reacting like this?

“I’m flattered, thank you,” he responded to her politely.

I wanted to punch something. Hard. Like Old Perky Boobs, in the head
. Stop it, Jordan. You don’t care.
I repeated it over and over in my head. A steady mantra,
I-DO-NOT-CARE
, over and over, but the reality of it was no matter how many times I said it, I did care. I hadn’t felt that giddy, butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling in years. Not in ten years.

“But also, I’m sorry. I just don’t think I’ll call.” He handed the napkin back to her, and his eyes were back on me again.

She whipped her head back and gave me a death stare, so I stuck my tongue out at her like a child. Shit, I wanted to sing “nanee-nanee-poo-poo” while I was at it, but I didn’t want to push my luck.

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes, and stomped off.

My stomach began the familiar flip flopping as I peered up at Nathan feeling extremely self conscious under his silent stare, and hoping he didn’t catch my childish reaction.

“Eh, imagine that conversation,” I blurted out to end the awkwardness. In my best valley girl voice, I continued, “Like OMG, how are you today? Wanna like go shop and stuff?” I flipped my hair, cocking my head from side to side.

“You are something.” He smiled and stuck his tongue out at me.

Crap. Busted.
I think I turned seven shades of red. “Well,
something
needs to get back inside before Rachel has an aneurism.” I recovered quickly from my embarrassment and turned to lead the way back to the bar.

“Bye, Jordie.”

“Not coming back in?”

“Can’t, I have to go.”

My stomach sank with disappointment again. “Okay.” I managed a smile. “See ya.” I coolly breezed back inside, not allowing my disappointment to show.

Honestly, Jordie, stop this. It’s nothing. If he didn’t want Blondie, what makes you think he’d want your no frills ass?

I spent the rest of that evening tending bar in a daze. I couldn’t get my mind off Nathan. Mindlessly I poured drink after drink, dissecting our conversation, trying to recreate that feeling I got when he was close to me. His body language, his eyes, his smile...
Oh, that smile.
Had he turned down Blondie because I was standing there, and he didn’t want to be rude? I popped the top off a beer and handed it to a customer, still consumed by my thoughts.

The customer shrugged as he began to walk away. Rachel stopped him. “Nice try, guy! Pay up, this isn’t a soup kitchen!” She snatched a fistful of singles from his shirt pocket.

Whoops, I wonder how many times I’ve done that tonight.

“Jordie, earth to Jordie?” Rachel snapped her fingers in front of my face. “You want to announce last call or are you just going to stand there and pour the rest of that bottle of tequila on the bar?” She snorted, clearly amused at the state I was in.

“Shit. Shit!” I fumbled, tilting the bottle upright.

She threw a rag over the puddle on the bar and laughed as she walked away. I rang the boxing bell on the wall, picked up the bullhorn, and yelled through it.

“Last call, motha fuckaaaaaas!”

In the tradition of ending the night, ‘Closing Time’ by Semisonic was playing throughout the bar and the place was just about empty. The DJ was packing up and we were busy cleaning, counting money, and doing whatever else we needed to do to get the hell out of there after twelve hours on our feet. When we finished, Rachel and I sat on the bar Indian style facing each other a few feet apart.

“So, spill the beans, ya harlot,” Rachel began. “What did Hottie McHotterstein say to you outside? Had to be one hell of a conversation—turned you into a window licker the last two hours of the night.” She snickered.

“What do you mean? Wait, how do you know we talked outside?” I frowned at her.

“I saw him follow you out there. Quit stalling. He did need to breach a gaggle of wild females that were taking pictures with him and his friend,” she said with a bit of contempt in her voice.

I wonder what all that hostility is about.
“Yeah, he told me his friend was a musician. Guess someone recognized him.” I shrugged.

“He looks so familiar to me.” She furrowed her eyebrows seriously. “I swear I’ve seen him somewhere before. Not just here, somewhere else.”

“Like on
America’s Most Wanted
or something?”

