“We can download the full reports on them, addresses and the like. I’ll do it when we get back to the hotel.”
I like how he thinks of things I wouldn’t. I would never have thought to check New Mexico.
Fear aside, I’m so glad he’s helping me. I think I’ll locate her much quicker with his help.
“Thank you for doing this for me.”
“Seriously, stop thanking me. I only do things because I want to. And I want to help you, okay?”
No one has ever spoken to me or treated me like he does. Like I’m a person who matters. That I count for something.
It makes my heart feel warm and alive in a way it never has before.
I’ve known Jordan for such a short time, but that time just feels irrelevant when I’m sitting here with him.
It’s scary. But a good scary.
I like it. I like him.
“Okay.” I smile.
Chapter Nine
Jordan
I told Mia that I’m cleaned up from the person I used to be. That I’m responsible now. Yeah, right. I don’t gamble anymore, but…
If she knew the reason why I’d stopped gambling, she would think I was the lowest of the low.
I try to be responsible, try to keep out of trouble, but it just seems to follow me everywhere I go. Or maybe I just attract it.
No maybe about it. I absolutely do.
Even after everything that has happened, I still bring shit to my dad’s door.
I hook up with a married woman, thinking solely with my dick, and the pissed off husband shows up at the hotel.
I was beyond relieved that Dad was out when he turned up. Even though he found out about it later, I was glad he was out of the loop. I don’t want him getting into any more shit because of me. He’s already lost so much at my hands.
Not that he’d ever say that. He would never blame me a day in his life. Dad never makes me feel like a disappointment, but I know I am.
Thankfully, the angry husband fiasco didn’t culminate into a kick-off—and that was thanks to Beth and her ability to calm angry men down.
But I can’t keep doing shit like that.
Problem is, I don’t know how to be good. Gambling’s out of the question, so women it is. I need to keep my mind busy when I get the urge for the tables, which is often.
Fucking helps with that. So I f**k often.
I just have to be careful of the women I choose to screw as I don’t want anything I do coming back on my dad.
So, definitely no married ones. And no guests at the hotel – meaning no Mia Monroe.
My list of reasons to stay away from her just keeps growing.
She’s a guest at the hotel. She has more baggage than JFK. But mainly, because she is too damn good for someone like me.
Nothing good could come of Mia wrapped around me. Well, something good would come of it—pun totally intended—but after the physical high, reality would bring me crashing back down to earth.
She deserves better than I could ever give her.
And I’m doing well, I think. I’ve been around her for a good while now. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, it’s been less than a day in her company. But trust me, this is some kind of f**king record that I haven’t tried to hit on her.
My only slip up was in the car earlier when I flirted with her. But that was nothing compared to how I usually go for it.
I just couldn’t resist. And the look on her face … so goddamn cute. Her cheeks turned pink, and she looked surprised and embarrassed. You’d think no one had ever flirted with her before, but looking like she does, I find that very hard to believe.
We’re back at the hotel, and I’m in the kitchen making us some coffee. After we’d finished lunch at the diner, there was still an hour to kill before I have to pick Dozer up, so I brought Mia back to the hotel and downloaded the info I found. I printed the details off while Mia went to change out of her torn t-shirt.
She gave me my shirt back before she went to change. I’m not ashamed to say I smelled it once she’d walked away.
It smelled amazing. Total jerking off material.
Seriously, if Mia Monroe were a bottled scent, I’d spray it all over my pillows. And my clothes. Hell, I’d spray it on myself.
When she came back from changing, she was freshly showered, and her hair was still a little damp, vanilla scent floating around her. She was wearing a pale pink tank top and ass hugging jeans, and my c**k nearly sprang from my jeans. She looked f**king gorgeous.
It took me a good few minutes to get my head working properly before I could sit down with her and start looking over the details. She’d seemed quiet while I talked her through what I’d printed off, so I left her sitting outside on the porch, thinking she maybe needed a few.
Hence the reason I’m in here making coffee.
I figure she’ll just be processing things. I can’t begin to imagine how it must feel to know that your mom abandoned you.
I’ve never been abandoned, but dying mothers I have down to pat.
My real mom, Abbi, died in childbirth. She had a heart problem that they didn’t know about, and the stress of giving birth to me killed her.
She wasn’t married to Dad. They were young, in a steady relationship, but my dad hadn’t kept it covered, so nine months later it was hello Jordan.
After Abbi died, Dad raised me alone with the help of my grandpa. When I was two, Belle, my step-mom who I always refer to as mom as she’s the only one I ever known, came back to town, and her and dad got back together. Dad and Mom were childhood sweethearts. Mom left town to go to college, but Dad stayed here and went to the police academy. Before she left they broke up, and that was when he met Abbi and had me.