Raining Down Rules (9 page)

Chapter 18

Jemma

I don’t know what was more unbearable last night, the fact my pulse reacted so heavily at Jordan’s touch or that I wanted him to kiss me, and badly. That kind of thinking will only hurt me in the end. I know this, but I also know if he doesn’t leave soon I’ll hurt no matter what.

We managed to pick out several articles of clothing for Jordan on Amazon, and with any luck they’ll be delivered tomorrow. It was torture sitting next to him on my bed while we ordered his clothes, so bad in fact, Jordan ended up taking the laptop from me to scroll through the pages while I watched. Everyone has quirks, but you’d never know Jordan has any by the way he performs onstage. Yet, as he scrolled through the many pages of Amazon, he chewed his bottom lip, or stuck his tongue out one side of his mouth and furrowed his brow. I wish I knew what he had been thinking while online shopping. I couldn’t think of anything but him and what he’ll look like in the boxer briefs he bought. Twelve hundred dollars later, he had purchased what he needed and excused himself for the night.

I went to bed with his name on my lips and a warning flashing in my head I tried so very hard to ignore.

***

The house is beginning to feel hot, charged with an energy I’ve not felt before. UPS finally delivered Jordan’s Amazon package late Wednesday evening and I don’t know which one of us was more excited, him for having clothes and shoes that fit him right or me for getting to see what he looks like in said clothing.

He joins us downstairs after dinner dressed in a pair of dark, fitted jeans and a black v-neck ribbed t-shirt. I hold back a gasp. His hair is
combed
, his face is beginning to fill out, and the five o’clock shadow he typically sports has grown in a little more thick around his jaw and along his lips. He looks devastatingly handsome and I feel out of place in my light gray yoga pants and off-the-shoulder sweatshirt.

“Let’s go somewhere,” he says, looking mildly ridiculous with his pink cast waving around like a flag.

Gran looks up over her knitting and then goes back to her project.

“It’s a Wednesday night, you can’t drink, and everything around here closed at six,” I say with a sigh. Good Lord, he is handsome. Is it getting hotter in here?

“What about a drive? I need to get out of here for a bit.” He holds his hand out to me and I hesitantly take it. He pulls me to my feet and I suppress a laugh when I look down at the floor and see he’s wearing the flip-flops I bought him.

“What happened to the new shoes you bought?” I ask as I smooth down my shirt.

He shrugs and gives me a wink, then says, “I like these better.”

“Let me go change and then we’ll go for a drive. Gran, do you want to come with us?”

Gran looks up again, smiles politely, and shakes her head. “No, you two go on ahead. I’m feeling a little tired and will probably go to bed here soon.”

“Okay, are you feeling all right?” I kiss Gran on the top of her head and inhale her citrus shampoo. She pats my arm and smiles again.

“Fine, honey, just a little tired.”

“We won’t be out too late,” I say, and then jog up the stairs. I throw on a clean pair of skinny jeans and some ankle boots and decide my off the shoulder sweatshirt is fine. It’s not like I’m going on a date with Jordan Capshaw, it’s only a drive. I grab my coat and a scarf and take a deep breath as I count the number of heartbeats it takes me to get to the bottom of the stairs.

“Ready?” I ask, feeling like I’ve intruded on some strange exchange between Jordan and Gran. She’s giving him a knowing look and he’s avoiding her gaze altogether. He turns to me and I almost get lost in his brown sugar-colored eyes.

“Be good, you two,” Gran calls on our way out. I giggle inwardly as I search through my purse for my keys.

I stop the car at the edge of the driveway and look to my left and right. In high school I would drive the dusty old farm roads when I needed to get away or be alone to think about things. One time I found this ancient barn so old a large oak tree somehow had sprouted in the center and now was the only thing holding up the timbers. I sat outside that barn for hours one night, watching the stars and crying over what never should have been.

“Which way?” I ask Jordan. He shrugs and points left. We follow his random directions until we end up at the end of a windy gravel road nestled between two sloping hills. We both exit the car and walk toward a group of tall trees that stand like fingers waiting for gloves. The shadows surrounding the growth look like the bones of spiny skeletons and a chill runs down my back.

“Cold?” Jordan asks, and steps closer.

“A little, I guess. Though it’s kind of creepy out here, don’t you think?”

He shrugs and drapes his arm over my shoulder, pulling me to his side. In the movies they make this look cozy and romantic, but walking side by side is awkward with him being so much taller than me. Our footsteps aren’t in sync so it’s all bumpy and stiff, and neither of us seems to know how to make our rhythm match.

“Look at that,” Jordan says with a smile. He’s pointing to a large tree with an old wooden swing hanging from one of its branches. “You think it will hold us?”

“Us? I doubt I could even get my butt on there without it collapsing.”

“Since you brought it up, you do have a really nice butt.” His eyes light up as he leans back to check me out. I playfully smack him on his shoulder and then take off at a jog to the swing.

“Dibs!” I giggle as I run through the tall grass.

