Trouble (19 page)

He stares down at me. I can see a war raging in his eyes.

After what feels like forever, he exhales. “Okay.”

I nearly cry out with relief when he takes my hand and shifts the car keys back to his.

“Not today, Donnie.” He turns, walking away, taking me with him.

“What? You’re leaving! You’re a fuckin’ pussy, Matthews! A motherfucking pussy!”

My heart is beating so hard, afraid that Donnie won’t simply let Jordan walk away from this and that he’ll come after him.

Jordan pulls some bills from his pocket and drops them down on the counter as we pass by the wide-eyed waitress. “I’m real sorry for the trouble, ma’am.”

Then we are of out of there.

I glance over my shoulder to see if Donnie is following us. He’s not.

Jordan squeezes my hand, pulling my attention back. “He won’t follow us. Despite his bravado, he’s a fuckin’ pussy. He challenged me in there because he wants an audience. He wants me to hit him first so he can get what he thinks is his revenge.”

I don’t question what that revenge is. Jordan will tell me if he wants to.

We’re back at the Mustang in record time. He unlocks it, letting me in.

I’ve just clipped my seatbelt when I hear the sound of Jordan yelling. Seatbelt off, I’m back out of the car just in time to see Jordan’s fist connecting with the wooden fence by the parking space. “
FUCK
! Motherfucking fuck!”

Normally, in a situation like this I would be paralyzed by fear, but not with him. My feet carry me toward Jordan without a second thought.

He’s standing with his forehead pressed to the fence he just beat on and his hand clutched to his heaving chest.

“Are you okay?” I ask softly.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look it.”

“Well I am.”

“Can I take a look at your hand?”

“Why?”

“Because you just punched a fence and the med student in me wants to make sure it’s okay.”

He tilts his face in my direction. The look on his face is hard. His eyes cold. The warmth I’m used to gone.

“I don’t need
you
to fix me, Mia.”

I feel my face flush under the harsh sting of his words.

Clearing my suddenly full throat, I say, “I’m not trying to fix you. I just want to make sure you haven’t broken any bones. Nothing more.”

His eyes close on a long blink.

Stepping away from the fence, he moves toward me and holds his injured hand out.

I take it in my own, ignoring the rush of sensation I feel, and begin checking his hand, making sure he hasn’t broken anything.

“All fine.” I look up at him a few moments later. “It’s just going to be swollen and bruised for a few days. Could do with some ice on it, and we need to clean that out.” I run my fingertip over the small graze on his knuckle.

I lift my eyes to his, finding Jordan already staring down at me with dark eyes. The air instantly shifts. My pulse quickens. Fireflies swarm my stomach, setting my insides on fire.

And what do I do?

I release his hand and step back, putting space between us.

I might not be afraid of Jordan, but I know what anger and sex combined can mean to a man.

Not that Jordan and I will be having sex. I just don’t want to confuse an already confusing situation.

He flexes his fingers out. “All you seem to do is fix us Matthew men up.” I notice his voice sounds gruff.

“I don’t mind.” I shrug.

“Mia…” He rubs his good hand over his hair, exhaling heavily. “I’m sorry I lost it just then. There’s just a real big ugly history with me and Donnie. It’s no excuse, but it was either that fence or his face. And better the fence, right?”

“Right.” I smile. “But I don’t think the fence would agree with you.” I poke my index finger through the hole his anger has left in it.

Jordan’s body starts to shake with silent laughter. His eyes smile at me.

I let out a little laugh. “Do you want to talk about it?”

His humor quickly dissipates. He stares at the ground for a long moment. “No,” he says, lifting his head. “Right now, I just wanna get drunk.”

It’s pretty early to be drinking … but what the hell. I can call day drinking part of the new me.

“I could go for that.” I smile.

“That’s my girl.” He grins.

His
girl?

His girl.

***

We drive back to Durango and head straight into town where the bars are. Jordan says he’ll leave his car there and pick it up in the morning, so we’ll be getting a cab back to the hotel when we’re done.

I’ve never done anything like this before – going to a bar in the afternoon with the intention of getting drunk.

