Finding Jordie: Things aren't always what they seem. (The Love Lies Bleeding Series Book 1)

by Harley, HJ

  “How old are you?”

  “Tsk tsk, Nathan. I’m shocked. You aren’t the gentleman that you claim to be, asking a woman her age.” I shook my head with mock disapproval.

  “Touché. You don’t have to tell me. It really doesn’t matter.” He smirked, and I think my heart stopped beating.

  Of course it doesn’t matter.

  Someone standing nearby cleared her throat excessively loudly and turned to Nathan. “Excuse me,” she said, all shy-like and airheaded.

  Where’d this bitch come from?

  She seemed to think nothing of interrupting our conversation. I guessed she didn’t see me as much competition.

  That’s because there is no competition, dumb ass. Look at her—young, skinny, blonde. Gorgeous by all of society’s standards. Sure, she has a wonky eye and wears far too much makeup. Her boobs probably aren’t even real, just some silicone gel push-up bra... Focus, Jordan. I snapped out of the conversation in my head just in time for Blondie to give her sales pitch.

  “Hi.” She turned her back to me.

  “Hello.” Nathan’s tone was polite. His eyes were still locked with mine. The girl glanced back at me with an expression like she’d gotten a whiff of rotten eggs or something, then back to Nathan. She had his attention.

  “Call me sometime.” She pressed a napkin into his hand and let her fingers linger in his palm a moment too long.

  I’ll cut your hand off, twat. My stomach sank. Why are you reacting like this?

  “I’m flattered, thank you,” he responded to her politely.

  I wanted to punch something. Hard. Like Old Perky Boobs, in the head. Stop it, Jordan. You don’t care. I repeated it over and over in my head. A steady mantra, I-DO-NOT-CARE, over and over, but the reality of it was no matter how many times I said it, I did care. I hadn’t felt that giddy, butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling in years. Not in ten years.

  “But also, I’m sorry. I just don’t think I’ll call.” He handed the napkin back to her, and his eyes were back on me again.

  She whipped her head back and gave me a death stare, so I stuck my tongue out at her like a child. Shit, I wanted to sing “nanee-nanee-poo-poo” while I was at it, but I didn’t want to push my luck.

  “Whatever.” She rolled her eyes, and stomped off.

  My stomach began the familiar flip flopping as I peered up at Nathan feeling extremely self conscious under his silent stare, and hoping he didn’t catch my childish reaction.

  “Eh, imagine that conversation,” I blurted out to end the awkwardness. In my best valley girl voice, I continued, “Like OMG, how are you today? Wanna like go shop and stuff?” I flipped my hair, cocking my head from side to side.

  “You are something.” He smiled and stuck his tongue out at me.

  Crap. Busted. I think I turned seven shades of red. “Well, something needs to get back inside before Rachel has an aneurism.” I recovered quickly from my embarrassment and turned to lead the way back to the bar.

  “Bye, Jordie.”

  “Not coming back in?”

  “Can’t, I have to go.”

  My stomach sank with disappointment again. “Okay.” I managed a smile. “See ya.” I coolly breezed back inside, not allowing my disappointment to show.

  Honestly, Jordie, stop this. It’s nothing. If he didn’t want Blondie, what makes you think he’d want your no frills ass?

  I spent the rest of that evening tending bar in a daze. I couldn’t get my mind off Nathan. Mindlessly I poured drink after drink, dissecting our conversation, trying to recreate that feeling I got when he was close to me. His body language, his eyes, his smile... Oh, that smile. Had he turned down Blondie because I was standing there, and he didn’t want to be rude? I popped the top off a beer and handed it to a customer, still consumed by my thoughts.

  The customer shrugged as he began to walk away. Rachel stopped him. “Nice try, guy! Pay up, this isn’t a soup kitchen!” She snatched a fistful of singles from his shirt pocket.

  Whoops, I wonder how many times I’ve done that tonight.

  “Jordie, earth to Jordie?” Rachel snapped her fingers in front of my face. “You want to announce last call or are you just going to stand there and pour the rest of that bottle of tequila on the bar?” She snorted, clearly amused at the state I was in.

