Chapter 24

Chapter

Twenty-Four

Rhonda

Rhonda's pulse pounded in her ears as she got in her car. After all the crap Jordan had given her about not having snow tires, she didn’t especially look forward to him noticing all the other maintenance issues she’d been ignoring.

"Where are we going?" she asked, glancing over and catching his eyes on her.

"Not far." Jordan had his phone out, looking at a map. “Just turn right out of this parking lot.

She nodded, her heart rushing like a white noise machine. “I saw your goal.”

Jordan turned to her, that dimple so close to forming, she wanted to reach over and press her finger into his cheek. “I know.”

She rolled her eyes and stopped at a red light. Jordan gave her the last few directions, and within a few minutes, she pulled into a small parking lot.

The restaurant was a converted house, its windows glowing with warm, inviting light. Rhonda opened her door and stepped out, her boots crunching on gravel. Jordan walked ahead of her, and she shamelessly ran her eyes over his backside.

Jordan opened the door, and as she walked in, his hand brushed her lower back. She barely felt it because of her coat, but electricity still shot from her belly button to her toes.

The restaurant was small and intimate, the tables dressed in white linens with a flickering candle on each one. The aroma of herbs and fresh bread filled the air, making her mouth water.

A hostess greeted them and led them to a table near the back. Rhonda slid into her chair and reached for the menu.

Jordan cleared his throat. "What are you in the mood for?"

Rhonda couldn’t focus on the words in front of her. If their server hadn’t approached with a silver pitcher of water, she would’ve told him exactly the menu she had rolling through her head.

Rhonda looked up as the waiter approached. “What do you recommend?”

“Do you eat red meat?” he asked. Rhonda nodded. “Then I’d do the New York strip, it comes with a bed of mashed sweet potato and fennel, or the house specialty, our bourbon braised meatloaf.”

Rhonda hummed in her throat and dropped the menu. “Meatloaf it is.”

Jordan grinned. “You don’t have to think about it?” She shook her head, and he set his menu on top of hers. “Then I’ll do the steak.”

Their server beamed. “I’ll get that in for you.”

Jordan leaned back in his seat, his eyes never leaving hers. "So, where should we start?”

Rhonda’s clothes suddenly felt two sizes too small. She could think of a hundred ways to answer that with a smart-ass comment, but that wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t what she wanted, either. Theoretically.

She took a sip of water to buy herself some time. The cool liquid did nothing to calm the heat that was climbing up her neck. "Umm, well, I work." She set the glass down and ran a finger along the condensation on the outside. "But you already know that." She winced.

Jordan raised an eyebrow. “That looked painful.”

“Like passing a kidney stone.”

“Have you passed one before?”

She nodded. “Once.”

“Nice, so you have a shredded urethra. Now we can talk about anything.”

Rhonda laughed. “Hemorrhoids?”

“Oh, so many.” He leaned forward, resting his arm on the table. “Where’d you grow up?” Jordan’s eyes flicked to her shoulders. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Start to fold into yourself.”

Rhonda paused, becoming hyperaware of her own body. “I don’t know if I can help it.”

“Just a city. You don’t have to tell me more than that.”

She wet her lips. “Kamloops. Until I was twelve, then we moved to Calgary.”

“Is your family still around?”

Rhonda shook her head. “My mom’s back in Kamloops.”

Jordan scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Siblings?”

She held up one finger. “Sister.”

Jordan nodded. “You’re the oldest?”

“Yep. You?”

He nodded again, then reached out and twisted his water glass. “My parents and sister are still here in Calgary. I grew up in Okotoks.”

Rhonda fingered the cloth napkin on her left. She wanted to ask him more about his family and everything Claire told her about Sean but realized she hadn’t even told Jordan the two of them had met.

“I had lunch with your sister last week,” she said, and Jordan’s eyes widened. She hurried on to explain. “I was at Hilltop, and she was there at the pharmacy waiting for her prescription. I saw her name on the board, and she was obviously related to you, so I said hi.”