I’m kind of excited. Okay, I’m freaking thrilled. I feel like a rebel.

Sad, but true.

Jordan has brought me to a bar aptly called ‘The Bar’. I’m sitting at a table in the back. Jordan’s gone to get us some drinks. This round is his.

The next is definitely mine.

He comes back with four shots in his hands, two beer bottle under his arm. I guess we’re starting big.

“Tequila,” he says, putting two of the shots down in front of me.

I’ve never tried tequila, but what the hell. This is the new Mia. The new Mia could be a tequila drinker.

I pick up one of the shot glasses, but his voice stops me. “Salt first.”

Taking the seat across from me, Jordan picks up the salt shaker from the table.

“Hand,” he says.

I hold my right hand out to him.

When he takes hold, my body instantly fires on all cylinders, the traction heading straight to the right parts of my anatomy.

He pours a line of salt on the side of my hand and says, “Lick.”

Jesus Christ. That sounded really hot.

I could really get into this tequila drinking. Especially if I get to hear Jordan talk to me like that.

Doing as told, I lean my mouth down to my hand and lick the salt off.

Jordan’s eyes haven’t moved from me. I see them flare the moment my tongue touches the salt.

I may or may not make the most of the moment, taking my time licking the salt from my hand.

I kind of like the affect it has on him.

When the salt is safely in my mouth, dissolving away, Jordan says in a really hoarse voice, “Now, drink the shot.”

I pick one of the shot glasses up. Glass to my lips, I down the tequila.

“Holy crap!” I’m breathing fire. I place the back of my hand to my damp lips, my eyes watering from the burn.

Jordan laughs. “Chase it with the beer, it’ll take the edge off. I forgot to bring the lime over.”

I take a big mouthful of beer.

My eyes are still watering, so I run my fingers under them catching the leaks.

“Not a tequila drinker?” He grins.

I shake my head. “This is the first time I’ve had it.”

“And what do you think?”

“Tastes like crap.” I grin. “But it does the job. Am I drinking alone?” I nod at his untouched drinks.

He shakes his head, then makes quick work of his own salt licking. He throws back his shot with far more ease than I just did.

Glass down, his eyes smile brightly at me.

I lean back in my chair, taking my beer bottle with me, and start picking at the label. “You look like a seasoned pro at that.”

“The tequila?”

“Hmm.” I nod.

“I’m a hard liquor man. What can I say.” He grins and picks the salt shaker up. “You want another hit?”

I flinch. He notices.

“I meant the salt, Mia. Do you want another hit of salt for your next shot?”

I shift, embarrassed. My face burns with my shame. “Uh … yes.” Biting my lip, I hold my hand out to him.

Instead of pouring the salt, Jordan encases my hand in his. Normally I would feel intimidated by this, but with Jordan, I don’t. His hold feels safe, gentle … kind.

For the first time in my life, I’m with a man who literally has me in his hand, and I don’t feel fear.

Instead, I find myself feeling connected to another human being in a way I never thought possible.

Releasing his hold a little, he turns my hand over and runs his thumb over my palm. It leaves a delicious trail of sensation in its wake.

My emotions start to tilt on their axis, and straight in his direction.

Lifting my eyes, Jordan’s gaze instantly captures mine. Without moving his eyes from me, he runs his fingers to my wrist, guiding my hand to the side.

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.

I ignore the unpleasant twist in my stomach brought on by the knowledge of Jordan leaving a bar with a girl he more than likely wanted to have sex with.

“We were headed to get a cab, when I was jumped by Donnie and a couple of his guys. It was meant to a warning beating because I hadn’t paid up, but I made the mistake of fighting back, instead of just taking it – I’m not one to take a beating.” He shrugs. “And I … mid-fight, to antagonize him … kind of told Donnie that I’d had sex with his girlfriend.”

“Had you?”

“Yes.”

Stomach twist. “Oh.”

“It was a one-time thing. A mistake.” He sighs. “But after telling him … well, that was when Donnie pulled out a baseball bat.”

“Dear god.” I wince, closing my eyes, feeling his pain as if was my own. I know how bad beatings can be. Especially when a weapon is involved.