Page 63 of The Incredible Ordinary

“Oh, you’re right. Youareabout to snap,” I say. “You should see yourself. That’s the face of a man who’s about to drink a glass of water and not use a coaster.”

Aiden flips me both his middle fingers. “Fuck you,” he tells me pleasantly.

I salute him with a grin then head out.

The air is cool,but the sun is warm on my face, and my good mood only gets better as I walk. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this relaxed, because Aiden is right. Things have been going decently well.

Part of me thinks it should make me suspicious. When things are going well it’s usually little more than a prelude to something worse. A moment to lull you into a false sense of security before shit hits the fan.

I’m not sure if it’s my mood, the nice weather, or the promise of meeting up with Jordan, but at least for right now, I don’t have it in me to let those thoughts take root.

Maybe, just maybe, things are going well because they’re just going well.

I smile when I see Jordan sitting on the front steps of his house, waiting.

He looks up and watches me approach, and I ignore the fact that I like it. I ignore the flash of interest and the warmth in my chest. Let’s keep it simple.

“Ready?” He looks up, squints, and shields his eyes from the sun.

“I’m all yours.” I hold out my hand, and he grips my arm, fingers wrapping around my wrist and mine around his, and damn, what a waste that he’s not even a little bit interested in what I have to offer. Which isn’t much, really. A night of fun. Mutual, mind-blowing pleasure. And not much else. So it’s probably good he’s straight. That way I get the friendship without the temptation of ruining it.

“I was thinking we could—” He can’t finish whatever he’s about to say because my phone starts ringing way too loudly and cuts him off.

“Sorry,” I say when I fish the phone out of my pocket and glance at the screen.

Unknown number.

I frown and lift the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Corbin?” a voice says on the other end of the line.

“Yes, this is he.”

“This is John Langford from Brooklyn Eighty-Fourth Precinct. We have a Rory Ellis in our custody.”

My heart drops to somewhere in the bottom of the soles of my shoes. I’m not an expert, but I’m guessing this won’t end up being something like, “we arrested your kid for being too awesome.”

“I’m on my way.”

JORDAN

I trailMilán into the precinct. His shoulders are set, back ramrod straight, and with that grim expression on his face, I wouldn’t want to be the person standing in his way.

We stop at the front desk, where a harried-looking woman is trying to answer two calls at once. Her gaze jumps to Milán when he slams his palms on the counter and glares at her. She does not look amused.

I quickly push myself between Milán and her desk and put on my most amiable smile.

“Hello. We’re here for Rory Ellis?”

She glares some more and purses her lips before she pointedly goes back to her call.

“Oh, for fuck’s—” Milán starts to say, and I swiftly elbow him in the ribs before sending another smile to the police officer.

She rolls her eyes, swiftly covers the microphone of the phone. “ID?”

Milán pats down his pockets and produces his driver’s license.