He watched her, his brow pinching. “Wow, okay.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. That was—well, it was before the Founder’s Dinner.” Before I broke down in your apartment complex parking lot and found out via my friends that I was emotionally stunted. “I guess she never said anything to you?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“I don’t see why she would. I didn’t let on that we were anything but work colleagues.”

Jordan gave a wry smile. “Oh, she definitely would’ve mentioned it if she thought we only worked together.” It was Rhonda’s turn to look confused. Jordan glanced up and met her eyes. “She’d zip it if she was worried she was going to scare me off.”

Rhonda tried to ignore the meaning of that statement. Or what looking into Jordan’s eyes did to her. Was this what taking a pact of celibacy did to a person? Everything about him suddenly became an aphrodisiac? She picked up her water and took a sip. “Well, it was a lovely conversation.”

“About?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Reviact.” She paused, letting him squirm for a second. “And your early hockey career.” Jordan looked more uncomfortable than her for the first time ever. “Why didn’t you ever tell anyone what happened with what’s her face? Sean’s girlfriend?”

“Claire told you about that?”

“She did.” Rhonda set her glass back on the table. She wanted to press him, to ask why he’d never talked about it, then recognized the hypocrisy. She’d barely been able to give him the name of the city where she grew up.

“Back then I figured if my best friend didn’t know me well enough to ask questions instead of assuming I’d do something like that, then it wasn’t worth my energy.” Jordan’s jaw was tense.

“Yeah.” Rhonda nodded, something twisting in her gut. Did anyone know her well enough to ask questions?

Their food arrived with a flourish, the sizzle of Jordan's steak and the savory aroma of her meatloaf. Rhonda took a moment to appreciate the presentation, the vibrant colours of the vegetables and sauces.

They thanked their server, then Rhonda turned to Jordan. “The Snowballs players are good people.” That was the best she could do. She wasn’t going to tell him to have a heart-to-heart with Sean, but it was true. She’d seen them take care of each other, welcoming everyone in with open arms. But she supposed everyone had their blind spots.

Jordan grunted and picked up his fork and steak knife. “So are my players.”

Rhonda ignored the fluttering in her stomach and asked the questions on the tip of her tongue. If he wanted real, this was real. “What happened with the fight in the parking lot? I heard someone on your team sent someone to the hospital. I’ve heard about so many fights between your two teams, and honestly . . .”

Jordan took a bite of steak. “Honestly, what?”

Rhonda took a moment, her fork hovering over her plate. “Honestly, you don’t seem like that guy.”

Jordan chewed and swallowed, then took a drink from his water glass. “There are a lot of guys in this sport who are angry. They put their heart and souls into hockey, and then got dumped on their asses.” He shrugged. “I used to be one of them.”

Rhonda nodded. “You’re not anymore?”

He cut off another piece of meat. “I’m not a saint.”

“Obviously.” She grinned, taking a bit of each part of the meal in front of her onto the tines of her fork.

The corner of Jordan’s mouth quirked. “I’m not angry any more. But some of the guys I recruit are still figuring it out.”

Rhonda finished chewing. “Your sister said you collect misfits.”

Emotions flickered through his expression, but never settled. “It’s probably true.”

“Does that mean I’m a misfit?”

Jordan watched her for a moment. “People on the inside—people who think they fit—won’t put up with our shit. We need people who don’t have such high standards to get us started.”

Rhonda laughed out loud. “So you’re settling?” She dropped her eyes to her plate and used her fork to cut a corner off the tender meat.

“Maybe I just have different standards.”

Rhonda took another bite. She sighed as the blend of flavours exploded over her tongue.

“Good?” Jordan grinned at her.

She nodded. “Here, try it.” Rhonda scooted her plate forward, and Jordan reached over with his fork. “Get all of it, the sauce, the greens.”

Jordan obeyed, and then offered her a bite of his steak. All of it was delicious. But sharing it with him–knowing he was experiencing the same thing as her in that moment—made it more. Something about no other people on the planet living in that exact physical experience in those few seconds. It was intimate in a way that made her shiver.

