Page 64 of Make You Love Me
Turning her face to the window, she blinks quickly before closing her eyes. “You’re incredible.”
A scoff bursts from my chest. I don’t feel incredible. I feel like a jackass—a gullible, glutton for punishment jackass who refuses to tell the woman who’s broken my heart more times than I remember to leave me alone. A woman who’s made a mark so deep on my soul, I may never love another.
Yep, jackass me is still holding onto hope. Still wanting to change her mind. Still fucking in love with her.
Chapter 18
Nora
That afternoon, after much convincing, I got Jordan out of the apartment. We spent most of the day staying out of each other’s way, speaking only when required for his care. He’s angry with me, and I can’t blame him. I’m angry with myself. But I can’t sit in this silent box a minute longer. The best way to start over, or at least attempt to get past this animosity, is to have a little fun. And I have the perfect idea.
“Ziplining?” Jordan asks as I pull into a parking spot at Great Escape Adventure Park.
It isn’t the best zipline near Richmond, but it’s the closest with an accessible line—safe fun for those with limitations. Maybe a little fresh air and adventure will squeeze the sour mood out of us both by day’s end.
I cut the engine and turn in my seat to face him. “We’re crossing skydiving off the list.”
“With ziplining fifty feet off the ground?” he says skeptically.
“This mimicked skydiving better than a hot air balloon ride, which was the other option. It’s just a slower, steadier pace while being securely fastened to a harness on a wire. Nouncontrollable freefalls, no clouds, or fear of falling to your death. I thought you’d enjoy this more. But if you’re scared, I can call the hot air ba—”
“Who said I’m scared?” he quips.
“Your complaints and stalling tactics.”
“I’m not stalling. Just gathering information.”
“Okay.” I wave a hand in his direction. “What other questions do you have?”
“Aren’t there rules against riding with casts?”
“Not here. They have a line with a seat, or you can choose the wheelchair accessible contraption, if you prefer that. The accessible line is motorized. Instead of sliding down a wire with gravity, your speed is controlled by a motor or something. I didn’t exactly examine the engineering of the system. Just know it’s safe for riding with casts or wheelchairs.”
He glances out the window. “Ramps instead of stairs?”
“Yep. Are you done?”
“I was done a long time ago,” he says without looking my way.
Uninterested in contemplating any hidden meaning behind that loaded comment, I throw open the door and retrieve the wheelchair. Since the area schools haven’t let out yet, there are no lines or delays to wade through. After paying, signing our lives away in waiver forms, and sitting through the required safety briefing, we travel a short distance to the first platform. Finally, we’re allowed into our harnesses, the last step before the fun begins.
When presented with options, Jordan chooses to forego his wheelchair for a little added adventure.
“I can handle it,” he says to the female attendant, who quickly volunteered to help strap him in. “My body feels good today.”
To that, she mumbles, “I bet it does,” while reaching around his waist to buckle the first strap.
Good lord. Rolling my eyes to the older and far more disinterested male attendant, I watch him get to work on the clasps on my apparatus. He must be more experienced than the girl helping Jordan, since I’m suited up in all of thirty seconds. His assistant, however, can’t stop giggling and gawking long enough to do her job. She’s nauseatingly adorable—big green eyes, long silky hair the color of whiskey flowing down her back, toned legs, and smooth, unblemished skin—and staring up at Jordan like he makes the moon glow.
None of that bothers me. I get it. He’s an attractive man. Stunning if I’m shooting for accuracy. Heads are bound to turn. Women are sure to swoon. I get it. It’s the smile she’s invoked from him that has my lunch churning in my stomach. I haven’t seen his sweet brand of joy for two days and watching him give it so freely to someone else, rattles me more than I care to admit.
“Ready?” I ask to break up the flirting session. Both heads snap to me, all smiles gone.
“You go first,” he says, giving his attention to the small hands hovering over his abs. Only a few straps and his cotton shirt are separating her skin from his.
Is this what jealousy feels like? Rage bubbling like a geyser about to erupt at an innocent person, all because they notice something in a matter of seconds that you’ve disregarded for years? Because they can invoke your favorite smile with minimal effort?
With a huff, I stalk past and jump off the ledge, letting the harness take me away to the next platform. Hopefully, each layover on our way down the wooded hill won’t offer the same distraction. This is supposed to be fun for me and Jordan to help repair our relationship. Not fun for Jordan and every random model who works here.
