Page 23 of The Incredible Ordinary
Neither of us says anything at first, but it doesn’t feel awkward like it should with a stranger.
“Aside from wrangling an uncooperative teenager, what do you do?” Jordan asks.
I hesitate, but then that mystical power that drags words out of me when I’m near Jordan kicks in, and I open my mouth.
“I used to be a tennis player.”
“Really?” He sounds dubious.
I bite back a grin. “You don’t believe me?”
“No, I do. Just trying to… I’m going to be nosy, but you don’t have to say anything. I didn’t get the impression you got along with your father.”
“An understatement.”
“But you still followed in his footsteps.”
“I didn’t follow. I trudged over his footsteps and left bigger marks.”
He raises his brows at me, and I force a smile that has no hope of looking good-natured and softening my harsh tone of voice.
“Should I change the subject?” he asks.
I massage the back of my neck and look at him. “Depends. Did I satiate your curiosity?”
He snorts a laugh and studies me for a moment. “Are you famous?”
“Possibly recognized in certain circles.”
He keeps eyeing me, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. “ShouldIknow who you are?”
“Do you watch tennis?” I counter.
“Exclusively never,” he says.
“News about tennis?”
“Not unless I’m forced at gunpoint. Or bribed. I think bribes would work wonders on me.”
I laugh out loud, and he gives me a self-deprecating smile in return.
He tilts his head. “Are you good?”
“I used to be.”
He must be sensing my reluctance to discuss that topic, because he doesn’t press any further.
“Are you from New York originally?” he asks.
I nod.
“Me too,” he says. “I grew up in Prospect Heights. You?”
“My parents had a place in the Upper East Side.”
“Old money?” he asks teasingly.
“The oldest,” I say with the same joking tone.
