Free More Than the Ball by Brandon Redstone Page B

thing.”
    Jordan held up a hand to stop me. “I mean I’m going to go home alone. You stay and finish your work. I’ll be gone by the time you get back.”
    “What? No, Jordan, we can... this doesn’t have to...”
    “We can’t and it does, Dev. Stop doing this to me. Stop doing it to yourself. You don’t want a relationship, at least not with me. Elliot... God, I don’t even know. I don’t blame you for it. He’s fucking hot, and you two have a history. Or whoever. Just not me.” He went to the sink to get himself a glass of water and then pulled out his phone. “I’m going to try to fly out tonight. Could you... maybe head to a bar or something until I’m gone? I don’t think I can do this with you around.”
    I frowned, and I really, really wanted to protest. I did love Jordan, in some way, just not in the way he wanted me to. “I... yeah, I can do that,” I said, taking a step back.
    Jordan nodded and fiddled around on his phone a moment before looking up. “I’ll be out by eleven. I can catch a red-eye from Heathrow to LA.”
    “Okay,” I said, feeling numb all over. This was not the end I’d envisioned for this relationship. Then again, maybe the fact that I’d envisioned one at all meant it was doomed from the start. “Can I…?” I leaned toward him a little, not sure how to ask, not even sure what I was asking for.
    “Have a kiss goodbye?” Jordan asked, and he laughed softly. “No, Dev. No kiss goodbye. I don’t need to fall into bed with you right now.”
    “That good, huh?” I said, trying to tease, though it fell flat.
    “Go to the bar, Dev.”
    I nodded, moving toward the door.
    Just as my hand touched the handle, Jordan said, “Hey, Dev?”
    “Yeah?” I turned back to him, hopeful.
    “Tell Jemma I said good luck to her.”
    I nodded again and then stepped through the door and out of Jordan’s life.

    E LLIOT
    I was quiet on the way home. At first Jemma didn’t notice. I mean, everyone is quiet sometimes. Jemma never begrudged me this, and I always let her be quiet when she needed to be. It was one of the best parts of our relationship actually. But as we walked into our flat she said to me, “What do you suppose all that was about?”
    “All what?” I asked, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
    “All that with Jordan? He seemed rather upset. Do you think he was just annoyed that dinner was so last minute? I hope he didn’t change any plans to be there.”
    “I really don’t know.” I said, maintaining as much distance to the subject as I could. I didn’t want to talk with her about this. Not yet. I really didn’t know what was going on with me. I tried to focus on Jemma, on this moment and this conversation, but all I could think of was Dev.
    Through all of dinner, I didn’t care about how Jordan was treating me, or that Jemma was there at all, all I cared about was Dev’s beautiful eyes, those long, dark lashes, his muscled arms, the broadness of his shoulders, the strength of his hands as he squeezed his fists together.
    I had wanted to hold that hand. I’d wanted to kiss those fingers. What was happening to me?
    Jemma was amazing. We had so much fun together. She was brilliant and creative and gorgeous. She had a dry sense of humor but was one of the most caring individuals I had ever met. I knew things had been going stale between us, but I’d just chalked it up - as Jemma had - to stress. Once things settled down a bit, we’d be fine.
    But then this.
    “He was just so pickled,” Jemma said, drawing my attention back to her.
    “What?” I laughed. “What are you on about, woman?”
    “He was pickled. Pickled. You know. You pickle sweet things, sour things, and spicy things. He was doing it all at once tonight. Overly sweet to me, really sour to you,” she leaned in and kissed my cheek, “sorry about that love.” Her eyebrows knit downward while she said it and her sweetness almost made me angry. I could feel the guilt building, “He was