We reach the swing at the same time, laughing and gasping for breath as we each take hold of one side. Jordan pulls on the rope with his good hand, tugging me toward him. We’re both breathing hard, staring each other down with only the wooden seat of the swing separating us. The moon casts shadows over Jordan’s face, making the fading angles exaggerated, almost like his bones are sticking out from his pale skin. A shiver works its way through my body and I’m the first one to back down. I let go of the rope and step back. Jordan inhales deeply and then shakes the swing.

“I think it will hold,” he says as he puts some weight on the seat.

“Careful,” I say, “you don’t want to break your other arm if the swing breaks.”

The tree branch is solid and doesn’t move as Jordan slowly lowers himself to the seat. He pushes off the ground with his feet and slowly swings back and forth.

“It’s a little stiff. You should try it,” he says with a wink. Hopefully he’s referring to the swing. He pats the space next to him and I shake my head.

“You’re crazy. There is no way I’ll fit on there with you.”

“Sure you will.” He pats the seat again.

“It won’t hold us both,” I protest.

“Stop arguing and come here.” His feet drag on the ground until the swing stops moving. Groaning at losing the battle, I drag my feet over to the swing.

“If this thing collapses on us, you’re walking back home.”

A light breeze floats through the naked trees, rattling the wispy branches. No matter what I do the shivers won’t stop. I move to try to squeeze next to Jordan, who only scoots to the middle of the seat.

“Sit on my lap,” he says while he reaches toward my hips. My breath hitches and my heart hammers in my chest. Biting my bottom lip, I go to turn, but he pulls me toward his legs. “Hold on to the rope and put your legs over mine.”

Pink roses bloom on my cheeks. He’s asking me to straddle him, which is terribly frightening for multiple reasons.

“I can’t,” I say with a squeak. “What if it breaks?”

“You’ll be fine,” he coaxes. The fingers of his good hand tug on a belt loop of my skinny jeans. My heart is pounding in my ears. I swallow against the lump forming in my throat and slowly sit on his lap, straddling him, leaving no space between us. I close my eyes tightly against the impending collapse of the swing, but it holds firm, and suddenly Jordan pushes us off the ground and we’re swinging slowly in the night.

“See, I told you,” he whispers. His words alight on my cheek, resting there as light as a butterfly. All I can do is nod my head; looking at him is too painful, with his brown sugar eyes and angled jaw—all things that point to perfection. My rules flash before my eyes and for the first time I feel something changing and it scares me. I can’t let the rules go. I can’t dismiss them and why I created them.

When I get nervous my jaw trembles, and it’s going a million miles a minute now. Jordan mistakes my shivers for being cold, and cold is the one thing I am not.

The swing stops, Jordan’s feet rest on the ground, and he pulls my hands off the rope, guiding them to my lap. He wraps his arms around my back, enveloping me in his warmth and the shivers multiply.

“God, you’re freezing,” he says, and pulls me closer. My head falls to the crook of his neck and I breathe him in. Between his new clothes and the summery smell of the body wash he’s using, I could stay right here all night.

“I’m okay,” I say as I huddle down further into his chest. Jordan’s head rests on mine, his scruffy jaw pokes through my hair, and I resist the overwhelming urge to pull his face to mine. What is wrong with me? I created my rules years ago so that situations like this would not happen…not that I ever expected
this
. When his lips brush over my hair I know I’ve got to pull away. Sitting up on his lap, we’re now face-to-face and his eyes travel to my lips. His own twitch and he licks them slowly.

“And this is where I exit,” I say, stumbling out of our mess of tangled legs. My right foot gets stuck and I topple to the ground, landing on a sharp rock. Holy hell, the rock stabs my butt, sending a sharp pain down my leg. Jordan quickly stands and helps me to my feet, and it’s all I can do to stay upright.

“Crap, that hurt,” I whimper, and close my eyes.

“Want me to take a look?” His eyes uber-focus on my butt and I push him away.

“Get away, you pig,” I tease. “I think I broke my butt.”

Chapter 19

Jordan

I have never been more turned on than I am right now. Jemma keeps rubbing her hand on her ass where she fell and good hell if I don’t want to do it for her. She half limps, half walks back to her car where she slowly lowers herself into the driver’s seat. I would have offered to drive, but the shakes come randomly and, well, let’s just say they seem to be worse depending on my arousal.

Each time we come close to kissing, she pulls away, so I have to wonder if maybe she plays for the other team. Then again, the way her eyes rake over me and how her cheeks flush, it’s not possible.

“So where to now?” I ask, hoping she understands I’m not ready to go back to her house. I find myself fighting hard against the urge to shoot up. I would kill for a drink even. Not to mention this God-awful cast on my hand that inhibits everything. At least it wasn’t a bad break, more like a few fractures in the metacarpals or terabytes. I don’t remember.