  “Shit. Shit!” I fumbled, tilting the bottle upright.

  She threw a rag over the puddle on the bar and laughed as she walked away. I rang the boxing bell on the wall, picked up the bullhorn, and yelled through it.

  “Last call, motha fuckaaaaaas!”

  In the tradition of ending the night, ‘Closing Time’ by Semisonic was playing throughout the bar and the place was just about empty. The DJ was packing up and we were busy cleaning, counting money, and doing whatever else we needed to do to get the hell out of there after twelve hours on our feet. When we finished, Rachel and I sat on the bar Indian style facing each other a few feet apart.

  “So, spill the beans, ya harlot,” Rachel began. “What did Hottie McHotterstein say to you outside? Had to be one hell of a conversation—turned you into a window licker the last two hours of the night.” She snickered.

  “What do you mean? Wait, how do you know we talked outside?” I frowned at her.

  “I saw him follow you out there. Quit stalling. He did need to breach a gaggle of wild females that were taking pictures with him and his friend,” she said with a bit of contempt in her voice.

  I wonder what all that hostility is about. “Yeah, he told me his friend was a musician. Guess someone recognized him.” I shrugged.

  “He looks so familiar to me.” She furrowed her eyebrows seriously. “I swear I’ve seen him somewhere before. Not just here, somewhere else.”

  “Like on America’s Most Wanted or something?”

  We both busted out laughing.

  In all actuality, I’d rather it were true, so I could stop feeling like a fifteen-year-old with an all-consuming crush.

  “You’re such an asshole, Jordie. No, for real, he looked familiar with a hat on.” Back to her serious face.

  “Hollerrrr.” I only agreed with her as an attempt to end the Nathan subject.

  “So, tell me everything.” She was sorting through the money from the tip jar.

  I told her all about the conversation we had and Goldie Locks dropping the digits on him along with his kind refusal.

  “Shut up!” she shrieked and threw the stirring straw from her mouth at me. “Cosmo girl? I heard her going on and on about some guy all night. I had no idea it was stud bucket.”

  “Yup, it was,” I said softly.

  “You like him!” It was more like a statement than a question.

  “Am I fifteen? I like him?” I don’t know why, but her observation threw me off balance like I was learning how to ride a bike and wobbling everywhere inside.

  “Whatever, Jordie. Stay in your iron-clad bubble. Forget the fact that the guy is hot and so far sounds extremely nice and you haven’t let anyone in since...”

  Oh, there she was. You’re-doing-it-wrong Rachel. I interrupted her by holding up my hand while I stared at the bar underneath me. “Don’t. Do not start this shit with me, please.”

  She slid down from the bar, scooped up her cash, and handed me a hundred dollars.

  “I took money out of petty cash Tuesday. I’ll see ya, Jordie.” She grabbed the rest of her stuff and stomped out the door.

  I sighed out loud. She wouldn’t talk to me for a few days, but she’d get over it. I slid off the bar, gathered up all my crap, and followed. Mike and Carlos had left just before Rachel, so once again, it was just me. Before I walked out, I took a long look around.

  “Emma and this are all I need,” I muttered, and took off towards home. Why be greedy? Why want more? You don’t need more. You don’t do love, and you certainly don’t do happily ever after.

  “Fuck!” I blurted out as I reached my steps. Nathan was perched there halfway up and, my Lord, he was looking fine. />
  “Is that a statement or a request?” He grinned mischievously at me, a grin that touched those amazing blue eyes.

  Oh shit, he’s here...on my front porch. My heart slammed into my throat and I was pretty sure I had lost the ability to form a coherent sentence. “Hi?” was all I could manage to say. What was he doing here at three a.m.?

  “I wanted to make sure you made it home safely,” he said, as if answering my silent question.

  “Nut. Job,” I mouthed slowly to him.

  He laughed, unveiling that beautiful, perfect, white-toothed smile that made his eyes even brighter. Then it happened. With that one smile, I surrendered to whatever it was inside of me I was fighting. I could no longer worry about how this story would end when all I wanted to do was start it.

  I walked past him. “Want to come up for a beer or something?” I unlocked the door and waited for the impact of the rejection.

