Page 3 of Limbo

He flips off his friend before continuing, “My name is Jordan. I love dogs, tolerate cats. I have a weird affinity for late eighties slash early nineties music. Is this getting me anywhere?”

“Thirty.” Johnny’s voice echoes. “You’re screwed, man.”

“Shit, uh…” Visibly shivering by this point, he scrubs his hands together.

And damn it if he hasn’t won my sympathy.

“What happens if time runs out?” I finally ask.

“What?” His eyes lock on mine again, surprised by my sudden interest.

“When his countdown ends, what happens?”

“I lose the towel and am down to a G-string.” He grins through chattering teeth, and I shake my head, reluctantly amused.

At least he’s wearing something under the towel. A few years ago, I streaked down Main Street on New Year’s Eve. Talk about a poor life choice. Within a few minutes, my fingers and toes stiffened and burned anytime I tried to move them. They turned a shade of red similar to his hands and feet.

“Fifteen … fourteen…” The countdown clock in human form continues above us.

I expect Felicia to make her move. Another chance for a love connection dangles in front of her, yet she seems less than keen on taking it. She looks at me and then gazes down at her suddenly interesting boots, her already-pink-from-the-cold cheeks blazing brighter behind her freckles.

By now, Jordan’s shivering almost violently, his eyes imploring me to save him. My eyes roll in response. What the hell, right? He’s already divulged more information about himself than some guys I’ve slept with.

I let out a quick sigh. “I have a strict policy against weirdness before coffee, but kissing you wins out over seeing you in a thong.”

He stares at me for a second, and then his mouth perks up on one side.

“Five … four…”

Yeah, we get it, Johnny.

Jordan still looks doubtful I’ll go through with it until I step forward, closing the distance between us. It must be enough to convince him, and he dips his head, making up for a considerable height difference and bringing his mouth to mine. Some people experience fireworks when they first kiss … we get cursing from a rooftop. His lips create an icy sensation, almost burning where they brush mine. I expect the kiss to be quick, but then his hand sneaks around to my back. He presses me closer until my chest bumps into his. A little handsy for a stranger-danger kiss, but my sensible side clearly slacks on the job because I let him hold me against him. I even lean in for more until a freezing hand slips beneath my scarf. The shock against my warm skin breaks me away from him, a concern for his well-being taking over.

“Here,” I say, unwinding my scarf. I slide off my hat and hold them out for him. “Keep them. I don’t want you to die of hypothermia.”

Without hesitation, he puts on the fluffy purple scarf and bright pink stocking cap. I suppress a smile, almost feeling guilty for how ridiculous he looks. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, a cocky grin appearing. It’s an expression I recognize all too well, easily worn by one ofthoseguys—too confident for their own good. Any worry over wounding his precious ego vanishes then, and with no interest in any awkward post-kiss conversation, I step around him.

Felicia catches up within a few steps. “Callie. Oh. My. God.”

I shrug, attempting to downplay the situation. Kissing a random guy on the sidewalk is a one-time deal. The sooner she forgets about it, the better.

We walk a little ways before I check over my shoulder. Jordan’s rushing in the opposite direction, and I wait for him to disappear into a building to rummage through my bag. Courtesy of his unwavering confidence, I feel guilt-free while grabbing a plain black scarf and matching hat.

Sorry, Towel Boy.

Felicia’s jaw drops. “You knew you had those the whole time?”

I shrug, putting them on. “I always keep a spare in my bag in case of an emergency.”

Our smiles spread slowly before we burst out laughing. Then we relink arms, dangers be damned, and leave our excitement for the day behind us.

The busiest time at Java Quest usually starts later, but with the cold front, everyone wants coffee. Felicia offers to wade through the bodies at the counter, so I secure us the last high-top table in the back. I tuck my hat and scarf in my bag and toss my coat over the chair next to me.

After a few minutes, she comes up behind me. “Black with an extra shot of espresso.”

I grab the cup from her hand, not willing to chance anything else happening before a sip. “Oh my God. It’s so much better than the black sludge.”

Felicia lays her coat over the back of her chair across from me. “We should do this every morning.”

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