Chapter 183 | Pasta From a Box
Chapter 183: 183 | Pasta From a Box
Jordan drove back toward campus through traffic that had tripled since they left. Kyle rode shotgun scrolling through fight videos on his phone. Leo had fallen asleep in the backseat, his Gucci hoodie bunched up under his head like a thousand-dollar pillow.
"He’s going to get his ass kicked," Kyle said without looking up from his screen. "You know that, right?"
"Probably."
"Maya’s going to break him in half."
"Yep."
"And he’s still going to show up every Thursday until she either kills him or agrees to coffee."
"That’s the current plan." Jordan merged onto the 73, his body starting to register the full scope of damage from the workout. His shoulders felt like someone had poured concrete into his joints. His abs were threatening to file a formal complaint. "You think it’s stupid?"
Kyle locked his phone and turned to look at Jordan properly. "I think Leo’s wanted something his entire life without having any idea what it actually is. Food, clothes, cars, gadgets. All of it’s just stuff his parents buy him. He’s never had to work for anything."
"And now he’s decided to work for a girl who looks at him like he’s a stain on her gym floor."
"At least it’s honest." Kyle shrugged. "Better than buying her a Prada bag and calling it love."
The words landed harder than Kyle probably intended. Jordan’s hands tightened on the wheel.
"That was a low blow."
"Wasn’t meant to be." Kyle’s voice softened. "You were in a bad place. Eliza was a snake. You learned. Now you’ve got Chloe and Kumiko, who actually like you for reasons that don’t involve your bank account. That’s progress."
Jordan wanted to argue. Wanted to point out that Chloe’s OnlyFans subscription had been two thousand dollars before they ever spoke face to face, or that Kumiko had literally watched him build a computer shirtless while drooling on herself. But Kyle had a point buried somewhere under the friendly roast, and Jordan was too tired to dig it up.
His phone buzzed. Chloe.
how was the gym?
survived. barely.
good. dinner at my place? i’m cooking.
Jordan’s brain stuttered. Chloe. Cooking. In her apartment. For him.
you cook?
sometimes. when i’m not ordering takeout like a normal person.
what are you making?
pasta. don’t get excited. it’s from a box.
boxed pasta sounds amazing right now
see you at 7?
i’ll be there
Jordan pocketed his phone and tried not to grin like an idiot. Failed spectacularly.
"Chloe?" Kyle asked.
"Cooking dinner."
"Damn. You really did level up."
The rest of the drive passed in comfortable silence. Leo woke up when Jordan pulled into the parking structure at Cooper Garment Lofts, blinking groggily and checking his phone for messages that hadn’t arrived.
"Already home?" Leo yawned. "That was fast."
"You slept for thirty minutes."
"Did Maya text me?"
Kyle and Jordan exchanged glances.
"Why would Maya text you?" Jordan asked carefully. "You don’t have her number."
"Oh. Right." Leo rubbed his face. "I should fix that."
"Leo. Buddy. She rejected you."
"She rejected the current version of me." Leo climbed out of the car with renewed energy. "By the time I’m done training, I’ll be a completely different person. Stronger. Faster. More disciplined. She won’t be able to resist."
"That’s not how attraction works."
"Says the guy with two girlfriends."
Kyle snorted. Jordan decided not to dignify that with a response.
The three of them split up in the lobby. Kyle headed for his truck in the visitor section, whistling something off-key and tuneless. Leo pulled out his phone to summon an Uber because the concept of walking four city blocks to his luxury apartment complex was, in Leo’s carefully maintained worldview, a form of cruel and unusual punishment. Jordan watched them go, then stepped into the elevator alone.
His body had opinions. Loud ones.
His legs were operating on a delay, each step requiring conscious thought and deliberate effort. His shoulders were filing formal complaints with his nervous system. His lower back had gone on strike approximately thirty minutes ago and showed no signs of returning to work. Every muscle group that Maya Santos had systematically broken down over the past two hours was now staging a coordinated rebellion against the possibility of future movement.
And yet.
Despite all of it, Jordan felt better than he had in months.
He let himself into 404 and made straight for the bathroom. The shower took longer than usual. Hot water pounded down on muscles that genuinely had no idea what they’d just been subjected to. Steam filled the space until the mirror disappeared behind a thick layer of condensation. Jordan stood there well past the point of necessity, watching water droplets race down the glass, thinking about absolutely nothing.
Pure, thoughtless bliss.
When he finally forced himself out of the shower and back into the world of coherent thought, his phone screen displayed 6:47 PM in cold, unforgiving numbers.
Thirteen minutes until he was supposed to be next door.
Jordan pulled on clean clothes. Dark jeans. White t-shirt. The charcoal button-up Chloe had picked out at Nordstrom, left open over the shirt. He checked his reflection in the mirror and saw someone he was still getting used to.
Broader shoulders. Sharper jaw. Hazel eyes that didn’t look quite so lost anymore.
The System buzzed.
Jordan ignored it. Whatever quest or notification or demand it had could wait. Right now, he had a girlfriend who was cooking him dinner, and that felt more real than any golden interface had ever been.
He grabbed his keys and walked the twelve feet to Unit 403.
Knocked twice.
Chloe answered wearing an oversized white shirt that hung off one shoulder and black shorts that should have been illegal. No makeup. Hair pulled into a messy bun with the blue streak loose and framing her face.
"Hey."
"Hey." Jordan’s mouth went dry.
She smiled. Stepped back. Let him in.
The apartment smelled like garlic and tomato sauce. Something was simmering on the stove. The table was set with two plates, two glasses, and an open bottle of red wine that Jordan was ninety percent sure Chloe had stolen from her mother’s house.
"You’re early," she said.
"I’m right on time."