Save My Soul (18 page)

The grocery store was not the place for that discussion.

“Are you making fun of me?” she asked, deciding to keep the conversation light.

Jordon stopped before she had time to react, and the cart slammed into his left hip.

His eyes narrowed. “Ouch. I wasn't making fun of you. If I were making fun of you, I would say something lame about women drivers, since you rear-ended me.” He smiled and reached into the cooler for a package of cream cheese. “I'm serious about the bird. I rather like that scenario.”

“Because I like that scenario?” She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

“Sure. And I'm going to call Grey.”

She wanted him to reconcile with his family — but not to please her.
“Why are you calling him?”

“Why not? I thought that's what you wanted?”

Maggie swiveled her head a few times until an elderly lady passed and left them in relative private. “I want you to contact your family for you, not to prove something to me.”

Jordon crossed his arms over his chest in the defensive manner she'd grown accustomed to. “Maggie, do you really want to have this conversation here?”

“No, I don't, but … we have to have it somewhere.”

“How about in the bread aisle? I need rolls.” He walked away.

“Jordon, I'm serious.”

She startled when he spun around and grabbed the end of the cart with both hands before she could plow into him again. “No you're not. If you were serious, you would stop treating me like a flaky patient. I thought we made progress at the stadium, but I was wrong. You don't think I know what you're doing, how you're looking at me? There's enough pity in your eyes to drown a third world country.”

People were staring now. “Jordon, I changed my mind. Let's not do this here. It's not an appropriate place.”

His angry eyes flashed at the few people who shared the toothpaste aisle with them, but their presence did nothing to deter him. “You started it, and I'm going to finish it.”

“Fine.” She let go of the cart, her arms landing across her chest. “You can't fall in love with me.”

The nearest couple hastened down the aisle amid whispers. A lone woman remained, studying a tube of Crest with one ear peeled to the drama.

Jordon nodded tightly, his arms still wrapped around his body. “Is that so?”

“Yes, it is. What you're experiencing is called transference, and you're transferring your affectionate feelings to me because you're repeating a pattern of emotion from your childhood. It's Freudian and I'm to blame, because I created a nurturing environment where I've given you help with Carlos and … ” Maggie's gaze flitted to the woman studying the same tube. “ … the other thing.”

Jordon followed the direction of her eyes, turning his head and spying the interloper. He angled back at Maggie, and his lips stretched over his white teeth. His smile made Maggie wish she'd kept her big mouth shut, but by the look of the mischievous sparkle in his eyes, she was too late.

“The other thing? You mean the sex. I'm transferring feelings of love to you from my childhood because we have hot, sweaty sex. The best sex I've ever had.”

The woman dropped the tube, and Jordon walked toward her. “Let me get that for you, ma'am.” He bent down, and handed the toothpaste to the gaping woman, who wandered aimlessly down the aisle until she disappeared, forgetting her cart.

“That was uncalled for.” Maggie shook her head and bit back a laugh.

Jordon didn't stop at the end of the cart. He came around and grabbed her by the hips. “We're done with this conversation. I'm not going to let you push me away because of your misguided notions and over-analysis.”

She opened her mouth at his absurd insults, but before she could say a word, his fingers rested on her chin and closed her jaw.

“Maggie, transference is bullshit. Freud was a flake. You shrinks like to wield power over weak-minded patients. I'm not weak, and I'm not your patient.” He slid his thumb across her bottom lip. “I do … feel exactly the way I said I do, but I won't say the words until I'm damn sure you're going to say them back. Until then, keep your shrink wrap away from my head. There's enough going on in there without you digging around.”

Despite the hypnotic sensation of his thumb stroking her lip, she couldn't keep quiet anymore. “I find you offensive.”

“No, you don't.”

He leaned his face closer, and she swallowed. Her tongue reflexively brushed over her lip, tasting the tip of his thumb. He stepped into her, and she swallowed again, knowing his mouth would be covering hers in the middle of a busy supermarket. But the minute his arm wound around her waist, she didn't care where they were. She wanted him to take what he wanted and leave her begging for more.

