Chapter 17

Chapter

Seventeen

Jordan

Light poured from the house onto the snow, outlining Rhonda’s footprints in glitter. That look. Her doe-eyes. Her slightly parted lips. He didn’t even realize he’d been craving it until she turned back with his coat hanging off her shoulders.

But this time, if he walked through that door, he would be doing it with eyes wide open. He’d figured out her patterns by now. Rhonda didn’t run from his apartment because something had gone wrong. She ran because she’d let her guard down.

No names. He understood, now. Everytime she got skittish, it wasn’t because he’d missed the vein, it was because he’d pierced it, and she was terrified she was going to bleed out.

But his jeans had been stretched tight since the second she sat on his lap in her car. And she was inviting him in. He could just get his coat.

Jordan stepped toward the door. He could tell her he wasn’t going to play this game, and?—

Rhonda was topless. Wearing his coat.

Jordan gripped the doorframe, unable to tear his eyes away from her standing a few feet in front of him. Her shirt was draped over the couch. Her shoes were off. And the top button of her pants was undone.

Anything he thought he knew five seconds ago disappeared the second he saw her breasts. They’d done this before and it was fine, wasn’t it?

He ran a hand over his face. No. That was then. This was now. He’d skipped a game to go looking for her. He’d sent flirty, annoying texts all weekend hoping to get her attention, and she hadn’t given it. Which only made him try harder. It was embarrassing as hell.

Jordan stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He didn’t try to talk. He knew the rules—understood what this was. Rhonda had been vulnerable tonight. Sex wasn’t connection for her, it was control. This was her sitting on his lap and rubbing against him. She wanted to see what she could do. What she could make him do.

Right then with her bare skin against the inside of his coat, it was anything.

_____

Jordan turned over, dropping his arm across Rhonda’s bare back. It was dark outside her bedroom window. Quiet. He wasn’t sure when the wind had stopped howling, but the worst of the storm seemed to be over.

She was asleep, her lips parted, and her dark curls splayed out on the pillow. She inhaled and blew out a breath. Jordan swallowed hard and slowly pulled the comforter out from under her. She groaned and curled into a ball, and he covered her with the blankets.

He climbed out of bed and pulled on his clothes, knowing that when he walked back out to his truck, he wouldn’t be able to keep his insides from oozing out. He’d done it again. Fallen for someone who only needed him to solve her problems. He was a grown ass man, and he was sneaking out of Rhonda’s room like a high schooler who didn't want to get caught by her parents.

Because he couldn’t bear the thought of having the inevitable moment of Rhonda waking up and wishing she could hurry out like last time, then realizing she was in her own house. He’d make it easy. He always did.

Jordan grabbed his phone and coat, then walked out of the room. He used the bathroom in the hall, then pulled on his boots and stepped out into the snow. Flakes were falling gently now, and windswept dunes covered the yard and driveway.

It was the silence, the peace of early morning, that made him stop next to his truck. He drew in a lungful of biting November air, then swiped open his messages. He found the group with Rhonda and her friends and exited the chat.

_____

Jordan walked out of his apartment, freshly showered, as the morning sun made sparkling rainbows over the snow. The plows had already been out, and the roads were clear. He thought about texting Rhonda, offering to help her retrieve her car, then thought better of it. She didn’t want him to save her. It went against everything he was, but he put the phone back in his pocket and got in his truck.

The drive to the hospital was a blur, the city waking up around him. Jordan gripped the steering wheel, his stomach already roiling. He was a mess, but he couldn't afford to be. He’d swallow it down and do his job, try not to worry about Steele or Claire or his youth hockey group. Or Rhonda.

As he pulled into the hospital parking lot, the building loomed ahead, its windows reflecting the pale blue sky. He parked and walked through the automatic doors, the scent of antiseptic mixed with coffee and the hum of fluorescent lights greeting him.

The morning shift was already in full swing. Nurses and doctors crossed through the halls, on their own individual flight paths. He spotted Gertie at the nurses' station, her eyes scanning a stack of charts. She looked up and grunted. "You’re early.”

“Can’t win ‘em all.”

Gertie reached into her pocket and held out two tickets. "For next Monday."

Jordan frowned. “I only needed one.”

“Well, your friend will have a tough time using her ticket since the table is only for hospital staff and guests.” Gertie gave him a look. “Unless you thought you could get Mallory to add her as his plus one?”

The furrow in his brow deepend. “So, this second ticket?—”

“Is for you.” Gertie held up a hand as he started to protest. “I swear, if you give me any shit, I’m going to put you on palliative care for the next two weeks.” She watched his face, then handed him a clipboard. “Get to work, Wheatfill.”