Page 20 of Full Court Love
And I haven’t spoken to him yet. Whoops.
I walk across the living room, and somehow his massive smile grows bigger. His eyes are trained on me with a mischievous look that makes my knees weak. I give him a shy smile.
“Hi. Welcome to our home–”
AJ interrupts me from the kitchen. “Call it by its correct name, Lucy! Our home has a name that deserves some respect. Jordan, welcome to the Boat for short, or the Sailboat for long!”
She yelled this across the crowded living room, so everyone overheard. Kya smirks at me and chimes in. “Tell him why we call it the Sailboat, Lucy.”
My eyes narrow. But then Jordan casually drapes an arm over my shoulders and gives me a look that makes me think he has something besides the dumb name of our house on the brain. His lips are slightly turned up and his eyebrows are raised.
“Please tell me, Lucy.”
How am I supposed to resist that? “Ugh. Okay, fine. We are all captains on our teams, and captains live on boats. Happy?”
The words come out insanely fast, like I’m trying to fast forward through this moment.
Which I definitely am.
Jordan is chuckling and nodding like he’s thinking more deeply about it.
“Makes sense. Clever. Between that and the theme for this meal, I feel like this is a house that knows how to party and loves puns.”
Britt shrugs. “You’re not saying anything we don’t already know, homeboy.”
Finally, I feel myself starting to relax. I take Jordan’s dishto set it out on the table and our fingers brush, almost causing me to drop it. It feels like a mini bolt of lightning struck me where my skin met his. I look up at him, but his expression is difficult to decipher. His expression is intense and his jaw is set.
It’s just us left in the living room. He makes a slight move toward me, brushing a piece of hair from my face. His fingers linger as he trails them down my cheek.
My breath picks up and maybe I’m imagining it, but I think he’s leaning down. Tyler’s loud voice wafting in from the kitchen snaps the tension in half.
“What the hell is this?”
Jordan gives me a small smile before walking past me to see what’s happening. I follow him in a daze. Did we almost just kiss?
We find Tyler holding up a Thanksgiving-themed old lady sweater vest. It’s covered in turkeys wearing pilgrim hats. The girls are huddled together in the corner of the kitchen, doubled over with laughter. Tyler’s bewildered look grows when he holds up another one with a massive cornucopia overflowing with various Thanksgiving dishes.
“Please don’t tell me these are for us.”
I feign confusion at his response. “What’s the problem? Our wardrobes need to be on theme. I put in hundreds of man-hours scouring thrift shops for these. You’re lucky I’m indecisive, so I bought extras. Gosh, there are some real gems in here.”
I display a few more from the pile–dancing pilgrims, apple trees, and the one embroidered with the pun, “Whatever floats your gravy boat.” Jordan snags that one, and I hand the rest out. Whether by fate or the sneakiness of my friends, I also end up with a gravy pun: “You’re the gravy to my mashed potatoes.”
Sitting down around our tiny table, legs smashed together, I am blissfully happy. That also might have to do with the factthat half of my body is smushed into Jordan’s. I wouldn’t want more room even if I had the option.
We begin by having everyone explain what they made for the “Bake What Your Mama Gave Ya” theme. AJ grew up on a farm, so she made ham. Britt made corn bread as an homage to her Southern roots. Kya made almost everything else. Her mom is a professional chef, so Kya grew up in a kitchen. She made mashed potatoes, corn, sweet potatoes with marshmallows, and turkey.
My contribution is an apple pie. My parents always loved fall and we had two towering apple trees in our yard, so every year, we would have a big apple-picking day. We’d give a lot of them away, but that night, my dad and I would make a pie together. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but I loved it, and I’d give anything to do it just one more time.
The whole backstory is a bit of a downer, though, so I give an abridged explanation to the group. Too much talking about this and I’ll end up a puddle. I return to my seat with a sad smile.
Now it’s Jordan’s turn. He suddenly appears nervous. After wiping his hands on his jeans, he uncovers his dish. “Umm…so, I did a baked mac and cheese. I … uhh…”
I don’t know much about his past, but this is obviously difficult. All I want to do is comfort him. This is a rather public setting, though, so I do the only thing I can think of. Subtly reaching under the table, I give his leg a small squeeze.
It wouldn’t be my first choice when it comes to comforting gestures.
Or even my twentieth.