“Earphones,” Jordan interjected. “Put them on so your brother and I can have adult time. I’ll set my watch for a half hour, and when that’s done you can turn around and I’ll give you some fruit snacks.” Jordan pulled some Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle fruit snacks from her bag and dangled them in the air. Max’s eyes went back and forth, back and forth.
“Those are the best kind.” His eyes narrowed. “Damn you for finding my kryptonite!” He gasped. “You read my blog!”
Jordan grinned. “I figured the easiest way to learn the ways of a homicidal maniac was to get inside his head, see how he ticks. I may have browsed it this last week while trying to uncover any of the five hundred skeletons in your closet to make sure you wouldn’t be any more of a PR nightmare for Reid.”
Max nodded his approval. “We’ll keep you.”
“Oh, good, I’m going to a good home then. There’s that.” Jordan snatched the fruit snacks back. “Now, let me and Reid chat, I think The Lego Movie’s on.”
“Everything . . . really is awesome.” Max sighed. “Fine, turning around now, but I want two packs, not one.”
“Deal.”
“And—” He thrust his finger in the air. “If they’re old and not chewy, no deal. Don’t go opening the pack just so air gets in. I want them untampered with.”
Jordan put a hand over her heart. “Like I would drug you.”
“Jezebel,” he grumbled. “Don’t betray my trust.”
“Says the man who put a whip in my bag.”
“Turning around.” Max shrugged. “Because I want to and because I want the fruit snacks, not because you’re forcing me to.”
“Right.” Jordan smiled.
Max put on his headphones, leaving us in peace.
“You’re so good with him.” I leaned my head against the headrest and smiled.
“Yeah, well . . .” Jordan shrugged. “I have cousins.”
“Aw, how old?”
“Five and seven.”
“So about the same age then.” I nodded.
“Yup.” She let out a low laugh that had me licking my lips and focusing way too hard on her mouth. “Sounds about right.”
“So.” Why was I suddenly nervous? Max, he was irritating as hell, but he was a damn good buffer, and probably the best person to have on your side if you needed to keep the conversation going, even if it went in really inappropriate directions. “No siblings . . . nobody to sit with you on the bus?”
“Nope.” Jordan lifted a shoulder in a haphazard shrug. “It always made me so angry when people would trash-talk their brothers or sisters when I would have killed to have some big brother beat up my first boyfriend for cheating on me.”
“Your first boyfriend cheated on you?” I wasn’t able to keep the anger from my voice.
“He was seven.” Jordan patted my shoulder. “Back down, cowboy. And he only cheated because my mom forgot to pack me a MoonPie.”
“Harsh.”
“Yeah, well”—Jordan’s eyes narrowed slightly—“I moved on and so did he . . . It seems I wasn’t the only one who brought MoonPies to school. He and Kristin dated for three whole days until he moved on to greener pastures.”
“More MoonPies?”
“Nah, he went on to the hard stuff, like Snickers and Twix bars. Is it wrong that I laughed when he announced to the class he had three cavities?”
“Bastard deserved five, maybe six at least,” I said.
“Karma.” She winked.
Shit. It was happening. I was officially unable to control my smile and probably freaking her out. I couldn’t stop smiling, the muscles in my cheeks hurt, no matter how badly I wanted to stop—to play it cool.
I had hit that point in the relationship, where every man says, “That will never happen to me. Love is for saps. I’m a real man. Look, chest hair.”
It’s where logic goes straight out the window and your heart suddenly grows way too big to be kept inside your chest so you decide, the hell with it, I’m just going to wear it on my sleeve. And hope she doesn’t break it.
A girl like Jordan could break me.
MoonPies be damned!
I wanted more than her MoonPie, though that sounded really good too.
“You okay?” She frowned, her smile faltering. “You looked like you’re thinking way too hard about my story.”
“Yeah.” I fake coughed into my hand, embarrassed that she’d caught me daydreaming, then pounded my chest a bit and did a little shake in my seat. She probably thought I was faking a seizure. “I just, I don’t know.” I pressed my lips together. “You look really pretty, that’s all.”
And she did.
Her boyfriend jeans were paired with a plain black T-shirt, and the girl was rocking a blue pair of Nike Free running shoes.
It was then I realized she wasn’t wearing a skirt. I mean, in theory I knew she was wearing jeans, but . . . my mind had been elsewhere.
“You’re not wearing a dress,” I blurted. “Or an oxford or—”
Her eyebrows arched.
“Pants.” I nodded. “You’re wearing pants.”
“Yeah, well.” Her hand shook as she reached for her hair, and then, as if realizing it was pulled back into a tight ponytail, dropped it in her lap.
“I like you this way,” I whispered.