The Fire Between High & Lo (Elements #2)(92)
I frowned as I interjected, “The sheer fact that you said ‘bump uglies’ has disqualified you from giving me advice about anything in general, but sex specifically. You need to—”
A quick knock on the door followed by the sound of it being pushed open forced my sentence to end abruptly.
“Hi,” my mother greeted me as she poked her head into the room. Her bronzy skin glowed with a youthfulness most fifty-five year old women didn’t have. “Are you ready?”
I smiled and nodded.
“I’ll meet you in the car,” my mom whispered, closing the door behind her.
“I’m going to call you later. I’m about to head out with Mom before we meet Dad for dinner.”
“Okay, but search the internet for pictures of Julian and text me your thoughts.”
I chuckled to myself. “Will do.”
Slipping my phone into my back pocket, I quickly put on my socks and boots. Grabbing my grey and blue college hoodie, I pulled it over the white t-shirt and checked myself out in the mirror.
Wearing a hoodie that dwarfed my C-cup breasts and a pair of jeans that I remembered looking better when I purchased them, I was a sad, cold version of myself. Although my face and hair were flawless, my outfit was questionable at best. But I pulled on my heavy down coat that I kept in Virginia for my visits home and trotted out to meet my mother. I may not have looked like the fashionista that I was in L.A., but the unpredictable Virginia weather put fashion on the backburner.
On the way to the car, I pulled out my phone and searched Julian Winters. My eyebrows flew up immediately when I saw the piercing, grey eyes, short, sexy beard, and endearing smile. There was even a hint of a tattoo peeking out from the sleeve of his t-shirt.
That can’t be him.
I was expecting some boring, cookie-cutter, clean-cut guy. But based on the first few pictures, Julian Winters was the exact opposite of boring. Between his looks, his wardrobe, and his career choice, he was interesting. There weren’t many photos of him looking directly at the camera. Most of the photos were of him writing or recording.
Successful. Bearded. Tattooed. With an amazing smile. I felt like I was checking off the top tier of my wish list. He’s definitely my type.
“What’s with the goofy grin?”
I looked up and my mother had rolled the window down. Opening the door to her BMW, I showed her the picture on my phone as soon as I slid into the seat.
“Nice.” She nodded in appreciation. “New boyfriend?”
I made a face. “No. Just some guy.”
“Mm hmm. Not the way you were just grinning.”
I rolled my eyes and pursed my lips to keep from telling her about Koko’s prank.
“Fine,” she continued. “I’ll leave it alone for now. There are more pressing issues.” She gestured to my bundled up state before she backed out of the driveway. “It’s a rather warm, early March night and you’re dressed like we’re going to a football game in the dead of winter. It’s not that cold.”
I looked at her purple pantsuit, multicolored scarf and black leather jacket. She looked warm, but fashionable.
“I’m a California girl now, Mom. Forty-five degrees might as well be sub-zero.”
Mom and I laughed, joked and talked as we ran errands on our way to our favorite Italian restaurant to meet Dad. As she told me about the pro-bono case she took on for a small business, I found myself completely riveted.
“…because giving up is the first step toward failure,” she concluded, using her favorite motivational line.
My stomach tied itself in a knot as I nodded in agreement.
She’s talking about her case. She’s not talking about me, I assured myself as she moved on to tell me about the items she ordered from Neiman Marcus.
Sometimes the line blurred where my mother ended and Elise Jordan the attorney began. My mom was a badass in the courtroom and in life. With her short black hair contrasting with her bronze complexion, she was beautiful. She dressed like she was going to a business meeting with a fashion company at all times. And although I was blessed with her skin tone, hair color, and shapely figure, my mother’s beauty extended beyond her looks.
My mom was fearless. She was the smartest person I knew and a fantastic storyteller. She was the youngest person to make partner at her firm and the first woman. She did mission trips to change the world. She volunteered her time to feed the homeless. She advocated for women in the workplace. She was well-traveled and entertained me with stories about her adventures before she had my brother and me. I’d spent my entire life wanting to follow in her footsteps.
I felt incredibly relaxed as we pulled into the parking spot. For the first time since I arrived on Friday, she didn’t ask me why I came home unexpectedly. She didn’t try to pepper me with questions. Everything felt like it was finally back to normal. It was the best conversation we’d had all week.
“There’s your father,” Mom pointed out as soon as we walked through the front door.
Zachary Jordan II was sitting at a table near the front politely ignoring the flirtatious waitress. Even from across the room, I could tell by the hair flip and arched back that she was flirting.
It wasn’t unusual for women to flirt with my father. He was a handsome man with an awesome wardrobe, courtesy of my mother. He regularly got complimented on his light brown eyes and long lashes, in which I was fortunate enough to inherit.