Dream of You (12 page)

             
“I-I promise I’m not a stalker,” she stuttered, cheeks flaming. “It’s just that…you were so fast! You broke all the state records. Can you still run like that?”

             
He didn’t know, but he damn sure wasn’t going to tell a hot chick that. “Yeah.”

             
“You could race them!” Her enthusiasm was amusing, unnecessary…and very, very sweet. “People my age are so…so…stuck up their own asses - ”

             
“Really now?”

             
“ – that you have to get their attention. What better way than this?”

             
Jordan regarded her a long moment, wondering why in the hell she’d felt the need to come up with a solution for his problem. The thought of her typing his name into one of the library search engines sent a strange thrill through him. And on top of all that – considering he actually
could
still run his old times – even knowing nothing about track, she’d come up with a halfway decent plan of attack.

             
Ellie chewed at her lower lip. “It’s a crap idea, isn’t it? I’m sorry, forget I said anything.” She reached for her research.

             
“No, no.” He stayed her with a raised hand. “It’s actually not a bad strategy.”

             
Her face lit up. “It’s not?”

             
“Nope.”

             
She nodded, satisfied. “Could you, um, maybe wait and do it when I’m there? I’m betting that blonde pretty one pouts when he loses and I kinda want to see that.”

             
Jordan suppressed a laugh. “Sure.”

             
“Okay. Bye.” She tossed him a little wave and headed for the door with one last look thrown over her shoulder.

             
Christ, he was in such trouble here.

             
He counted the ways as he packed up his stuff and shut down the computer. Then he left the classroom, locked the door behind him, and got jumped by the boogeyman.

             
“Jesus!” He shoved a laughing Tam away when he realized who it was. “That shit ain’t funny.”

             
“It’s not,” Tam agreed as he fell into step beside him. Alarm bells went off in Jordan’s head when his brother-in-law clapped an arm across his shoulders, skateboard held in his other hand. “But what
is
, my adorable Jordie, is your little fling with teacher’s pet back there.”

             
“Bite me.”

             
Tam laughed. “I think she’d rather do that. ‘You were so fast!’ I hope she’s talking about the track and not the bed.”

             
“Shut up.” Jordan shrugged him off, more sour about the ribbing than he should have been.

             
“Whoa.” Tam swung around in front of him, forcing him to halt. His dark brows slanted over his eyes. “I was just jerking you around. Do you actually have something going on with her?”

             
“Oh, sure, now you worry about propriety.” Jordan tried to sidestep him and was blocked.

             
“Dude, I don’t care who you do, you know that, but you could get
fired
for banging a student.”

             
“I know,” he snapped, and then sighed, shoulders sagging. He scraped a hand through his messy hair. “I know, okay? I know that.”

             
Tam looked way too grown up and skeptical; practicing for parenthood, Jordan guessed. “Are you though?”

             
“No.”

             
His raised-brow look said
really?

             
Jordan shot a glance over his shoulder to ensure the only others in the hall were students with iPods and not faculty. “I’m not. Not that I haven’t thought about it, but no. I’ve been totally hands off.” He lifted them to prove his point further.

             
Tam finally grinned. “She’s hot though. I give you props for that.”

             
Jordan sighed again. He didn’t get defensive about girls, especially not with Tam of all people. “Yeah. The hands off part – didn’t say it was easy.”

10

             
“
W
hat do you want me to do?”
was the last thing a naked, tousled, dream-sequence Ellie whispered Friday morning before Jordan’s alarm went off and he woke with a start. He groaned. It was bad enough he was becoming preoccupied with her while he was awake; now she was stalking his sleep where he had no defenses and no filters.

             
After his run and a cold shower, he found Jo in the kitchen. She was dressed for work, but her eyes were at half-mast, her face slack with fatigue. She was sipping a can of Sprite at the table, staring blankly into near space.
             

             
“Are you sick?” he asked as he pulled out the neighboring chair and sat.

             
She shot him a flat look. “Pregnant. And
tired
.”

             
Because a brother never wanted to know exactly why his married sister was “tired,” he said, “Okay,” and then pushed forward his own agenda. “Hey, what are the chances you could get that Sara girl to go out with me again?”

             
“You mean Sasha?” she asked, pale brows lifting. “Slim to none, dude; she hates you.”

             
“Hates? That bad?”

             
“She said, and I quote, that she’d, ‘never been so embarrassed on a date, ever.’ You screwed up.”

             
“Do you know anyone else?” he asked, undeterred.

             
Jo pulled a disgusted face. “What the hell? Are you that desperate?”