Jordon stopped inches from her mouth, his smiling eyes locked with hers. “Not here. This is not an appropriate place.”

Her jaw dropped again. “That's what
I
said.”

He lifted his head and set his broad shoulders. “Bread aisle. I need rolls.”

Maggie gripped the cart with shaking hands. “You need a lobotomy. Something is not right with you.” Her heart was racing. She didn't know whether to push the cart away as fast as she could or grab a handful of dental floss and pitch it at his gorgeous, gloating face.

“What?” He feigned innocence. His eyes wide, his brows high on his head. He even had the audacity to shrug. “What did I do?”

Trying to steady her breath, Maggie clamped her teeth together before she spoke. “Your negotiation tactics are suspect.”

He winked. “Never. Now move your cute little ass to the bread aisle before I change my mind and make you beg.”

Maggie huffed and pushed the cart by him. Her face felt fifty shades of inferno, and her hands were still shaking. As she rounded the corner, she came face to face with the woman holding a tube of Crest.

The woman took one look at Maggie and stammered. “That's my cart.”

Maggie glanced at the contents and realized the woman was right. “Oh. I'm sorry.” She stepped back and bumped directly into the reason for her scattered, damned soul.

“This is our cart, love.”

Jordon's silky voice and the outlandish moniker goaded her on purpose, but Maggie was entirely too shaken and — dare she say it — turned on to think of a decent rebuttal.

The woman smiled. “You two are better than anything that's on cable. Good luck.” She nodded, waved and waddled away with her cart in her hands.

“That was nice.” Jordon squeezed Maggie's shoulders.

“That was insane.”

“Then it's a good thing you have lots of experience in that department. I have a feeling sanity — or lack of it — is going to be a common theme in this relationship.”

He had no idea. But Maggie did. This conversation wasn't over. She fully intended to have the last word … at home.

“What do you mean you can't sleep with me again?” Jordon poked the sharpened tip of the paring knife into the cutting board and glared at his angel of frustration.

Maggie sat on a stool at the kitchen island, chopping Granny Smith apples into precise one-inch squares. They'd been talking about how a lake house with a pier needed a boat. There was nothing controversial until her last random statement. And now that she said it, she refused to look at him, even when his knife hit the board and stuck straight in the air.

“Jordon, you don't scare me.” She kept cutting.

“Damn it, Maggie, yes I do. If I didn't scare you, you would look at me.”

She did, and she couldn't hold the intensity of his gaze for more than two seconds before she stared at the apples again. “I can't look at you and cut. I'll hurt myself.”

He reached over and grabbed the wrist connected to her cutting hand. “Then stop and explain yourself.”

She dropped the knife, and her oversized eyes settled on his face. “If I sleep with you again, I'm only perpetuating the idea that we have a future together, and we don't. That's impossible.” She looked serious. Her lips didn't twitch. “Attachment is dangerous, and romantic love is a lie disseminated by greeting card companies and Hollywood movies. Love is a word we use to describe an obsessive need to possess. The possession leads to loss, and the loss leads to pain. I don't want to cause either one of us pain.” She turned her palm over to hold his hand in hers. “Okay?”

They were the stupidest words he'd ever heard. He jerked his hand away and walked to the corner of the counters, wedging himself into the ninety-degree angle, gripping the cold marble in his hands.

“No. It's not okay. You don't make any sense. Do you even believe what you're saying or do you just spit out words that have been force-fed to you by your mother?” He clenched his teeth, and a growl escaped. “You're the craziest woman on the planet.” He wanted to shake the serenity off her beautiful face. “And the apples need to be in thin slices, not squares.”

Maggie looked down at the pile in front of her and then back to him. “Why didn't you say something before?”

“Because I didn't want to hurt your feelings.” Although, he imaged the bite in his voice would take care of that.

“Are you mad because I cut them wrong?”

