Page 35 of Old Fashioned
Well, shit.
That got my attention, and I took one last sip of my drink before I slipped my hand in his, ignoring the way it covered mine easily with warmth as he tugged me to the living room. When we were in the space between my couch and love seat, he twirled me, pulling me into him with ease before I had the chance to stumble or fall.
Jordan Becker.
A good dancer.
Who the hell would have guessedthat?
For a moment, we just swayed — one of his hands on my waist and the other covering my hand where it rested on his chest. I held my other on his shoulder, listening to the song. It was one I didn’t really know. I recognized it, and vaguely recalled my parents listening to it when I was younger, but past that, I had no idea why this song had made Jordan Becker pull me into my living room to dance.
“Do you know who this is?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Eric Clapton,” Jordan said with another smile. He was like a completely different man in that moment, one I’d never met before. The coach with the clipboard didn’t exist, not in that living room. He was somewhere else, sleeping or planning plays, and the man who swayed with me was therealJordan Becker. It was like spotting a Siberian tiger in the wild.
I wondered how many people had ever seen him with their own two eyes.
“Wonderful Tonight,” Jordan said, just as the chorus began to play. “This was my mom and dad’s wedding song.”
I smiled, my heart squeezing as he twirled me out and back in. “It’s beautiful.”
Jordan nodded. “It is. And they didn’t just dance to it at their wedding. Every night after dinner, Dad would help Mom clean up in the kitchen, and then he’d pull her into the living room, put on this song or sometimes another one that they loved, and dance with her.”
I stopped swaying, gaping at him. “You’re kidding.”
Jordan didn’t miss a beat, sweeping me back up in the rhythm with him. “Dad was a smooth cat.”
“I can see that,” I said, chuckling. “So,everynight after dinner?”
“Every night,” he repeated, and his smile slipped, ghosts dancing in his eyes just as much as we danced in that room. “When he died, I think that was the hardest part for her.” He had a far-off look as a moment passed between us. “I mean, my brothers and I, we were dealing with our own shit, you know? Noah was on this kick about who would be the man of the house. Logan was going crazy trying to figure out where he should step up and take Dad’s place in running the house, paying the bills, cleaning, caring for the lawn, doing taxes, all that. Mikey was so young… he was just trying to hold on, to understand that he’d lost his father.”
I squeezed his shoulder where I held him.
“And then one night, after dinner, Mom was in the kitchen cleaning up, and she had these big tears in her eyes that she was trying so hard not to let fall. My brothers and I sat at that table feeling helpless and run down. It was the first time I think we’d ever really felt off-kilter as a family.”
I nodded in understanding.
“And then, Logan got up from his chair, went into the living room, and put on this song.” He smiled. “I’ll never forget the way Mom froze in the kitchen, her eyes widening at the sound of it. And Logan went in there and reached for her hand, and took her back to the living room, and he danced with her.”
Tears welled in my own eyes, and I rolled my lips together to keep them from falling.
“And I swear, it was that dance that brought us back together as a family,” Jordan said, his voice softening to a whisper. “Every time we have family dinner at her house now, we take turns dancing with her after. And it’s like Dad is still alive, like he’s there with us, likehewas the one who pulled us all together that night, as if to remind us that we always have each other, and he’s never really gone. And you know what?” He chuckled. “This song never gets old.”
My heart broke at the same time it surged with emotion. I didn’t know how to react to Jordan opening up to me. I didn’t know how to feel with his hand on my waist, with his other hand holding mine over his chest, with his stormy eyes searching mine as the music played between us.
But I leaned into him.
I leaned into his life, into his story, into everything and every person who made him who he was today. I leaned my body into his, leaned my heart into this soft man with the hardened edges. And when we both stopped swaying, when the music seemed to grow so loud it permeated our skin, when his fingers trailed their way up my ribs, over my arm, and framed my chin before tilting it up toward him, I leaned up on my toes.
His exhale was shaky when it touched my lips, but then my eyes closed, and his mouth found mine, and my living room exploded into a universe of stars.
The kiss was timid at first, our lips barely touching, sticking together in a hesitant embrace before we pulled away again. It was like we were each testing the other, giving them the chance to back out. My heart tripled its pace in my chest when our eyes met, and then, he kissed me again.
This time, his mouth was harder when it found mine, and more sure, his arms wrapping around me as he pulled me into him and kissed me like he was always destined to do so.
We both inhaled — the kiss, the night, each other — and his hands framed my face, holding me to him as if he was afraid I wasn’t real, that I’d fade in an instant if he didn’t hold onto me for dear life. He kissed me long and tender, and yet feverishly, too. We were lips and breaths and moans and then our mouths opened at the same time, and his tongue found mine, and an electrifying heat I hadn’t felt in years zipped violently from where we touched through every nerve in my body, ending at one point of contact between my legs.