She backs her little Civic up and then turns around, flashing the high beams on the swing, and just remembering the sensation of her straddling me makes me need to change positions in the passenger seat. Jemma watches the road, makes the turns opposite in which we came—at least I hope she remembers how we got here. I sure as hell don’t. She drives us through the center of town and parks in the grocery store parking lot. I can tell she’s struggling with something as she stares at those automatic doors again.

“What is it with you and those doors?” I ask with a laugh. She turns to me and her blue eyes pierce a hole through my heart. Her cheeks are rosy, her hair is loose and tousled around her face. She’s a picture of beauty.

“The doors?” she asks, her eyes looking everywhere but at me. “Nothing’s wrong with the doors. Do you want anything?”

Jack Daniels? Grey Goose? “No, I’m good.”

“Be right back,” she says as she grabs her little purse and hops out of the car. This time, she leaves the car running.

Ever since my songs started playing on the radio, I find it hard to listen to anyone else’s. But I can’t handle the low rumble of the Civic’s engine so I turn it on and lean my head against the seat. Surprisingly, the singer’s voice doesn’t annoy me, nor do the lyrics, and I find myself tapping my fingers on my thigh to the beat of the drums. Three songs pass and my curiosity begins to pique. She’s got to have some things hidden in her car that will help me know more about her.

Her glove compartment contains the usual: insurance, registration, and owner’s manual. There’s also a pink purse-like object that when I unzip it, I zip it shut right away and shove it back into the glove box. Tampons. Don’t want to know about those.

The center console holds a dozen or more CDs, five of which are mine, or White Shadow’s anyhow.

The driver’s door opens and she plops down on her seat, handing me a plastic bag.

“I needed a soda,” she says as she reaches to my lap where she digs through the bag.

“Careful there, sister.” My legs do a knee-jerk as her hand brushes over my Johnson. Intentional or not, that’s dangerous ground. Her cheeks flush as though she’s just realized where her hand actually is. She snatches her soda and places it into one of the cup holders.

“Sorry. There’s one in there for you too. Along with some chocolate.”

“I don’t think I’ve had a Sprite since I was ten,” I say when I pull out the green bottle, and then immediately regret it. Her lips form a tight line and I can tell I’ve disappointed her. “Thank you. This should be yummy.”

Yummy? Did I just revert to a six-year-old?

“So if we hurry we can make the eight fifteen movie at the drive-in. Wanna go?” There she is again, almost looking through me.

“I’d rather get to know you,” I say as I shrug my shoulders.

“We can do that too. Let’s go.”

As it turns out, the movie is an older one,
The
English Patient
, which I’ve seen on more than one occasion.

“You know this is almost three hours long, right?” I ask as the movie begins. She nods and points to the screen.

“Shh. Just watch, okay?”

It’s not that the movie is boring, it’s just not a lot happens, other than the sexual tension between a couple sets of characters. Don’t get me wrong, the scene during the Christmas party had both Jemma and I squirming in our seats. When the screen goes black and cars begin to pull away, Jemma continues to stare straight ahead. Her hands are gripping the steering wheel and whether or not she knows it, she keeps chewing her bottom lip.

“Where do you go when you disappear?” It’s like Jemma climbs into a secret world and doesn’t see or hear what’s going on around her. She doesn’t answer so I try another tactic. “Maybe you and I can recreate that Christmas party scene.”

“What?” Her head snaps up and she turns to me with the rosy blush on her cheeks that suits her so well.

“You know, me and you, you up against the wall, my hands wandering to dark places…”

“Stop!” she cries. “That’s…I don’t. Just stop.”

“How old are you?” I ask. There has to be something to this girl that has her so wound tight.

“Twenty,” she answers.

I would have placed money on her being nineteen. “So you’re twenty years old and what, still a virgin?”

Her pink cheeks grow brighter and her eyes glisten as though she’s fighting tears. Her bottom lip trembles a bit and a single tear makes its way down her cheek.

Oh God. “Were you—?”

She cuts me off sharply. “No! It’s a long story,” she says softly. “I don’t talk about it…to anyone.”

“Maybe you should. Something’s got you so twisted inside you won’t even let me kiss you.”

The lights of a passing car flash in front of us and we both squint against the brightness. Jemma’s face is a mixture of something sad and slightly scared when she turns to me.

“You’ve wanted to kiss me?” Her question lingers as though she’s thought about it as well.

“I’ve tried to kiss you for two days. What did you think was happening?”

Her chest rises as she inhales deeply and then it falls as she releases her breath slowly. “You hardly know me,” she says, sounding like she’s trying to convince herself of something. “And there have been so many others.”

A laugh bubbles through my nose and I shake my head. There have been a lot—too many to count. More than one a night on occasion. “And you’re going to hold that against me?”

“Shouldn’t I? I’ve only been with one person and that was over three years ago. How many have you been with?”

A cough erupts from my throat. “Three years ago? Holy shit.”

There’s that pink blush on her cheeks again.

“I think it’s time to get back home.” Apparently it’s the end of the conversation as she turns away, purses her lips, and puts the car in reverse.