Letters to Nowhere(64)

“I have two confessions to make.” He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, then moved them back to meet mine. “Make that three confessions.”

“Should we go in the chapel?”

“Actually, it’s four now, and right here is fine. The chapel makes me nervous.” He grabbed my hand and stopped it from moving through his hair. “First off, that is making me crazy. Way too crazy to think straight.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but he shook his head at me. “Still got three more. Number two…I might have kidnapped a pair of your panties. They’re pink and they ended up in my laundry and I’m keeping them. I don’t care what you say.”

I must have looked totally shocked because he pressed a finger to my lips, not letting me speak until he finished. “Number three…the first time I met you, I called you the wrong name on purpose. I knew exactly who you were. I watched you at Nationals last year. And since I know you’re going to ask, I thought you were really great but playing it safe and I also thought you were underscored in execution. But when I found out my dad would be coaching you all the time, and then when I found out you were moving in, I was hoping you would turn out to be a big whining brat or a total bitch so I could hate you and not be jealous of all the time you got to spend with my dad.”

My heart sank. I pressed both palms against his cheeks. “Jordan, I’m sorry. I can’t—”

He reached up and smoothed my hair back behind my ears. “It’s okay. I’m at the gym almost every day now, too. That’s not why I told you that. And I have a number four, remember?”

I forced a smile. “Okay, number four.”

He let out a breath. “I met your mom.”

“What? When?”

“Right before Christmas,” he said. “I came into the gym to tell Dad that I was back from school and she was in a meeting in his office.”

I pulled away from him just a little. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out my car keys, actually my mom’s car keys, flashing a tiny photo of me and Mom at the Grand Canyon last summer dangling from my keys. “I didn’t know it was her until I saw this tonight.”

“What were they talking about? Was I there? Did you say anything to her?” I didn’t know why, but it felt like this little revelation was a piece of my mother that hadn’t died with the rest of her.

“I don’t know what they were talking about, and I’m pretty sure you weren’t there because she left by herself,” he said. “She saw me waiting outside the office door and she stopped and looked me over and said, ‘You must be Coach Bentley’s son.’”

“She was really good at pairing people up, like parents and kids,” I said, fighting off tears. Jordan met my mom. It felt like a sign. Like we were tangled together in more ways than we thought possible. And looking down at him, I wanted to actually be tangled together. It just seemed so right and not nearly as scary as it had a few minutes ago.

He must have been thinking the same thing (of course he was thinking the same thing, he’s a guy) because he reached up and pulled my mouth down to his. I understood what he meant now about getting good at kissing by practicing on the same person because we had a lot of head bumping and teeth bumping. And eventually, Jordan rolled me over and held the sides of my face and he slowed everything down. There was no more bumping and it felt so good it made me dizzy and breathless. I loved the feel of his weight on me, and even when his hand slid under the back of my shirt, it was the best feeling ever—his fingers drifting over my bare skin. I was starting to understand why the naked thing was on his to–do list.

After a while, I didn’t even know how long because I’d been completely lost as far as time went, Jordan lifted his head from my neck. “We have to go soon.”

“Yeah, probably.” My hands were under his shirt now, moving up and down his back, feeling all the muscles and skin. I wanted to keep touching forever.

Jordan sighed and then kissed me one more time before sliding off the bed. He reached for my hands and lifted me to my feet. He held me at arm’s length and looked me over. “You have make–out hair.”

I tried to comb my fingers through my hair and Jordan waited patiently until I dropped my arms to my sides, satisfied. “Um, okay?”

He looked me over once more and pulled the hem of my shirt down, smoothing it straight. “That’s better. Let’s go home.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea, considering the five–hour practice I have tomorrow.” I held Jordan’s hand as we left the room and he locked everything back up again. The hallways were pretty clear when we walked through again.

Jordan stayed quiet for the first half of the drive home, and when he finally spoke he said, “I don’t want to sneak around with you. I mean, we’re not telling my dad or anything, but no more pretending you’re at Stevie’s when you’re actually with me. It just makes everything seem worse than it really is.”

I stared at the side of his face, feeling so warm and perfect inside this car with the memory of his hands and mouth on me still fresh in my mind. “Good idea.”

“Eventually—like someday way, way in the future—we might want to tell him, and it seems better if he knew we were hanging out together and it just kind of turned into more.”