“No.” He growled again. “You just casually informed me we can't have sex because we don't have a future together. I'm mad because you're done with me.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”

“Not just like that. I've been thinking about it for a while.”

“Oh, great. So while I'm thinking we're amazing together and you're bound to realize we're meant to be, you're thinking of ways to stop being with me. Whatever, Maggie. I'm done trying to figure you out.” He grabbed a dish towel and threw it into the sink, sealing his tantrum. “Go. Lock yourself in your room and figure yourself out. After I finish this pie, I'm going to bed, and unless you're willing to get naked, stay the hell out of my room.”

He sounded a lot meaner than he felt. He was upset all right, but he didn't want to go to bed alone. He enjoyed the sparring. In some ways, it was the best foreplay he'd ever had. Unfortunately, he doubted it was headed in that direction tonight. Maybe tomorrow, after they'd both had a good night's sleep.

Only, Jordon didn't sleep. He tossed and turned, somehow still managing to roll out of bed before the sun — like every other day. Burning daylight meant deals went undone and opportunities missed. Even holidays had obligations.

Shoving the covered turkey into the oven, he walked to the sink. With his hands busy under the hot water, he didn't bother covering his mouth when he yawned. Instead, he shook his head until the sleepy gasp passed. He'd always been a night owl and an early bird. He wasn't sure there was a cliché to describe him, so he settled on one word: insomniac. He didn't believe the sleeplessness could get any worse until last night.

He loved Maggie. Months ago, she walked into his life without knowing the conflict she'd caused him, and last night, despite the conflict, he determined to never let her go. Around three
A.M.
, he went to her, to tell her that despite the endless array of things she said and did that left him bewildered, he felt whole and satisfied for the first time in his empty life. But when he met with a locked door, he figured she was in no mood to listen.

He stomped a pedal, lifting the lid on the trash can and tossing a wadded paper towel inside. Yawning again, he balked at the chores in front of him but ultimately refused to give up. A promise was a promise, and he promised Maggie the best Thanksgiving. In his mind, the best Thanksgiving started with cooking a gourmet meal together and ended with a vigorous roll in the sheets. He would have to improvise.

Before Jordon got lost in food prep, his phone rang, sinking his heart. Early morning calls were never a good sign, especially on a holiday. During the season, he would suspect anything from torn ACLs and ulnar collateral ligaments to concussions. During the off-season, DUIs, and sexual assault allegations topped the worry list.

He blinked, unable to believe the name flashing across his BlackBerry's screen. “Hello?”

“I got your message.”

Jordon left the message last night after a glass of whiskey and a couple rounds of solitaire. He didn't expect his brother to return the call. “Grey … I'm happy you called.”

“You're surprised I called.”

“That too.”

“Thanks for leaving that message. I, uh, know it couldn't have been easy.” A loud sigh echoed on the line. “Happy Thanksgiving, J.”

Grey sounded older and more tired than Jordon remembered. “Happy Thanksgiving to you, too, man.”

There was more to say, complicated explanations and apologies Jordon had perfected in his head over the years, but now that the time had come to say those things, he didn't want to risk souring the conversation. “So what's been going on?” he asked, preferring to keep his brother on the phone.

“Not much. Been playing a lot of X-Box. I don't know what to do with my hands in the off season.”

“I bet. You had a good season. Seventy stolen bases.”

“Yep.”

“You always were the faster one.” And just like that, darkness crept in. Jordon remembered Grey ducking out of the old man's way before another fist landed against the boy's tanned skin. Grey got away. Jordon didn't. “How's the old man?” he forced out through clenched teeth.

Cavernous silence made Jordon think he'd lost Grey before they even had a chance to start over again.

But then came a noisy breath followed by slow words. “I don't know. He bought a place in Bermuda last year. I haven't talked to him since. You know how it goes.”

Jordon wasn't sure if that was an invitation to ask for more details or to rehash the particulars about Grey's draft, but he didn't dare take it further, not if he wanted his brother back in his life. “Yeah, I know. Are you hanging with Lindsay's family today?”