Sweet pea
1112 Words
Percy
“My mate, sweet pea.” My nose wrinkles at the nickname. Terrible. Especially because it makes the milkshake start its journey back toward my mouth, and I would like to keep it inside.
I flip him off, and he just laughs at me, catching my free hand with his. How did I forget about him basically holding me down, my palms now burning?
Jordan’s gaze drops to the textbook in front of me. “Oh goddess, are those balls? Damn, what’s that green stuff?”
My gaze drops to the picture on the open page, and I smirk. “Not squeamish, huh?”
“C’mon, rotting balls should be the one thing any guy can get squeamish about. It’s called sympathy.”
“Meh.”
“Did you just ‘meh’ me?”
“Yes.”
“Cute, I like it. Do it again.”
“And that’s how you wanna get me to agree to this? You’re not selling yourself here.”
Jordan blows out a breath. “OK, then let me put it differently. I’m desperate. I need a quick fix for this situation, and I thought you might be just the woman for it.” He takes a deep breath and continues.
“Please help me out, and also… let me help you with the ‘Stiltzer’ thing.”
I pull my hands out of his and lean back, crossing my arms in front of my chest.
“I don’t need—
“Yes, you do. I need your help just as much, but you need me to intervene with ’Stiltzer’ here.”
I scoff. “My knight in shining armor.” The sarcasm is dripping from every single word.
“I plan on being.” With a simple wink, he has me trying way too hard to keep my scowl on. What about this dude makes me so… jittery around him? And does he have a point? Is Jordan my way to fixing the situation I have put myself in? Well, I might have kicked off the rolling stone, but he managed to get it to speed up significantly. Don’t get me wrong: I’m still angry at him.
But I’m also not stupid enough to ignore the point he’s making. I might have pushed the thought away over the last two months, but deep down, I KNOW that ’Stiltzer’ won't let it go so easily. I might have hoped for an easy out just once. And now I feel like an i***t. Thanks to him offering his help like an i***t who is no longer totally backed into a corner but still like an i***t.
I suppress the urge to drum my knuckles on the table and regret not having one of the elastics with me. When I study, I usually get so in the zone that I don’t need it. Today, I do.
My head is spinning as I try to sort through that onslaught of arguments I could make for and against his suggestion. After a few minutes, I conclude that although I don’t have much of a choice, what he’s offering isn’t the worst possible solution. Morally in a grey zone, maybe, but beggars can’t be choosers right now.
“OK. I…”
I clear my throat. “I will do it under a few conditions.” And although I continue, Jordan looks like a huge weight has been lifted off him. "Thank-"
“1. No nicknames. 2. I want to be included in everything you plan on sharing, I want a say in how this goes down. I will not be blindsided like I was in that interview.” He cringes and nods, so I go on, listing things off using my fingers.
“3. You help me take care of the ‘Stiltzer’ thing, and if there ever comes times for a trial or anyone agrees on a settlement, I want my piece in a separate account for 'chicken finger'. 4. We are NOT going to share a space. I’m a private—
“Agreed.” Jordan interrupts me. And something changed in his demeanor, but it’s so sudden and fleeting, I can’t put my finger on it. I could swear I saw his pupils change again, though. Is that a 'dragon' thing?
“Write them down for me, would you? And we should set up a day for you to meet with my parents.”
“Wow… aren’t we moving fast, huh?”
“Well, if you want to be included in every decision, you should meet my family to get to know me. Get a better idea of what might come off as genuine.”
“Mmh. Ok. Then let me into your head, little rockstar.”
Jordan just looks at me for a long moment. When I feel too watched, I lean forward, sipping the rest of the melted ice cream from the bottom of my glass, before I turn to my notebook, diligently writing down my 'conditions' in bullet points.
Seeing how uncomfortable his attention made me seems to amuse Jordan, and he grins.
“I have one request I want to add myself.”
I scoff, scraping the bottom of my glass with the end of the straw, but picking my pen up again.
“I don’t think you’re in the position to do that, but I’m hooked on double my daily dose of sugar now, so I’ll allow it.”
There is that dimple again. Aboard! Don’t stare! Aboard!
“I want to know what 'Percy' is short for. It’s not Percival, that’s for sure.”
“Could be.” I shrug lazily, closing my textbook and pushing the glass closer to the table’s edge to make a little more space for my notebook and drag it into the middle of the table.
“Nope.”
“Persimmon then.” But my sing-songy tone doesn’t seem to sell it for him.
“You’re one hell of a Southern bell, but not even the biggest redneck ever would name their kid that. So no. Nice try, though.” Jordan leans in, and the smell of his cologne almost makes my mouth water— stupid, stupid pregnancy hormones!
“I’ll take the truth now, please. Or I will start calling you ‘sweet pea,’ sweet pea.”
“Don’t you dare!”
“Man up then.” He grins like the Cheshire Cat and my heart is racing unreasonably fast.
Blowing out a breath, I lift my gaze until it meets his.
“Persephone.” And I swear I see his pupils dilate for the briefest moment.
“Now, was that so hard… Persephone ?“
- Writer
