I didn’t fly to London with Jordan. He went with the team the day before I was scheduled to leave. He wanted me to go with him, but I couldn’t take the extra day off. I was already on the schedule at work, and they really needed me.

Work has been extra busy, and extra difficult, now that Cade is angry with me. He’s very cold when we work together, speaking to me only when he absolutely has to. On the last day before I left for London, he even switched me out with Lena so he wouldn’t have to work with me.

Secretly? I was glad. When Cade likes you, he’s sweet. When he’s mad at you and ready to shut you out of his life?

He’s awful.

But I didn’t let him get me down. Oh no. I was too excited about going to London, about spending time with Jordan in a foreign country. A place I’d always wanted to go, and now thanks to my ex-current-whatever-you-want-to-call-him boyfriend, he’s giving me the opportunity. I’ve been packing for days, constantly changing my mind, rushing out to buy new things, including a suitcase. I rarely use my credit card—debt terrifies me—but this trip is worth it to me to rack up a few charges. Nothing too out of control, though.

Thankfully, Jordan paid for my plane ticket, and he put me in first class. When I boarded the British Airways plane, took one look at the first class section with its individual compartments that also lay out flat so I could actually sleep, I had to contain myself from squealing with happiness.

After the long flight, I’m now in one of those iconic London black cabs I’ve only ever seen on TV or in the movies, headed for the hotel where we’re staying. We’re at the same hotel with the rest of the team, and Jordan and I are sharing a room.

Yes. Sharing a room. Another squee moment, am I right?

He asked me if I wanted my own room during our trip the morning after we had sex, when he was driving me back to my apartment, and I started to laugh.

Seriously? After that night we shared? Um, no.

There’s no use in pretending that we’re maybe giving this thing another try. It feels like we’re back together. For reals.

I gaze out the window as we speed through the city. I should be tired. I barely slept on the plane, despite how comfortable first class was. But I was too excited to see London, to see Jordan. Too wide awake considering we left in the middle of the afternoon. The ten-plus hour trip was brutally long considering how eager I was to get there.

It’s almost noon and the city is bustling with activity. Horns are honking, the double decker red buses are literally everywhere, and my head won’t stop spinning.

My phone buzzes with a text notification and I smile. I know who it is.

Jordan.

Tell me you’re in the taxi.

Still smiling like an idiot, I send him a reply. I’m in the taxi. On my way to you.

I add a heart emoji to the end of my sentence.

He quickly sends me back a smiley face emoji in response, though I see the gray bubble indicating he’s typing.

We leave for practice at two. Let’s do lunch. Unless you’re too tired?

Not tired, I say in reply.

Good, he says. We’re in room 626. Meet me there?

Perfect.

He takes a minute to respond, and waiting for him makes me antsy. Can’t wait to see you.

My heart swells and I’m sure I have a giant smile on my face as I stare at my phone screen.

I can’t wait to see you too, I respond.

It feels like the drive takes forever, but we finally make it to the hotel, and it’s beautiful. The building appears incredibly old, and it looms above me when I get out of the taxi. A multitude of flags hang from the front of the building, snapping and waving in the wind. The air is crisp, the blue sky dotted with big, fluffy white clouds.

“Here you go, miss,” the taxi driver says, setting my suitcase beside me on the sidewalk, then bows a little, like I’m royalty.

Ha.

“Thank you.” I already paid him on the credit card machine in the taxi, and included a tip. I don’t have any British money on me, so I’ll probably need to find an ATM at some point. All the travel guides I read said I shouldn’t use those currency exchange windows—the rate is too high and I’ll end up getting ripped off.

Considering I need every dollar I make, I’m not a huge fan of getting ripped off.

I grab my suitcase and wheel it into the hotel lobby, smiling when the doorman nods his greeting as I walk past. I spot the bank of elevators to the right and soon I’m in one, gliding my way up to the sixth floor.

I’m tapping my foot, nerves making me jittery. Jordan and I haven’t seen each other since that night we spent together. And what a night it was. I fell asleep pressed against him. Woke up to him touching me, his big warm hands everywhere at once. We had sex again, slow and half asleep, no kissing, no real foreplay involved. Just him behind me, sliding in easily since I was so wet. He filled me completely, his hand on my hip, his face pressed against my hair. His thrusts were slow. Lazy. His other hand slid up my chest, cupping my breasts, his fingers playing with my nipples, both of us eventually coming in this languid, dream-like way.

If he woke me up like that for the rest of my life, I wouldn’t mind.

The elevator dings and comes to a stop, the doors sliding open. Heading left, I practically skip down the plush carpeted hall, halting when I spot room 626.

Biting my lower lip, I knock on the door, waiting for Jordan to open it.

Within moments he’s there, holding the door open, his gaze hungry as he takes me in. “Finally,” he says in greeting, taking my hand and practically dragging me inside the room. I clutch the handle of my suitcase in my other hand, bringing it with me.

The door slams shut behind me and he helps me with my suitcase, setting it against the wall before he turns to me. “Hi,” he murmurs, his gaze lingering on my lips, making them tingle.

For whatever weird reason, I suddenly feel shy standing in front of him. All this build up over getting here, and now I’m tempted to run and hide. “Hi.”

He touches my hair, tucks it behind my ear. “You look pretty.”

My heart flutters at his compliment, but he must be lying. My hair is a bit of a tangled mess, and I’m in yesterday’s clothes. I brushed my teeth on the plane thanks to the mini sized toothbrush and toothpaste they gave me, and I splashed water on my face, so I know I’m not a complete hideous troll.

But I’ve had better days.

“Thank you.” I really take him in. He’s wearing Adidas track pants, black with the signature three white stripes on the sides—surprising considering I always thought he was the Nike type. A red 49ers shirt stretches across his broad chest and he’s wearing white socks. No shoes. It looks like he’s recently got a haircut, though he kept it long on top, which I love.

