Page 40 of The Incredible Ordinary

“Tired?” I ask.

“Beat.”

“Go to bed.”

“Already there.”

That makes another wave of warmth pool in the pit of my stomach. I ignore it.

“Night,” he says.

“I… I’ll see you,” I say, stumbling slightly over my words because he accidentally lowers his phone just enough that I get a better view.

Damn.

His chest is a sight.

Jordan sends me one last grin, then cuts the call.

I drop to my back on the bed, spread my arms, and try to calm my breathing.

“Friends,” I tell the ceiling. “He’s your fucking friend. Don’t fuck it up.”

An image of Jordan’s wide golden chest flashes through my head.

My dick jerks.

So that’s a good omen.

JORDAN

The problemwith kids is that they get older and have the audacity to get their own lives. I know, I know. It’s natural. Still. Will somebody think of the parents?

When I drag myself out of bed on Sunday morning, the house is quiet. I sneak a peek into Theo’s room, even though I know it’s empty. The bed is made, and all Theo’s stuff is in order, like it always is. My kid has inherited a streak of orderliness that is probably considered unnatural in many parts of the world.

I close the door to the temple of cleanliness and head downstairs. There’s a plate with a lone piece of French toast on the table, and when I open the door to the fridge it only contains things you have to cook to eat. Instead, I make myself a cup of coffee and take a seat at the table. I’m scrolling through my phone when my father makes his way into the kitchen from his basement workshop, where he repairs any- and everything the neighbors drop off for him to take a look at.

“Morning,” he says, heading straight to the coffee machine.

“Hey,” I say. I watch as he makes himself a large cup, grabs a cookie jar from the shelf, opens it, and pulls out a couple of pieces of beef jerky.

I raise my brows at him when he turns to face me.

“Not a word,” he grumbles.

“You’re not supposed to eat those,” I say, ignoring the grumbling.

“What am I supposed to do with them, then? Polish shoes?”

“Leave them to the people who don’t have a standing date with their cardiologist every two months? Where did those even come from? I swear I cleaned out the kitchen when you admitted to having shortness of breath. Again.”

“Never you mind where they came from,” he says, which is code for “I bribed Paul from the corner deli to sell me some, even though I’m under strict instructions from the doctor not to have anything high in sodium, and Paul has been repeatedly informed of that fact.”

“Dad,” I say firmly.

“Jordan,” he parrots.

“I swear, it’s like having a second kid.”