Designer Genes - The Boyfriend Cut (51 page)

"Apple cinnamon crumble," Jordan squeaked, his voice dropping from soprano to bass on the word
apple.
He cleared his throat, the hard swallow rolling between my lips as I nibbled his neck. "Meg's pumpkin pie with real whipped cream." A couple more hard swallows dropped when I licked his earlobe. He widened his legs a tad and adjusted our position. I smiled and pressed a light kiss to the sensitive skin in front of his ear.

"What else, I whispered, watching the shiver of gooseflesh pebble up his neck.

"Oatmeal."

I pulled back. "Oatmeal?" His hand wrapped the back of my neck and he crushed his lips to mine. I'd been outsmarted.

"
You
are my all-season-favorite-flavor.'"

Our brownstone apartment building was located 2 miles off campus, the perfect distance for a brisk walk to school when Jordan had early lab classes and couldn't give me a ride. He had a pass to park on campus where I, in the interest of saving money, chose to forgo the cost until winter quarter. Brittany's class schedule only matched mine two days of the week, so she caught a shuttle most mornings.

Farther up our quiet street sat Jordan's apartment building—slightly more upscale than ours. Turned out Jordan's building, mine, and two fraternity houses were included in the real estate portfolio held in SpringCor. Jordan's apartment had also been the private residence for his grandfather and father during their attendance at Cornell, which explained the professional decorating not common to the majority of college students.

"Dinner's ready," Brittany called out, carrying the pan steaming with her signature spinach lasagna. I followed with the tossed salad, placing it on our small round kitchen table, next to the garlic bread.

"Smells wonderful," Gabe commented following behind Jordan.

We'd shooed the two of them out of our tiny kitchen to discuss whatever guys talked about in our living room while we cooked and chatted about them.

Gabe brought a six pack of beer to share, but I knew Jordan to be a bit of a beer snob and had only drank half his bottle to be polite. Gabe downed his first and currently worked on a second. Brittany nursed some from a glass as she worked on the lasagna, which Alex would have loved. I stuck with my diet soda. Jordan had a bottle of red wine chilling in the refrigerator and he poured everyone a glass, including me, to breathe while we put dinner on the table. One of the many forms of social etiquette I'd come accustomed to with Jordan's lifestyle, even though he knew I wouldn't drink mine.

"Brit is quite the gourmet cook," Jordan touted, holding my chair for me. "Next to playing Marli's guard dog, I'd say it's her second strongest talent." Gabe stood looking confused and Jordan quickly grabbed Brittany's chair to give him the hint before explaining his comment. "She's worried I'll steal her best friend's innocence with my lecherous tactics."

I scooped some salad, avoiding Brittany's glower and smiled at Gabe. "Jordan's exaggerating. It's my father who wants me to be the oldest virgin to ever live." Everyone laughed, but when Jordan sat next to me, I kicked him under the table.

Jordan and Gabe insisted on doing the dishes after dinner. Brittany excused us to do laundry while they finished up—an obvious ploy to get me alone. I followed her lead and gathered my dirty clothes, shrugging my shoulders at Jordan when his brows pulled together. Gabe droned on about football stats, probably unaware we'd even left the apartment.

Once we each loaded our clothes in separate washers, I perched on an empty one, crossing my dangling legs. "So, what's up? Don't you like Gabe?"

She eased a hip on the folding table. "He'd nice enough and an okay kisser, but that's not the problem."

I focused instantly on his kissing abilities. "You kissed him?"

She waved her hand dismissively. "Yeah, well, it wasn't like you and Jordan were going to join us anytime soon at the falls.

"We made it to the falls."

"Yeah, for like two seconds before it started getting dark. Point is, when Gabe did make a move, I thought what the heck? Beats standing here watching a waterfall for hours."

"You made out with him? Like
made out
?"

Brittany blew a loud sigh. "No, not like you're thinking. We just kissed…a lot. But nothing else. Besides, I just pretended he was somebody else."

I jumped off the washer and planted both hands on the stainless steel table. "Brittany Johnson, you're holding out on me. What's going on?"

Her fingernails nervously tapped the metal between us and she gazed about the fluorescent lit room. "While you were at Jordan's beach house, I sort of interviewed with someone."

"Sort of?"

She twirled circles on the shiny surface. "A video interview, due to geographic distance. Nothing's set in stone, although we've kept contact."

Brittany's last interview—the one right after her eighteenth birthday—didn't happen because her father insisted she graduate from high school first. Even though she was at the age of consent, because she still went to high school and lived at home, The Program respected her parents' wishes. She briefly told me of one she did in Chicago for some law student, but never elaborated on the details. She received the standard impersonal rejection letter, so I never pushed to find out more. Alex said she wouldn't talk about it with her, either. To discover she'd had another interview and appeared all starry-eyed, gave me hope her self-confidence had returned.

"Brit that's awesome!"