“I don’t think I have any standards.” Rhonda pulled her plate back.

“No?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t think I wanted anyone in my life, so I didn’t think about it.”

“Hmm.” Jordan’s blue eyes flicked up. “But you’re thinking about it now?”

Rhonda flushed. She took another bite to cover up the heat in her cheeks. She was thinking about it now. But maybe that was why it felt so terrifying. When she started to drive or tried cooking for the first time, there had been a manual. A recipe book. With relationships, there were no rules to follow. No right way to do it.

“Maybe I should get some self-help books or something,” she thought aloud.

Jordan leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Tell me more.”

“Since I’ve never done this before?—”

“Done what?”

Her blush deepened. “This.” She pointed between the two of them.

“Gone on a date?”

Rhonda scoffed. “I’ve gone on dates, but not where the intent was to actually get to know someone.”

Jordan’s eyes narrowed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Never?” She shook her head, her heart beginning to pound. Jordan pushed his chair back, then stood and walked toward her. He held out his hand, and Rhonda took it, allowing him to pull her up next to him. He tugged her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her so completely, that she was swallowed up in his warmth, the soft cotton of his shirt, and that same cologne she’d smelled on him when they’d met at the hotel.

He didn’t let go. He held her there, not saying a word, his hand curling behind her neck, his fingers resting behind her ear, in her hair. Cradling her. Protecting her.

Rhonda sank into him, her heart swelling until she wondered if light was shooting from her fingertips. Was this what it felt like? Could you do this? Tell someone the worst things about yourself, your biggest insecurities, and then have them . . . still want you?

A lump formed in her throat, and she worked to swallow. To breathe. Jordan held her until it passed, then slowly released her. He smoothed her hair from her cheek, then turned and settled back in his chair.

She swayed a little on her feet, trails of heat still buzzing on her skin from where he’d touched her. Rhonda sat, and they both continued eating like nothing had changed. Even though inside of her, everything had.

_____

After sharing a delectable flourless chocolate torte, they stepped out into the night. Rhonda’s body hummed with an energy she hadn't felt in a long time, and now that they’d started talking, they didn’t seem to be able to stop. They talked about everything, from where they bought their clothes to what they ate on Sunday mornings. They talked about potential pets, gifts they were getting for friends for Christmas, places they wanted to travel, and their least favourite things about their jobs.

Rhonda slid into the driver's seat, sad that for two seconds Jordan was outside while she was in, then exhaled with relief when he got in and she turned on the engine. The heater blasted her legs as she pulled out of the parking lot.

The streets were mostly empty on the way back to their hotels because everything shut down early in Lethbridge. Jordan brushed her arm when he saw a church sign that read, “I’m also making a list and checking it twice. God.” They laughed, and then Rhonda nearly choked on her spit when Jordan ran his fingers over her wrist and twined his fingers with hers on the console.

She pulled into Jordan’s hotel parking lot, breathing like she needed a ventilator, and turned off the engine.

Rhonda turned to him, her grip on his hand tightening. “What if I’m crazy?” Jordan laughed, but she tugged on his arm. “I’m serious. I’m basically a toddler here. I’m—” She pursed her lips.

“You’re what?” He looked like he was staring at a baby kitten in the window of an animal shelter.

Rhonda groaned and dropped her head back against the seat. “You think I’m pathetic.”

“No.” He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her skin. “I think you’re sexy.”

“Jordan—”

His fingers brushed her chin, and he turned her head to look at him. “I have no experience with this either. I told you. Every relationship I’ve been in, I’ve done wrong.”

She blinked, struggling to think with his thumb burning a hole in her jaw. “That’s not comforting.”

His smile widened. “It should be.”

“Why?”

“Because we can do this however we want. If we don’t know how it’s supposed to be, we can’t do it wrong.”

“Was that the problem? Your past girlfriends had expectations?”

Jordan’s throat worked. “Yeah. And I didn’t know them.”

Rhonda wet her lips. She twisted her hands in her lap. “But . . . did we already do it wrong?”

