Chapter 194 | Born on Third Base
Chapter 194: 194 | Born on Third Base
Jordan dried his hands on a paper towel and headed for class.
The sociology lecture hall was half-full when he arrived. Professor Chen hadn’t started yet. Students filtered in slowly, finding their usual seats, pulling out laptops and notebooks.
Jordan claimed a spot in the middle of the room. Not too far back to seem disengaged. Not too far forward to seem desperate for attention. Just right.
His phone buzzed.
Chloe.
"How was the date? Did Kumi combust?"
Jordan typed back: "Almost. Took her to see jellyfish. She cried."
"Happy tears?"
"Very happy tears."
"Good. You’re doing great."
The simple validation hit harder than it should have. Three words. You’re doing great. From Chloe, who never said things she didn’t mean.
Another buzz.
Kumiko this time.
"I can’t stop thinking about it. The kiss. The jellyfish. You. I’m supposed to be in class but I keep drawing little hearts in my notes instead of taking actual notes. My professor is going to think I’m insane. Well. More insane than usual. I already have a reputation for being the weird girl who talks too much about fabric. Now I’ll be the weird girl who talks too much about fabric AND draws hearts everywhere. Is this what love feels like? Because it’s very distracting. Not that I’m saying I love you. That would be crazy. We’ve only been dating for like a day. But I might be a little in love with you. A tiny bit. A jellyfish-sized amount. Which could be big or small depending on the species because some jellyfish are microscopic and some are huge. I’m going to stop texting now before I make this worse. Bye!"
Jordan read the message three times.
A jellyfish-sized amount of love.
What did that even mean?
He had no idea. But it made him smile.
Professor Chen entered the room and began setting up her presentation. Jordan pocketed his phone and pulled out his notebook.
Sociology 1. Society and Culture. The most boring class in his schedule, but also the easiest. Just show up, take notes, regurgitate the textbook on exams. He could do this in his sleep.
His mind wandered back to the bathroom.
Cameron’s face. That smirk. The casual cruelty of someone who had never faced a consequence in his life.
Jordan had let him walk away.
Was that growth? Or just cowardice dressed up in rationalization?
He honestly wasn’t sure.
Part of him, the old part, the part that still flinched when he thought about Christmas Day, felt like he’d failed some kind of test. Real men didn’t let people disrespect them. Real men stood up for themselves. Real men punched first and dealt with consequences later.
But another part of him, the part that had spent four weeks rebuilding his entire existence from the ground up, knew that real men didn’t let idiots control their emotions. Real strength was walking away from a fight you could win because winning wouldn’t actually accomplish anything.
Cameron Mitchell was irrelevant.
He was a trust fund kid with a lacrosse scholarship and a father who owned half of Newport Beach. He would graduate with a business degree he barely earned, take a job at daddy’s firm, marry someone from an appropriately wealthy family, and spend the rest of his life never knowing what it felt like to actually struggle for anything.
Jordan had struggled.
Jordan had been at the bottom.
Jordan had crawled out of a filthy apartment and a ruined life and made something new from the wreckage.
What had Cameron ever done?
Nothing.
He was nothing.
Just a guy with good hair and rich parents who thought being mean was a personality.
Professor Chen started her lecture. Something about social stratification. Jordan took notes without really processing the information. His hand moved across the page on autopilot while his brain churned through the morning’s events.
The aquarium date had been good. Really good. Kumiko’s chemistry had jumped nine points total, from twenty-two to thirty-three percent. Still below break-even, but the trajectory was promising. If physical contact and emotional vulnerability produced those kinds of gains, he could push her numbers up relatively quickly.
Which felt gross to think about.
Reducing Kumiko to a percentage. Tracking her affection like a stock portfolio.
But the System didn’t care about his feelings. It just measured. And right now, it was measuring the fact that his jellyfish date had been an excellent investment.
His phone buzzed again.
Kyle.
"Gym at 4. You coming?"
Jordan typed back: "Already confirmed this morning."
"Just making sure. Leo’s being weird."
"When is Leo not weird?"
"Fair point. See you there."
Jordan pocketed his phone and tried to focus on the lecture.
Social stratification. The division of society into different levels based on wealth, power, and prestige. Professor Chen was drawing diagrams on the board. Upper class. Middle class. Working class. The ways people moved between levels, or more often, stayed trapped where they were born.
Jordan’s pen stopped moving mid-sentence.
His family had money. Not Cameron Mitchell money—his father didn’t own half of Newport Beach—but comfortable upper-middle-class money. The kind where tuition checks cleared without drama, where apartment rent appeared in his bank account on the first of every month, where "maybe we should get takeout" was a normal Tuesday conversation instead of a luxury.
His father’s three convenience stores pulled in enough revenue to keep them firmly planted in the comfortable zone. Not yacht-club wealthy. Not private-jet affluent. But secure. Stable. The kind of financial position where his biggest concern should have been "what do I want to do with my life" instead of "how do I survive."
Every advantage. He’d been handed every single advantage a person could reasonably ask for in this economy.
And he’d been on track to waste absolutely all of it.
The thought sat heavy in his chest. If he’d stayed the old Jordan, spiraling deeper into his porn addiction and Eliza obsession—he would have flunked out by sophomore year. His father would have been disappointed but not surprised. His mother would have made excuses. He would have moved back home, taken some dead-end job at one of the stores, and spent the next forty years wondering where everything went wrong.
Born on third base. Would have died insisting he’d never left the dugout.
The new Jordan had a business plan. A support network. Goals that extended beyond "get a girlfriend to love me."
Progress.
Real progress.
Even if the System was helping, Jordan was the one making the choices. The System couldn’t force him to treat Brooke fairly. Couldn’t force him to take Kumiko on a date she’d actually enjoy. Couldn’t force him to walk away from Cameron instead of throwing a punch that would have ruined everything.
Those were his decisions.
The System just kept score.