More silky-soft hair to run my fingers through.

His face is covered in scruff, as if he hasn’t shaved in a day or two and his eyes are as blue as ever. Those blue eyes are watching me watch him at this very moment, and I wonder what he’s thinking.

“You look good too,” I finally say when I realize both of us have been quiet.

He smiles and reaches for me, pulling me into his arms. “Are you hungry?”

I nod, though food is actually the furthest thing from my mind now that Jordan is touching me. “A little.”

“We could order room service,” he suggests, his arms tightening around me. “They have a pretty good menu.”

“I’d like to check it out,” I say just before his mouth lands on mine. The kiss is simple. Soft. Our lips part, a spark lighting between us, igniting us both. I run my hands up his chest. He runs his hands down my back until they’re cupping my butt.

And then we’re full on making out. Tongues and lips and sighs and moans. He walks me backward, toward the bed until the back of my legs hit the edge of the mattress. Both of us falling, falling, Jordan landing first and pulling me on top of him, breaking my fall.

We never stop kissing, and when he moves to take off my shirt, I stop him, ending the kiss, my hand covering his. “I haven’t showered,” I warn.

“I don’t care,” he says, leaning in to kiss me again, but I press my fingers to his mouth, halting him.

“I feel gross.” I drop my fingers from his lips and he contemplates me, his expression serious.

“You should take a shower then,” he says, rising to his feet and offering his hand to me.

I take his hand and stand, then follow him into the massive bathroom, marveling at all the gleaming white tile everywhere, the giant, sleek glass shower. He opens the door and reaches inside, turning the water on with a few quick twists of his wrist. Within seconds I can tell the water is hot, the steam already rising and starting to fill the room.

“Let’s get you undressed,” he says, reaching again for the hem of my shirt.

“Jordan,” I warn, feeling suddenly modest, which is silly.

And he knows it too, from the incredulous look he’s giving me. “I’ve seen you naked before, Mandy. Plenty of times.”

“I know, but this is just like…I don’t know. I’ve got airport funk on me and I’ve been in the same clothes for the last twenty-four hours or whatever.” I’ve lost complete track of time. “I’m not sexy, like at all.” I wrinkle my nose at him, but he’s undeterred.

“You’re always sexy to me,” he says, sweeping me into his arms and kissing me senseless.

I struggle against him, batting at his chest until he finally breaks away from my lips, frowning at me like I’m irritating the hell out of him. “Please. Let me take a shower first,” I tell him, resting my hands on his chest. “Then I’ll be up for anything.”

His brows lift. “Anything?”

I smooth my hands up and down his chest, impressed yet again with all the hard, warm muscle I feel beneath my palms. “Yes. Anything.”

“Better take a quick shower then, since I have to leave soon.” He drops a kiss on the tip of my nose. “How about I join you?”

I heave an exaggerated sigh, like he’s really putting me out. “Fine,” I say, smiling when he scowls.

“You sure you don’t want me to call in an order for room service?” he offers. “So it’ll be ready after the shower?”

Yeah, I’m really not that hungry. I think I’ve gone beyond tired and hungry, and now I’m just existing. Sparked to life by Jordan. “I’m fine. Really.” I start to strip, until I’m standing in front of him in only my no-nonsense beige panties.

Definitely not sexy.

But Jordan is looking at me like he wants to eat me up, which is encouraging. His gaze never leaves me as he quickly strips too, until he’s standing in front of me with absolutely nothing on. And trust me, a naked Jordan is a sight to behold. His body is absolute male perfection. He’s already semi-erect, and when my gaze drops, I swear he grows even harder.

Mentally tossing my modesty out the window, I step out of my panties, kicking them away. Jordan opens the shower door and ushers me inside, slapping my ass as I enter the shower with a loud smack.

“Ow.” I turn and glare at him, but he just grins and steps into the shower, shutting the door behind him.

He wastes no time, grabbing the tiny bottle of shampoo and opening it, pouring the golden liquid into the palm of his hand. He rubs them together, watching me as I duck under the hot spray of water. “Come closer,” he says, and I step toward him. “Now turn around. I’ll wash your hair for you.”

Oh my God, he’s going to spoil me. His fingers dig into my scalp with expert precision and I close my eyes, enjoying the head massage. He works the shampoo into my hair as he steps even closer to me, and I can feel him. He’s so very warm—hotter than the shower. Skin slick with water. His erection brushes against my thigh.

“Feels so good,” I say with a little moan, leaning my head back as he guides me under the spray of water.

He helps me wash the shampoo out, running his fingers through my hair again and again. His touch makes me tingle, and it’s not even sexual, but all he has to do is look at me and I want him, so this is no surprise.

“There you go,” he says, and I pop my eyes open to see him reach for the bar of soap. “Now I’ll wash you.”

“I need conditioner first,” I tell him.

Jordan rolls his eyes and grabs the conditioner, opening the tiny bottle and squeezing a dollop of the thick white liquid into his palm. He distributes it throughout my hair, combing it in with his fingers. When he’s finished, I’m the one who picks up the soap and starts running it all over his body, exploring.

I’ve never had sex in the shower before, not that I’d tell him that. I’d rather keep my sexual activity of the last six years a mystery. Let him imagine all the many men I’ve been with since we broke up. Let him think I’ve been doing all kinds of interesting things.

The reality? My dating and sex life wasn’t that interesting. I dated some really nice guys—and some not-so-nice ones too. But none of them held my interest like Jordan. None of them made me want to pursue something deeper, more serious.

It’s like I’ve been waiting all along, knowing that he would eventually walk back into my life.

And look at me now.