  “Or something.”

  I could hear the smirk in his tone. “Is that a statement or a request?” Ugh, what are you doing? Is this flirting? I silently sighed. Rachel had never been more correct—it had been too long.

  “Lock the door behind you, please.” I started the two-flight journey to my apartment. We reached my door, and I took a deep breath while I unlocked it. We walked in and I tossed my crap on the table as usual. He closed the door, and I heard the click of the lock.

  “Want some breakfast?” I asked him, walking past the large sectional in my living room into the kitchen. Nathan followed but stopped in the dining room and took a quick glance around my place as he leaned against the wall.

  “Assuming I will be here for breakfast?” he asked in a sultry voice full of humor.

  Flushed, I popped my head out from behind the fridge door. “Smart ass, I meant now. I’m starving. Yes or no?”

  “Sure.” He got dimples when he smiled.

  “Can you make some coffee?” I pointed to the pantry closet door.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He stepped into the pantry. “Pop Tarts? You eat Pop Tarts?” His muffled words became clearer as he walked out, holding coffee in one hand and a box of Pop Tarts in the other. He closed the door with his foot.

  “I enjoy a good Pop Tart.” I pouted, crinkling my eyebrows.

  “Seriously? Strawberry? I thought you said you enjoyed a good Pop Tart.” He eyed me suspiciously.

  “Shut up—it’s the sprinkles. They make me happy.” I quickly looked back down at the pan, trying not to stare at his amazing blue eyes.

  “Do you know what these are made of?” He sounded appalled, as if I were eating a cockroach instead of an artificial pastry.

  “No, please enlighten me.” I noticed my cheeks hurt because I had been smiling for the past five minutes.

  “All right, sassy pants, I will.” He was attempting to be serious but began to laugh while he poured water into the coffee maker.

  “C’mon educate me, I need a good schooling, and have you ever made coffee before?” I playfully grabbed the coffee from his hands, swiftly dumped four scoops into the top of the machine, closed the lid, and pressed the start button.

  “Impressive.” He hopped onto the counter holding the box of Pop Tarts again, watching me. “It’s a sugar coma is what it is. I can’t explain it. I just know anything that has a shelf life of fourteen years and is still edible after a nuclear winter can’t be good for you.” He held his head high and tightened his lips as if he was triumphant in convincing me.

  I stared blankly at him, trying my damnedest not to laugh, but the corners of my mouth betrayed me as they tightened. We both burst out in laughter.

  “Really? That’s all you got?” I snatched the box from his hands and put it back on the counter. “Like I said, it’s all about the sprinkles, so if there is in fact a nuclear winter, at least I’ll be happy.” I tossed him a loaf of bread. “Can you make toast?”

  “Can I make toast?” He hopped off the counter. “Of course I can make toast.”

  When I turned to look at him he was standing at the toaster with a confused look on his face.

  “You’re fucking kidding me, right?” My mouth popped open wide in shock and he laughed.

  “Gotcha.” He winked, pushing down the lever.

  Oh my, no no no. I won’t survive this night if he keeps shit like that up.

  “I love cheese omelets. You can cook, woman. That was great, thanks.” He rested back in his chair.

  “Thank you, it’s no biggie. I like to cook.” I shrugged. “And let’s not forget you make a mean toast, sir.” I picked up my plate.

  He stood up and picked up his plate as well.

  “I got it.” As I took the plate from him, his hand curled around mine. My heart stopped for a second. When it started back up it sent an electric pulse through my veins. I can’t move. This is the greatest feeling ever. I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly, trying to calm myself and savor the moment all at once. When I opened them, my nut job smile was waiting for me. After another moment or two I slowly pulled my hand back and turned to bring the plates into the kitchen with a hint of a smile on my lips.

  He wandered into the living room. When I came out of the kitchen he was standing in front of the biggest picture hung on my living room wall.

  Oh no. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I was smacking my forehead in my mind.

  “You’re married and have a kid?” He looked at me shocked and, I thought, pissed. He turned away from me, back to the picture.

  I walked over to him and stared at the picture of Emma, Jason, and myself with him for what seemed like a lifetime but was really only a brief moment or two.