             
He shrugged. “Maybe.”

             
She sighed. “Jordie, I’m not setting you up with any more of my friends. You insist on this stupid hit-it-and-quit-it bit that is
not
, by the way, anything like the
real
you, and now you’ve made life at work hell with Sasha. If you wanna be a pig, find your own ass.”

             
You need sisters,
his mother had told him once when he was much younger.
They’ll tell you what your brothers never will, but should have.

             
It didn’t mean the truth wasn’t ugly when it was hurled at him before eight in the morning. “Pregnancy’s not helping your temper,” he said, and pushed up from the table, resigned to finding his own ass.

**

Fridays were normally rather luxurious. Ellie didn’t work until two, so she had the morning and early afternoon to devote to the house and her manuscript. But this Friday had been given over to baking because Paige had taken more orders than she could fill.

             
“I’ll be back in ten minutes,” Ellie promised as she backed her way through the door, arms laden with the final three boxes of the delivery she was making.

             
Paige had flour on her cheeks and in her hair, smeared down her black Jolly Roger apron. “You better be,” she said, voice reflecting how fried her nerves were. She huffed a tired breath. “Okay, I didn’t mean that.”

             
“Yes you did.” Ellie didn’t give her a chance to respond, instead ducked down the stoop and out to the drive with her boxes.

             
On the short drive to Wildflour, she tried to rehearse the conversation she wanted her characters to have. Instead, she wound up replaying her own conversations with Coach Walker. She had reached the stage of over-analysis in which she questioned every smile, every blush, every tilt of her head. Crush or no, she could not take inappropriate steps forward. Crushes were good – they were safe, they were distant, they were innocent. Relationships were not, especially not with one’s professor.

             
Paige called her a hard-wired monogamist.
“You like consistency. You like the commitment. Face it, girl, you are not casual.”
Then she’d gone on to insist that wasn’t a bad thing considering her very loudly ticking biological clock.

             
She shoved all such thoughts aside as she pulled into a parking spot at Wildflour Bakeries and killed the engine. She dropped early morning deliveries in back, but mid-afternoon on a Friday was too busy for that. She stacked three boxes rather precariously, tied them off with twine, and braced herself for a trip through the front doors.

             
The smell of the soup du jour, potato leek, shot up her nose and tickled her taste buds as she entered the warm, bustling, buttery yellow bake shop. On the end of the shopping center, banks of plate glass windows on two sides, it had fast become a favorite among the lunch crowd. Free wifi drew in businesspeople and students; home baked breads and pastries (like Paige’s cakes) attracted foodies. The tables were low, the chairs plush, and it had the air of a bookstore about it, which made it one of Ellie’s favorite place to eat.

             
Today, the tables were all taken, the low din of voices and clatter of flatware drowning out the elevator music that cycled through the overhead speakers. She dodged patrons and eased her way up to the big pastry counter along the far wall. Simone – gray-haired and sharp-featured, regal and rigid – was working and nodded with stiff, unsmiling approval as Ellie approached.

             
“These are already spoken for,” she said as she took the boxes from her like they weighed nothing. “You have more in the car I’m guessing.” It wasn’t a question.

             
“Yes, I’m going out after them,” Ellie assured, already backing away.

             
Another nod. “Good. I’ll bring your money.”

             
It took four trips to empty out the trunk of the Civic, and it wasn’t until she was done, manila envelope of cash tucked under her arm, that Ellie truly took a good glance around the interior of the bakery. Her lip curled in automatic disgust when she recognized the back of Kyle Fischer’s blonde head. The lazy cough of his laugh a moment later confirmed that the slouchy-shouldered surfer-looking douche over by the window was, in fact, her ex. Then her disgust turned to shock when her eyes traveled across the table and registered that the girl he was sitting with was not Nikki.

             
She was brunette, plump, and, again, not Nikki. Ellie watched Kyle reach across the table and touch the girl’s hand and that was all the meager proof she needed to come to the obvious, damning conclusion.

             
Ellie had to pass them to get to the door. Without sparing him so much as a glance, she coughed, “Cheater,” into her hand and let herself out into the sunshine. She expected a retaliation, just not one so quick.

             
“Hey!” Kyle’s angry shout caught up with her as she reached her car. She opened the driver door and stepped around it, putting it between them as he came across the sidewalk toward her. “Where the fuck do you get off, bitch?”

             
He was really, really ugly when his face was all screwed up like this.

