“Okay, I think that’s the last of them,” I call out, watching Jordie and a couple of his muscular teammates haul the last three cardboard boxes over the threshold of his apartment.
Sorry, let me rephrase that. Our apartment. Any minute now, I feel like someone’s going to pinch me, and I’ll find out all this is just part of my craziest, wildest, happiest dream.
OurJordie sets the box on the floor with a grunt and stands, his chest heaving, sweat glistening on his forehead. I’m not mad about what a little perspiration is doing to the fit of his T-shirt. I can’t believe this—the abs, the biceps, the blue eyes, the big heart—all of it, all of him, is mine.
thishim“I think I saw a freight truck exiting the freeway. Are you sure it’s not yours?” he asks between panted breaths, his brow scrunc
