Page 65 of Ravaged
“Zora?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you. For sitting on my step looking like who-did-it-and-why at six thirty in the morning.”
She smiles around the rim of her coffee cup.
“You’re welcome.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
JORDAN
“I trust you.”
—Sarafina Rose, Ravaged Lands
I turn my wrist over and glance at my watch, checking the time. Impatience skates through me. Miriam texted me five minutes ago letting me know she wastwominutes away. Now I know she’s a genius, but how does she mess up simple math like that?
Just as I’m about to grab my cell, her car pulls up to the curb. Shaking my head, I walk over and open the driver’s door.
“We need to have a serious discussion about time management.”
She grins at me, and I’m dangerously close to pressing my fist to the aching spot over my chest. The lust that throbs in my body runs a close second, and as she slides her hand into mine and lets me help her from her vehicle, the hum in my blood dials up.
It’s been two weeks since we became lovers, and by now, with as much fucking as we’ve been doing, that greedy, gulping need should be at least a little toned down since it’s been satisfied on the regular. But nope. If anything, every time she allows me inside her with nothingseparating us, every time I come with her tight, sweet pussy milking and wringing me dry, the hunger only intensifies.
I’m an addict.
“I’m doing just fine with time management.” She gives me a little sniff. “It’s everyone else on the road who won’t let me be great.”
I snort and lead her up the ramp to a back entrance of Ball Arena.
“What’re we doing here?” she asks, then gasps, drawing up short and jerking on my hand. So I stop. It’s either that or drag her along. “The physical therapists approved you to play.”
I grin. “Yes, just got the green light today.” Her squeal of delight pierces the night air, and I laugh; my happiness bubbles up, spilling out alongside hers. Yeah, I’m fucking thrilled over that news too. It seems like I’ve been waiting forever to hear it, and I almost kissed our team therapist when he delivered the words “You’re cleared.” Three days from now, I’ll be back on the court with my team. Where I belong. But ... “That’s not what tonight is about.”
She frowns, holding up her free hand. “What the hell else could it possibly be about? And why didn’t you call me as soon as you got the news?” She jabs me in the abdomen with her finger.
“Hold up.” I block the third poke, chuckling. “I intended to tell you tomorrow. I wanted it to be a surprise. Tonight is about you.”
“Tonight?” She leans around me and peers at the door. “What’s so special about tonight?”
Instead of answering, I finish leading her to the door. As soon as we reach it, one of the staff members opens it, allowing us in. Nerves grind my gut as we follow him down a hall and through the bowels of the building until we emerge in another well-lit hallway. We pause before a door, and the nerves in my stomach surge upward to play man-to-man defense with my tonsils.
Shit.
This could go really well.
Or really, really bad.
God, I want this to go well.
“Okay, before we go in,” I say, turning to her. “Just know that I ...”Might’ve fucked this up, although I had the best of intentions. I wanted to show you how brilliant and talented you are and how much I believe in you. I wanted to see you smile.“Well, you’ll see. Let’s go in.”
“Wait.” She lays a hand on my forearm, halting me from opening the door. “Whatever is behind that door, Jordan. I love it.”
The nerves dissolve, and I can breathe.