  “I have a nine-year-old daughter.” My head dropped and I focused on the floor, trying to hide whatever screwed-up look was on my face. “I’m a widow.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “It happens. It was a long time ago.” I stood there in silence while he walked slowly around the rest of the living room glancing at each picture.

  “What branch was he?” he asked quietly.

  “Army,” I said, equally quiet. “He was ambushed and killed in Iraq. It was a long time ago.” I realized I’d repeated myself.

  “How long is a long time, Jordie?” His eyes burned right through me.

  “Eight years ago.”

  “A long time ago.” His eyes shifted back to the picture on the wall. “I...” He paused and his eyes were back on me.

  I physically felt the heaviness of his stare. What is he thinking?

  “I should go.” He turned abruptly and walked over to the door.

  What? Go? Now? Why? Why is he speaking to me as if I’m some wounded animal caught in a trap? My eyes burned with the unwelcome sting that once was all too familiar. It felt foreign now. Stop. Fight the tears. Do not let him leave, Jordan.

  “All right,” I whispered.

  “Thanks for breakfast, Jordie. It was... nice,” Nathan said cautiously, nodding his head.

  “Any time.” My voice was barely audible. Any time? More like never again.

  He walked out the door. I don’t know if he looked my way before he left because I was staring at my feet. After I heard the door downstairs close, I crossed the room and locked the door, turned my back against it, and slid down to the floor. I pulled my knees to my chest and waited for what I could feel rising with a ripple in my stomach. Like a volcano about to erupt, the sting had turned to a burning in my eyes, and it was as if my chest had been ripped open. I was gasping for air. My iron-clad bubble had finally popped. I began to cry.

  I wasn’t crying because he left—I don’t think so, anyway. Why? Why had every raw emotion I’d ever felt resurfaced as Nathan walked out my door? I never had this reaction after a fling. Which had been only three in eight years, I calculated quickly. Was it because he ran out the door like his ass was on fire? No. Then why? Guilt? No, it couldn’t be. I knew what guilt felt like, and I hadn’t done anything to feel guilty about. All he’d done was sit at my kitchen table and eat eggs, for fuck’s sake. No. It was
because I realized I didn’t miss my dead husband as much as I missed the life I should’ve been living. I’d been so out of touch with everything. Emma and the bar, that was my life. I was so relieved my daughter wasn’t there to witness the nervous breakdown her mother was about to have as I started to sob uncontrollably.

  I HEARD THE KEYS JINGLE in the lock. I was face down on the floor. I hadn’t moved since Nathan left. How long had I been down here? I couldn’t think, I couldn’t move, I didn’t want to move. The door opened, knocking into my boots, which were still on my feet.

  “Jordie?” Rachel shouted, as I moved my feet to unblock the door. “Jordie! Oh my fucking god! Are you hurt?”

  I heard her drop her stuff before she knelt down to roll me over and examine me. She tapped my cheeks with her fingers and started screaming in a panic.

  “Jesus Christ, Jordie! Look at me! Look at me, please!”

  Shit, she sounds borderline hysterical. I opened my eyes. They ached.

  “I’m fine,” I mumbled before she went into a panic attack and called the National Guard. “I’m fine.” I sat up.

  She stared at me for a moment. “I don’t know if I want to hug you or beat the snot out of you right now. What the fuck happened? I’ve been calling you since nine.”

  “Since nine?”

  “Yes. Nine, Jordie. It’s nearly twelve.”

  Shit! Emma will be home in a few hours.

  “When you didn’t answer either phone, I figured you might still be pissed at me from last night, so I decided to come here where your ass couldn’t avoid me. When I buzzed and buzzed and you didn’t answer...” She trailed off. “I thought something happened to you.”

  “Something did happen to me.” I wiped my nose on my sleeve in the most unladylike manner. “Nathan was waiting for me on the steps last night.”

  Rachel’s face turned bright red and she flipped her shit. “Did that fucker hurt you? I’ll kill the good-looking son of a bitch!”

  “No, Rocky, calm down,” I snorted, beginning to feel like myself again.

  “He came up, we had breakfast.”