Chapter 10

TEN

I’m still on a nervous high when I arrive home, so I just barrel into the house without any coherent plan of action, which means I walk right into Remy, Jordan, and Theo having lunch together.

I freeze in the doorway like a teenager who just got caught sneaking into the house after a night out. Two-thirds of that scenario applies to this situation, too. And since I spent most of my best teenage years shuffling between hospitals and physical therapy appointments, trying to get my life back on track, I’m woefully underprepared for how to handle this moment in the best way.

Jordan is looking at me with raised brows. Remy’s trying to suppress a smile. Theo is hoovering down pasta like his life depends on it.

What’s my choice of greeting in this situation?

For some inexplicable reason, I go with a wave and a, “Howdy.”

Now they all just stare. Even Theo stops eating for a moment to roll his eyes at me.

Jordan recovers first and adopts the strict expression that he’s mastered so well over the years.

“Young man, where the hell have you been all night? We have been worried sick. Sick, I tell you!”

The stern effect is somewhat ruined by the gleeful spark in his eyes.

“I—”

“You’re grounded until graduation,” Jordan says. “No phone, no friends, and certainly no going to the prom. And no, I don’t care that Chad asked you as his date and he’s going to be the prom king. You’re not going and that’s that.”

He’s enjoying this way too much.

I aim a look Theo’s way. “I feel for you, dude. This is your future.”

“Not if I don’t get caught.” Theo shrugs.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” I say with a snort.

“It’s not about luck. It’s about skill.”

Jordan turns his attention toward his son.

“And when I say skill, I mean that in a purely theoretical sense, of course. I would never do anything untoward to… bring shame to your household. Father,” Theo says quickly, fighting off a grin before he points at me. “Wren’s doing the walk of shame. A terrible example for an impressionable youth such as myself.” He moves his index finger between me and Jordan. “Discuss.”

“This is not a walk of shame,” I protest.

Theo’s gaze moves up and down me.

“You stayed out all night and now you’re rocking up here in last night’s clothes. It’s like the definition of a walk of shame.”

I point at him victoriously. “Well, joke’s on you. These aren’t my clothes. Ha!”

Theo’s smile is pure smugness. “Ooh. You showed me.”

Jordan looks at Remy and speaks out of the corner of his mouth. “Letting this conversation take place probably isn’t an example of good parenting, is it?”

Remy pats his hand. “You’re doing your best. And at least it’s entertaining.”

Jordan nods. “There is that.”

“Well? Did you clap cheeks or not?” Theo asks, tilting his head to the side.

I let out a scandalized squeak and an equally scandalized, “Theo!”

Jordan leans toward Remy. “Any parenting advice on how to address that?”

“Trust your gut?” Remy suggests.

Jordan nods.

“Theo,” he says sternly. “Don’t say clap cheeks. The word is sex. Wren.” He turns his attention to me. “Answer the question.”

“Oh my God,” I mutter as I escape up the stairs.

I can still hear their laughter when I close the door of my room behind me.

I spend the rest of the day hiding in my room, catching up on my studying to distract myself from what’s going to happen later.

It doesn’t really work.

Nerves run rampant no matter what I do, and by the time I start to get ready, it’s even worse. I skip dinner because I don’t think I can squeeze down a bite, and if I’m going to have sex, maybe it’s better not to stuff myself full of pot roast before.

I take a long shower and wash everything. And by everything, I mean everything. I’d venture a guess I’m cleaner on the inside than the outside at this point.

It’s lucky I’m allowed to finally remove the splint. The finger’s still a bit tender, but it’s manageable by now, so we’re all good on that front.

I’m just standing in front of the dresser, trying to figure out what to wear—a difficult choice between the few pairs of sweats, jeans, and long-sleeved T-shirts that make up my whole wardrobe—when Jordan raps his knuckles against the half-open door and peeks his head in.

“Going out?” he asks with a knowing grin.

I make a face. “Please don’t make it weird.”

He laughs, comes inside, and sits on the edge of my bed. “I wasn’t going to. Promise.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you.”

I pick up a shirt and inspect it for a moment before I drop it back in the drawer. Too green. Jordan stays silent while I’m having my shirt-related identity crisis. Finally, I just give up, pick a random shirt, and pull it over my head. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not going to Sutton’s to show off my nonexistent fashion sense. I’m going there to have sex.

When I turn around, I find Jordan watching me intently.

“You look nice,” he says.

I let out a breath, and my shoulders relax. I guess I needed to hear that.

“Thanks.”

I rake my hands through my hair and try to tame it into some sort of style, all the while painfully aware of Jordan’s gaze on me.

“So?” he finally asks. “Who is he?”

“Nope. We’re not doing that.”

“At least give me a name.”

I shake my head. “Still no.”

“For safety reasons,” he says.

“For snooping reasons, is what you meant to say.”

“It’s not my fault the two are somewhat connected.” He’s quiet for a second. “And safety actually is a thing, you know?”

“Yeah, well, you can calm down. I’m meeting a friend. And just for the record, I was also meeting a friend yesterday, and there was no clapping of any kind involved. It was just late, and I stayed over at his place. That’s all.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “You don’t have friends.”

“Thank you.”

He shrugs. “Well, you don’t.”

“I took your advice, and I made one. You should be happy for me and not scare me off with your investigating, you know?”

“I do enjoy it when my wisdom is appreciated,” he says thoughtfully. “So where did you meet this new friend of yours?”

“At work.”

He’s immediately suspicious again. “You work alone.”

“There are other people there, too. Look, it’s a long story, but there’s a dude. We hit it off. Now we hang out. Okay?”

He wants to dig further. I can see it. It’s Jordan. He’s the closest thing to an overprotective big brother I’ve ever had or ever will have. To his credit though, he backs off. He gets up and claps me on the back as he passes me.

“Have fun,” he says.

“Thanks,” I call after him.

In the doorway, he turns around, stuffs his hand into his pocket, pulls it out, and throws something at me.

I fumble to catch the box.

“Use protection,” he says with a grin.

I flip him off, and he laughs as he walks away down the hallway.

I eye the condoms for a second before I stuff them into my jacket pocket.