We both busted out laughing.

In all actuality, I’d rather it were true, so I could stop feeling like a fifteen-year-old with an all-consuming crush.

“You’re such an asshole, Jordie. No, for real, he looked familiar with a hat on.” Back to her serious face.

“Hollerrrr.” I only agreed with her as an attempt to end the Nathan subject.

“So, tell me everything.” She was sorting through the money from the tip jar.

I told her all about the conversation we had and Goldie Locks dropping the digits on him along with his kind refusal.

“Shut up!” she shrieked and threw the stirring straw from her mouth at me. “Cosmo girl? I heard her going on and on about some guy all night. I had no idea it was stud bucket.”

“Yup, it was,” I said softly.

“You like him!” It was more like a statement than a question.

“Am I fifteen? I
like
him?” I don’t know why, but her observation threw me off balance like I was learning how to ride a bike and wobbling everywhere inside.

“Whatever, Jordie. Stay in your iron-clad bubble. Forget the fact that the guy is hot and so far sounds extremely nice
and
you haven’t let anyone in since...”

Oh,
there
she was. You’re-doing-it-wrong Rachel. I interrupted her by holding up my hand while I stared at the bar underneath me. “Don’t. Do not start this shit with me, please.”

She slid down from the bar, scooped up her cash, and handed me a hundred dollars.

“I took money out of petty cash Tuesday. I’ll see ya, Jordie.” She grabbed the rest of her stuff and stomped out the door.

I sighed out loud. She wouldn’t talk to me for a few days, but she’d get over it. I slid off the bar, gathered up all my crap, and followed. Mike and Carlos had left just before Rachel, so once again, it was just me. Before I walked out, I took a long look around.

“Emma and this are all I need,” I muttered, and took off towards home.
Why be greedy? Why want more? You don’t need more. You don’t do love, and you certainly don’t do happily ever after.

“Fuck!” I blurted out as I reached my steps. Nathan was perched there halfway up and, my Lord, he was looking fine.

“Is that a statement or a request?” He grinned mischievously at me, a grin that touched those amazing blue eyes.

Oh shit, he’s here...on my front porch.
My heart slammed into my throat and I was pretty sure I had lost the ability to form a coherent sentence.
“Hi?” was all I could manage to say. What was he doing here at three a.m.?

“I wanted to make sure you made it home safely,” he said, as if answering my silent question.

“Nut. Job,” I mouthed slowly to him.

He laughed, unveiling that beautiful, perfect, white-toothed smile that made his eyes even brighter. Then it happened. With that one smile, I surrendered to whatever it was inside of me I was fighting. I could no longer worry about how this story would end when all I wanted to do was start it.

I walked past him. “Want to come up for a beer or something?” I unlocked the door and waited for the impact of the rejection.

“Or something.”

I could hear the smirk in his tone. “Is that a statement or a request?”
Ugh, what are you doing? Is this flirting?
I silently sighed. Rachel had never been more correct—it
had
been too long.

“Lock the door behind you, please.” I started the two-flight journey to my apartment. We reached my door, and I took a deep breath while I unlocked it. We walked in and I tossed my crap on the table as usual. He closed the door, and I heard the click of the lock.

“Want some breakfast?” I asked him, walking past the large sectional in my living room into the kitchen. Nathan followed but stopped in the dining room and took a quick glance around my place as he leaned against the wall.

“Assuming I will be here for breakfast?” he asked in a sultry voice full of humor.

Flushed, I popped my head out from behind the fridge door. “Smart ass, I meant now. I’m starving. Yes or no?”

“Sure.” He got dimples when he smiled.

“Can you make some coffee?” I pointed to the pantry closet door.

“Yes, ma’am.” He stepped into the pantry. “Pop Tarts? You eat Pop Tarts?” His muffled words became clearer as he walked out, holding coffee in one hand and a box of Pop Tarts in the other. He closed the door with his foot.

“I enjoy a good Pop Tart.” I pouted, crinkling my eyebrows.