Page 17 of How You See Me
“Which friend?"
Jordan’s cringe tells me all I need to know, and I stop shuffling through mental flashcards of his friends. My lungs freeze for a few skipping heartbeats.
“Oh."
Hayes.
A different collection of memories fly through my thoughts on autopilot. The time I cuddled up to him in the sterile hospital room he made oddly intimate. Our dance last fall. The intensity of his sad, caramel eyes. The contrast between his hard exterior and the way his hands held me with unfathomable care. The snippets of kindness that presses pause on all that grumpiness.
Whenever he’d stop by to visit Jordan during his recovery, I pretended nothing exchanged between us. I’m not proud of it, but I don’t recognize myself around him. And when he didn’t kiss me in that dim restaurant hallway,despite all my green-light signals, I didn’t know whether to be angry or grateful.
After eight months, I still haven’t decided. All I know is that my brain had no right storing every detail of the time we spent together. And I shouldn’t want someone who clearly doesn’t want me.
I’d be lying if I said his rejection didn’t hurt a little. Okay. Alot.
Jordan’s hands fly up like he’s stopping traffic. More like he’s trying to stop me from dramatizing this crazy idea in my head—which I was totallynotalready doing.
“It's Hayes. Don’t freak out."
“Why would be freaking?” Panic squeezes my throat, and the words squeak on the way out.
“Your usual reaction is to panic first, think second. Plus, you’ve never had a nice thing to say about him."
“Excuse me. Remember that time I said his eyebrows were . . . nicely authoritative?”
Jordan gives me the patented little brother side-eye. “That’s not a compliment. And you always complain that he’s too grumpy.”
“I like grumpy,” I counter, thinking of Hayes’ version. His hot outer layer makes the sweet secret inner layer even more scrumptious. Like a gourmet cinnamon roll baked from scratch with the finest ingredients.
“Since when?”
I continue to ramble, hoping I sound more like myself and more convincing. “Grumpy is broody. Broody isbrooding. Brooding is . . . hot. Ever heard of the grumpy/ sunshine trope in romance books?”
He waves a hand. “Not going there. He’s my friend and former superior, and you’re my sister. We arenotgoing there . . .”
Join the club, li’l brother. “Either way, I appreciate you setting it up.”
“No problem.” He leans back, relaxing into the couch, then straightens again. “What the hell?” Reaching behind the pillow, he wags the pot in the air.
I blink.
“You thought I was a burglar, didn’t you?”
“Maybe a polite one.”
He frowns down at me.
“What? It was the first weapon I saw.”
“That kind of decision-making is why I’m glad Hayes is going with you.” He tosses the pot onto the coffee table.
“Whatever. Wait. He doesn’t have a girlfriend, does he?” The question serves two purposes, but I only mention the one I’m comfortable with. “I don’t want to get caught between him and some jealous woman, making him even crankier.”
His gaze narrows on me, watching for my cues way too closely. There’s no hiding anything from him. “No girlfriend.”
“Good. I mean, okay. Whatever. Why is he traveling?”
“It’s a long story, and I don’t know much about it. Something for his sister.”