Jordan’s eyes dropped to her mouth. He exhaled, his fingers moving just enough that her heart forgot its rhythm. “Maybe doing it right wouldn’t have worked for us. Misfits, remember?”

“Mmm.” She felt pinned to her seat like a moth on a corkboard. Jordan’s gaze the pins holding her wings stretched wide and on display.

“I had a nice time tonight.”

Me too. The best time. Rhonda tried to form words, but they wouldn’t come. For the first time in her life that she could remember, she wasn’t hoping this moment would turn into anything more.

She revelled in the exposure. The nakedness. It was perfect, just as it was.

“Are you heading back tomorrow?” Jordan asked, his hand dropping from her face. She felt the loss like throwing off the sheets on a December morning.

Rhonda nodded. “I need to be back for?—”

“The Snowballs game.”

She grinned. “You know their schedule?”

“Now that we have to share the same rink.”

“Right, when do the renovations end?”

Jordan shrugged. “They said after Christmas sometime.” He pulled her hand into his lap, and Rhonda peeled herself off the seat. “I get back Sunday night. Talk then?”

She nodded. “Thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome.” He lifted her hand one last time and hesitated before brushing his lips over her knuckles. “Have a good night.”

“You, too.” Words and emotions tumbled through her head like they were pouring from a torn bag of Skittles. Bright yellows and reds, blues and purples. Love and fear and happiness and desperation flashed like they were torn from magazines and pasted into a collage or vision board she never knew she wanted.

Jordan got out of the car. She watched him walk into the hotel then drove in a daze the block and a half to the Marriott. Since she was on the third floor, she took the stairs, needing to do something physical to clear her head.

She walked to her door, scanned her card, and stepped inside, the silence of the room making her head buzz. Rhonda kicked off her shoes and walked to the bathroom, her mind still replaying every moment of the night. The last three days seemed to take up more space than the past year in her memory, and she wasn’t mad about it.

She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and changed into her cotton camisole and matching underwear—for all her talk about black lace, this was her favourite sleep set—then crawled into bed.

She pulled the covers up to her chin. She was just about to turn off the lamp when her phone buzzed. Rhonda's heart leapt as she saw Jordan's name on the screen.

Jordan

I should’ve kissed you again

Warmth spread over her skin like massage oil.

There’s still time

Jordan

If I come over there, I won’t leave

I don’t see the problem

Jordan

Sorry to disappoint

Not sure disappointment is the right word

Jordan

What is?

Frustrate

Jordan

Hm. How frustrated are you, exactly?

For someone who won’t come over, I think that’s an asshole question

Jordan

On a scale of 1-10

Your assholery? 10

Jordan

Lol

Sorry. Couldn’t stop myself from texting

I’ll forgive you. Maybe

Jordan

I’ll kiss you in Calgary

Promises, promises

He hearted the message, and Rhonda dropped the phone to her chest. She was lying in her hotel room alone breathing harder than after she finished a run on the treadmill.

She rolled to her side and picked up her phone, scrolling to her reading app. She should’ve brought her eReader, though nothing on there seemed interesting at the moment.

Rhonda opened her app and scrolled for top titles. She tapped on the romance section, her eyes lighting up like a kid that walked into a candy store for the first time. She scrolled the brightly coloured books and perused the blurbs. Hot best friend’s brother? Wait, hockey players?

Rhonda sat up and pulled a pillow behind her back. Hell, yes. Why had she never been interested in this before?

She borrowed two available with her subscription, then flicked to her messages while she waited for them to download on the hotel WiFi. Her thumb lingered over her texts with “J” but then she tapped on the search bar and typed, Cassie .

She scrolled through her text thread with her sister and read through the one-sided messages.

Hey! Just landed in Calgary. This was back in the summer when she was there for Stampede.

How are the kids doing??

Got tickets to the Oilers game in April. You and Sam want to come with?

Rhonda's throat tightened. She’d made an effort, but now that she knew what real looked like, none of that seemed to fit the bill.

She thought for a moment, chewing her lower lip. Then she started to type.