Upside Down(48)

I turned to face him, leaning my back against the front door. “I’m not trying. I just want you to get home safe, that’s all.” I held my phone up. “Your driver is three minutes away.”

“Well, if you’re not opposed to it, I think I’d like to kiss you again,” he said.

“I’m not opposed to that at all.”

He leaned his front against me, pressing me against the door, and kissed me. I let him lead this time, and he was slow and languid, deep and thorough. There was the right amount of pressure, the right amount of tongue, soft lips and rough stubble, gentle hands and a gentle nudge of his nose when he pulled away.

“Damn,” he breathed. He lifted my hand to his chest this time so I could feel the thump of his heart.

“Damn,” I echoed. My entire body was buzzing and warm, alight with the memory of his kiss. We stared at each other for a long moment, our smiles growing wider. I turned the door handle and stepped in closer to Jordan so I could open it. He didn’t move, just kissed me again, chastely this time. Then he took a step to the side so I could open the door fully. “I have had the best day,” I said.

“Me too.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Laundry, groceries. All that super fun adulting stuff.”

I groaned. “Same.”

“You can text me though,” he said. “Or call me. I won’t mind at all.”

A car honked its horn out the front. “That’s your ride.”

He nodded and cupped my face before pressing his lips to mine once more. “‘Parting is such sweet sorrow,’” he whispered, quoting Shakespeare as he walked to the gate.

I couldn’t let him beat me. “‘The pain of parting is nothing to the joy of meeting again.’”

Jordan stopped and turned, put his hand to his heart, and groaned. “And he quotes Dickens? My heart, my heart!”

I laughed and he shot me a grin before he got in the Uber. I waved goodbye and closed the door, my smile lingering. I put my fingers to my lips, still feeling the ghost of his kiss, and I laughed.

My heart, my heart, indeed.





Chapter Eleven





Jordan





“He quoted Dickens!”

Merry gasped and narrowed her eyes at me. “That motherfucker.”

“I know!” I swooned—again—pretty sure I was still grinning and damn sure my feet hadn’t touched the ground yet.

Merry and I were at work, cataloguing new arrivals, and we had the science of talking-whilst-working down to such an art that Mrs Mullhearn couldn’t get mad at our constant yabbering because truthfully, we got more work done the more we talked. We were making short work of the books while I gave Merry all the details about my weekend.

“And how did Angus’ date night go?”

“Well, he has that sated-swagger thing going on and a smile that reminds me of that time we all ate hash brownies and did the Ru Paul’s Drag Race marathon.”

Merry snorted so loud it scared me. “Sorry,” she said with a laugh.

I had my hand to my heart. “Jesus, warn a guy next time.”

“Do you remember that time you, me, and Angus got really drunk on champagne with Midori on Saint Patrick’s Day and Angus bought those space cakes,” she said, still chuckling.

“Oh my God. Last time he ever trusts an Irish guy dressed as a Leprechaun selling four-leaf-clover-shaped edibles,” I said, laughing.

“He was so funny.”

“He’s seeing them again this weekend,” I said. “His couple. They have such a great time with him apparently, they’ve cleared their schedules to do it again.”

“How long has he been seeing them?”

“For six months or so, just whenever the need arises.”

“As long as he’s happy,” Merry said. “And that they treat him right.”

“Mmm,” I agreed. “What about you, Merry? Are you happy?”

“I am.” She put the book she was holding on top of the final pile. “I can live vicariously through you and your new romance, all from the comfort of my couch in my PJs and messy hair. It’s all I need.”

“If you wanted—”

“If you finish that sentence, Jordan O’Neill, I will forever associate you with my mother and her velociraptor colony of people who think I need someone to make myself complete. I am very happily single and free to do whatever the hell I want, whenever I damn well want to.”

I put my hand up in surrender. “Uh, yeah, I was just going to say if you want to come over anytime, I’ll have Angus get some more brownies and we can do a Great British Bake Off marathon and order take out and eat ice cream. From the comfort of our couch in our PJs and messy hair.”

She glared at me and slid the pile of books onto her trolley. “You were not going to say that at all, you lying liar who lies.”

I laughed. “Well, no. I wasn’t. But your mum’s colony of velociraptor people scares the bejeezus out of me.”

“You and me both,” she said, wheeling her trolley to the door. “But that invite might be good for Hennessy to do the meeting-of-friends thing you talked about.”

I loaded up my trolley, smiling at the thought of seeing Hennessy again this afternoon on the bus. We’d talked on the phone twice yesterday, once when he called when I was in aisle three of the supermarket having a conversation with Mr Collins, a guy who frequents the library, about the importance of psyllium husk in a man’s diet—which, believe me, was promptly added to my list of things I never needed to know—and Hennessy had laughed for a solid minute, and then I called him last night. I totally did not call him when I was lying in bed just to hear the sound of his voice. It just so happened I was artfully reclined in my room and his voice in my ear is what happens when you speak to someone on the phone.