             
A year ago, the words would have brought the sting of tears to her eyes. Today, Ellie smiled. “Just when I forget how charming you are…”

             
His features were so petite they were almost feminine, and when he was worked up, like now, a purple vein popped in his forehead. “You’re not gonna tell your sister,” he ordered, jamming a finger at her face.

             
“Tell my sister what?”

             
He sucked at his lower lip in frustration. “About me and Carly.”

             
“Oh, so there
is
a you and Carly. And here I was thinking that girl might have been your long lost cousin or something. But if you’re cheating on my sister - ”

             
“Hey, shut up!” He took an aggressive step toward her and Ellie lifted her brows in challenge.

             
“What are you gonna do, Kyle? Beat me up in the parking lot?”

             
For a moment, she thought he was considering it, chewing at the inside of his cheek, vein pounding in his forehead. But then he found a sneer. “Your sister’s right about you being crazy, you know. You just can’t leave us alone, can you?”

             
One of Ellie’s favorite things about
Little Women
was the deep bond the March sisters shared. Her own sister called her crazy, lame, useless. Nikki said her hips were thick, but it was her skin that was thick. It had to be, to survive the insults of her family and an ex-boyfriend who’d cheated on her with her little sister.

             
“I’m sorry,” she said in the most even tone she could manage. “I was making a delivery – I was
working
– and you’re sitting on your ass in the middle of the day running around on Nikki. Sorry I’m so ‘crazy’ I see something wrong with that.”

             
“Me and Nikki - ”

             
“Nikki and I,” she corrected, and earned a vicious frown.

             
“ –
me and Nikki
are none of your fucking business. If you could ever fucking get laid, maybe you’d leave us the fuck alone!”

             
Insults were his favorite. She was frigid, she was boring, she was a bitch, she was a bad lay…he’d worked wonders on her ego. But Ellie managed to hold together her fragile calm because she knew the only way to handle his venom was by making him feel stupid. Which wasn’t difficult.

             
“Wow. Three fucks in a row. Your vocabulary has improved.”

             
Kyle sucked at his teeth and growled in the back of his throat. “Don’t tell Nikki,” he snapped, a threat lacing his words, and stalked back toward the bakery.

             
“Dumbass,” she muttered to herself as she slid into her car. But when she put the key in the ignition, she saw that her hands were shaking.

**

              At seven-thirty that night, Jordan parked his Jeep outside Taco Mac and gave himself one last glance in the rearview mirror. He’d put a ridiculous amount of gel in his hair and it masked almost all the curl. Dark wash, bootcut jeans, clean red t-shirt and white Ecko sneakers were the closest he ever got to fashionable and he was feeling confident about his evening as he locked up his ride and headed into the sports bar.

             
Janet Jennings was waiting for him in a corner booth beneath a wall-mounted television, running her finger around the rim of her wineglass, watching the crowds in the dark, noisy bar with disinterest. Her hair was red these days, and a shade that belonged in a Crayola box; she flipped it over her shoulder with a flourish as she noticed him and offered a cunning smile full of, not just promise, but guarantee. That was the thing about Janet: she always delivered.

             
A sports groupie in high school, her taste ran the gamut from football studs to male gymnasts. She wasn’t picky. She’d just taken a job as a drug rep the last time he’d talked to her and he’d figured it was a given her pencil-thin build and cheerleader smile had made her a success. Unapologetically superficial, she was fun in bed and detested strings, so there was never a risk of breaking her heart. Janet was the perfect solution to his problem.

             
But as Jordan slid into the booth across from her, his stomach sank.

             
“What’s up, Marathon Man?” she greeted, and he’d forgotten how crisp her voice was. It was the sharp, make-you-sit-up-straight whip crack of too much pronunciation that made her a great drug rep…but not the most soothing conversationalist.

             
“Not much.”

             
“I’m kinda surprised you called,” she said with a devious, predatory grin. “Good boy get tired of being good?”

             
Janet didn’t believe in small talk. She loved innuendo and puns, playing footsie under the table and planning the rest of the night over drinks. She was sex head to toe, inside and out. There had been a time when Jordan had found that convenient – nothing like a sure thing to boost a guy’s confidence – but at the moment, he found it boring.

             
As she sipped wine and shot him bold glances across the table, Jordan kept fixating on all the things Janet wasn’t.

             
She didn’t have rich, chocolate hair.

             
She didn’t have a stellar, hourglass build.

             
She didn’t have a sweet, flushed face, didn’t roll her eyes at her own backward compliments.

             
He didn’t just want
a
girl, he realized, he wanted one girl in particular.

**