She leveled her eyes to mine and something in her obsidian irises made me uneasy. "You may not think so after I tell you with whom." She waited a beat and took a big breath. "I interviewed with Doug."

"Peterson?" Jordan bellowed from the doorway.

"Shit," Gabe said under his breath behind Jordan. He pushed off the doorframe. "I'm going to take off."

"No!" I glared at Brittany before grabbing Jordan's hand. "You stay and we'll leave. You two need to talk."

When the elevator doors closed, Jordan turned to me. "How could she?"

"It's none of our business, Jordan."

He leaned back, his fist punching the wall behind him. "I don't want him in your life, not even by way of a third party. How did he find her, anyway? Her numbers aren't remotely close to Doug's. His dad would never allow him to interview with anyone else, especially with you still available."

I released Jordan's hand immediately and stared at our reflections in the doors we faced. "Well, that is a problem. Still, it's Brittany's life." I hung my head and scuffed my shoe against the floor. "I gave Doug Brittany's candidate number when I left Italy. Now that I know more about him, I wished I hadn't."

Jordan reclaimed my hand. "Me too."

The old water pipes clanked in the wall separating my bedroom from the bathroom, jolting us awake. We'd crammed for finals every night this week until after midnight. The last two nights, however, exhaustion won out and we'd fallen asleep in our clothes.

"Damn! I fell asleep again." He stretch his six-foot-three body out with a loud groan. "Remind me to call someone about that pipe."

I reached across his chest and hugged him tighter. "Five more minutes," I begged, refusing to open my eyes. "If you fix the pipe, we'll never wake up."

Jordan rolled me beneath him. "And that would be a bad thing?"

He pulled the quilt over our heads and nuzzled into my neck, his unshaven whiskers pricking my skin. "You're tickling me," I giggled, rubbing my hand against his bristly cheek.

He kissed my palm. "Let's go someplace this weekend, just the two of us."

"And what kind of flowers would you like on your grave when Rick finds out? Did you forget I'm driving Brittany home to pick up her car? Rick's last call also sounded like he could use a visit, and if I go to Florida with you for Thanksgiving, I won't see him until Christmas." Jordan flipped on his back curling me into the crook of his arm. I traced the letters spelling
Cornell
across his chest. "You could come with us. There's plenty of room."

"I'm not sure my manhood would survive riding in your pink car."

His statement felt more like an insult than a tease. "If you truly loved me, the color of my car wouldn't matter."

Jordan leaned toward me and pushed his fingers through my tangled hair, his tone serious. "You know how much I care for you. Of course I'll go with you. I don't give a damn if your car is covered in sequins as long as I'm in it with you." A dangerous grin slid sideways and a hand slipped under my T-shirt. "Then again, we could go buy you a new car. An early Christmas present?"

I tightened my fingers around his wrist. "You're crazy if you think I'd ever accept something so expensive from you."

Little puffs of air blew against my neck from his chuckling. "I'm joking, babe," he whispered. "But you should know," he warned over the shell of my ear, "I intend to spoil you rotten…" his hand moving to a familiar place that made my body buzz, "seduce you every chance I get…" his mouth sliding over mine, "and someday…" his lips sealing over mine, "paint your car black."

Rick's face revealed his disappointment when I walked through the backdoor of the clinic, towing Jordan. He and Karen were in the middle of making bottles for a kennel full of whimpering puppies. I dropped to my knees, opening the cage door. Four furry balls toppled over each other in their escape. I wrangled a solid black one, but the other three scampered across the slick tile floor. Dad shot me a disapproving glower.

"Thanks. Now I've got to round them up again."

"Where's 'momma?'"

"She's got an intestinal infection I'm trying to clear up. She's sedated in a kennel in the back."

The wandering mutts wriggled out of Karen's hands as fast as she gathered them. Jordan managed to corner two, another little rascal pulling the corner of his T-shirt with his teeth. He laughed, rolled a brown spotted critter on his back and rubbed his tiny tummy. Not wanting to be left out, the others tumbled in Jordan's arms where he corralled them until Karen placed them in a warming box for feeding.

Jordan cradled the spotted puppy he held close. "Not this one. He's my fav."

Rick handed him a bottle. "If you're holding, you're feeding." I raised a brow to my dad, who returned my scowl with another bottle. "Same goes for you, Pumpkin."

"Hand me another pup," Jordan challenged, ignoring Rick's curt tone.

Karen placed another wiggly one in the bend of Jordan's free arm and once his fingers pressed the bottle to his snout, the puppy settled next to his brother and ate.

Rick regarded Jordan carefully, his knitted brows relaxing. "You're a natural. Next spring, I'll take you out to the Miller farm and you can help me castrate sheep."

"Dad!"

"Rick!" Karen scolded.

Dad's eyes watered he laughed so hard, and once Jordan caught on, he joined in. To me, the joke meant he'd officially accepted Jordan.