The Row(51)

“I’d also like you to promise me something,” Mr. Masters continues, giving me a pointed look. “You need to come stay with me for a few days if you and your mama have any more discussions. I’m certain your daddy would stop that immediately if he were there to watch out for you. I owe you both that much.”

“We won’t—” I feel my face redden and slowly raise my hand to my bruised cheek. “It’s never happened before.”

Jordan sends me the same concerned glance from earlier, and I simply nod. “But okay, I can agree to that.”

“Good.” Mr. Masters looks from me to Jordan and I have a hard time reading his expression. “And keep an eye on that one.”

I lean against the arm of my chair and face Jordan, chuckling at his offended look. “I will.”

Mr. Masters puts an arm around my shoulders and walks me out with Jordan in my wake. Back down in the lobby, Mr. Masters gives me a quick squeeze before shaking Jordan’s hand. He whispers something into Jordan’s ear before winking at me and then walking briskly away.

As we make our way through the now rapidly dimming streets of downtown Houston, I notice that Jordan seems deep in his own thoughts. I can’t complain, because I am, too. Mr. Masters has an ability to throw people off balance, which is part of what makes him such an amazing lawyer.

“Are you still happy you decided to come with me?” I ask, surprised at how nervous I feel about asking.

“Of course. Why would you ask that?”

He watches me closely as I answer. “I don’t know. It must be uncomfortable for you when people treat you less like you’re you … and well … more like you’re me.”

He frowns. “What does that mean?”

“He acted like you weren’t trustworthy simply because of who your dad is.”

Jordan’s expression turns playful and he looks me straight in the eye. “Maybe I can win him over. It seems like only a little more than a day ago that you treated me the exact same way.”

I laugh. “Probably was.”

Jordan keeps walking, seeming content to go back to whatever he was thinking about. I can’t keep myself from asking anymore. “What did he say to you in the lobby?”

The thoughtful look returns as he answers. “He said if we continue like this, one of us is going to wind up getting hurt—and that it better not be you.”

“Okay, that’s awkward.” I shake my head, trying not to feel embarrassed by the assumptions Mr. Masters obviously made. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, I’m sorry.”

Instead of accepting my words like I expect, Jordan stops walking and stares at me before moving slowly closer. I freeze in place as his warm fingers touch lightly across my bruised cheek. My whole body flushes with a sudden heat.

His eyes meet mine and my heart races at all the emotion I find there. “What if he’s right?”

Then Jordan pulls me against his chest and holds me tight. It takes me a moment, but I hug him back. I feel the worry coming from him and wonder if he finally understands that he’s in over his head in this quest to help me.

Pushing that thought aside, I allow myself to enjoy him while he’s still here and melt closer into his arms. I’ve never felt so safe.

Then I realize that I may be out of my depth with Jordan, too—but in a completely different way.





23

“FIRST STEP: ICE CREAM,” I say, changing the subject to one I feel more equipped to deal with. I pull myself gently out of his arms and lead Jordan down Louisiana Street toward a Cloud 10 vendor on the corner as the sun sets on the horizon. The shining buildings around us glint red in the light of the dying day. Texas can be a beautiful place, and Houston is no different. It’s gorgeous, but below that lurks a subtle, eerie tone for me that will forever be unsettling. My past here is too broken to see the beauty without any tinge of pain.

I order myself a scoop of Lavender Milk Chocolate as everything we learned in Mr. Masters’s office swirls around in my head.

“Sour Cream with Banana Jam, please.” Jordan orders without consulting the menu on the cart in front of us.

I grab my purse, but before I can even reach inside, he’s pulled cash out of nowhere and is paying.

“Wait, you didn’t need to—”

Jordan grins and takes both of the desserts from the vendor. “I’m not saying this is a date or anything. What’s happening here is me holding your delicious treat hostage until you tell me what you’re thinking.” He gives me a sly smile and an attempt at an evil laugh before tucking my dessert behind his back.

I can’t help but return his grin as I follow him to a nearby bench and we sit down. “It’s very hard to take you seriously as a Bond villain when the leverage you’re holding is ice cream.”

“A good villain works with what he’s got.”

“Well, as long as we’re agreed that this isn’t a date…” I grab for my ice cream and he lifts it out of my reach.

“Oh, when I take you on a date, you’ll definitely know it.” There’s no way for me to mistake his meaning this time, although I see a hint of nervousness deep in his eyes.

I raise my eyebrows, both incredulous at his confidence and a little surprised he would just assume I would go. When my speeding heartbeat pretty much declares my excitement about the idea of an official date, I tell it in my head to shut up. “When, huh? That’s pretty confident of you.”