Page 45 of Limbo

He puts his phone away. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I don’t care.” Rethinking my anti-phone stance, I shove past him to the front of the building.

And, in an event that shocks no one, anywhere in the world, he chases after me.

“Callie, ask me the question again.”

“No, Jordan. I’m done playing this game with you. At this point, I’ll sleep with you just to make you go away.”

He blocks my path, forcing me to stop. “Ask me,” he demands.

I cross my arms and narrow my eyes at him, unwilling to concede.

“Damn it, you stubborn-ass woman.” He steps closer, the look in his eye morphing to the one I feel in my toes. “The answer is no. This isn’t about having sex with you. On some level, it’s always been about more. I have wanted to be with you in some way, shape, or form ever since I hit the damn turn signal to go to the coffee shop.”

I feel my breath falter, startled by the admission. Even though it’s what I’ve been waiting for, it takes a second for everything to shift from ideal to real. In the time it takes for my mind to process, the look on Jordan’s face grows concerned. He’s standing there, staring, waiting for me to jump into his arms or something.

By now, he should know better, so all I give him is a shrug. “Okay.”

He blinks. Once. Twice. “Okay?” His voice shoots up. “After all that, the only thing you have isokay?”

“Okay,” I say. “Now, was that so hard to admit?”

He lets out a relieved breath, his mouth turning up at the corners. “You have no idea.”

When I smile, he yanks me forward, and his mouth crashes into mine. On take three, nothing else enters the equation—no countdown or frat partygoers—just us, the way I want it. I part my lips, and he slides his tongue inside, groaning when it meets mine. I tug at the back of his hair, not getting enough of him yet. He cups my cheek, the other on my back and then my ass while he holds me to him and backs me up into the wall, pinning me there with his body. My pulse races as he kisses a trail from my neck to my mouth and unbuttons the bottom of my coat. I nibble on his bottom lip, and another groan escapes him. He slips his hand under my sweater, his thumb grazing my bare skin. The cold hardly registers, his touch almost burning.

“Wooo! Get it, Waters,” a guy yells.

With his mouth still on mine, Jordan’s growl vibrates against my lips. I look over and receive a wave from Johnny and Gavin, smoking by the door. Neither appear the least bit sorry for their interruption. Just us was nice while it lasted.

Jordan sighs and shoves off the wall behind me. He takes my hand like he’s done it a million times before, and we walk down the sidewalk to them. About five feet away from them, he glances over with the twinkle in his eye. “Say, ‘Goodbye Callie,’” he says to them.

“Goodbye, Callie,” they repeat in unison.

He lunges for me, and I yelp, going over someone’s shoulder for the second time in one night. His arm tightens around my legs as he dashes across the parking lot to his Jeep.

He sets me down. “Priorities, Callie.”

I laugh, not complaining about his decision to bail on his own birthday celebration. In fact, I encourage the hell out of the behavior.

The drive to the dorms only takes a few minutes, him touching me the entire way. As soon as he parks, he runs around to my side and drags me out. He walks backward up the sidewalk, grasping my hips to make sure I follow. Every now and again, he checks behind him to avoid falling, and I can’t help but return his damn smile, everything finally as it should have been from the beginning.

He backs into the door of the building before pulling me to him. “Stillcertainabout me never getting another show?”

“Well”—I bite my lip and pretend to contemplate his question—“it is your birthday.”

Eyes wide, he exaggerates a head nod while continuing to block the entrance.

“But I’m not taking my clothes off until we’re inside.”

The door hits the wall when he flings it open.

He walks backward again and leads me like I might get lost before we make it to my room. His talent on the stairs deserves special mention, not slowing down or unsteady in the least. I have a hand on his chest and the other in his when we walk around the corner to my hallway. I check over his shoulder, not wanting him to trip over anything. An injury is the last thing we need to ruin our night.

No.

The second to last thing.

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