Page 4 of Crossing the Brooklyn Briggs
I freeze. Only one person in the world has ever called me Queens, and I was under the impression—happily so, I might add—that I would never see him again. Suddenly, all of the familiarity about him makes sense, though it in no way makes me feel better.
“Why are you in my house, Jordan?”
His mouth stretches into a wide grin, so similar to the one that seemed to haunt me for years before he finally melted into a distant memory. “You remember me?”
“Hard to forget someone as annoying as you,” I grumble, closing my eyes against the light coming in through the window. “Answer the question.”
“Houston asked me to take care of the yard, and I didn’t mean to scare you. When you fell, I came through the window—it was unlocked, by the way—to make sure you didn’t get seriously hurt.”
There’s no way any of that is true. I open my eyes again because the room starts swaying with them closed. “Houston doesn’t own this house. My landlord does. You don’t look like a landscaper anyway.”
He’s way too attractive. And clean. And attractive. Oh goodness, I didnotjust think about my nemesis beingattractive.
Jordan smirks. “You think I’m attractive?”
Sweet peanut butter cup, did I say that out loud?
Chuckling, he points to the logo on his t-shirt, which says ‘No Mow Problems’ and has a picture of a man on a lawn chair next to a lawn mower. “I’ve got my truck and trailer outside, if you need more convincing, but I think my attractiveness speaks for itself.”
I groan, partially because this is the most ridiculous conversation I’ve ever had but mostly because my head is pounding, both from my lingering migraine and from the fall. Plus, little aches and pains are starting to make an appearance now that I’m no longer freaking out. I probably should be freaking out still, but now that I know this isn’t some strange dream, I’m more frustrated than anything.
“You came in through the window?” I ask, squinting at it. It’s still partially open, though he had the decency to close it most of the way. “I’m not sure I believe you were really landscaping.”
Jordan folds his arms. “Are you sure about that? Because I’ve been doing the yard for the last six months.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You’re usually at school.”
“Not during the summer.”
“If I remember correctly, you sleep like the dead in the summer.”
First of all, rude. I don’t need him bringing up certain bad memories of being woken by a bucket of cold water splashing over my head. Second of all, he has no right to pretend he knows me. I haven’t seen this guy since high school graduation, and a lot can change in ten years. I don’t care if he’s my twin brother’s best friend because he was nevermyfriend.
“Why would Houston be hiring landscapers for my house?” I ask, rubbing my temple.
Shaking his head, Jordan shifts his weight into a crouch rather than kneeling. He holds up his phone. “You can ask him yourself. I was about to call him before you woke up.” Then he frowns. “Actually, no, that’s a bad idea because he’s going to kill me for letting you get hurt.”
I scoff. “Letting me.” As if he wasn’t the whole cause. I grab his phone—I have no idea where mine is—and try several times to unlock it, with no success. Not sure why I thought that would work. I’m being dramatic, but I glare at Jordan as if it’s his fault I don’t know his passcode.
He lets out a deep sigh and uses his fingerprint to unlock it. “You sure you want to sign my death warrant?”
“Yup.” I type in Houston’s number and fumble for the speaker button right before the line connects.
“Harry’s Pizza, how may I help you?”
Eyes going wide, I look down at the phone and realize I typed one of the numbers wrong. “Oh! Sorry! I called the wrong number.” I hang up, glad that it’s too dim in my room for Jordan to see just how red I turn, and type the number again, this time with a two in place of the three.
It nearly goes to Houston’s voicemail before he answers. “Hey man, game’s about to start. Can I call you back?”
I instantly breathe easier at the sound of my brother’s voice, even though he’s hard to hear with all the voices and music in the background. “Houston.” I forgot he had a game today, which is stupid considering his baseball team is in theWorld Series. That should be hard to forget.
“Brook? Why do you have Jordan’s phone?”
“Because I accidentally scared her and she hit her head,” Jordan says before I can find some other, nonthreatening reason for him to be inside my basement apartment.
“What?!” There’s some shuffling on the phone, and everything goes quiet. “What do you mean, she hit her head? Scared her how?”
