It’s raining when Jordan moves out of the apartment he’s been sharing with Taylor since their rookie year. It’s stupidly poetic, and Jordan is ignoring the fuck out of that.
The next step in the dramatic movie of his life is probably the huge realization that he’s making a mistake. He probably runs in the rain to end up soaking wet and freezing cold on Taylor’s doorstep, saying things about how he just has to try, he just has to know, he can’t go without at least giving this a chance.
But since this is reality and not the dramatic movie of his life, Taylor is helping Jordan move his boxes into his new place, and Jordan can never, ever tell Taylor that he has that kind of feelings for him. If something was going to happen there, if Taylor had anything close to the same feelings for him, it would have happened by now.
It hasn’t, and so Jordan has to move on, and if he’s going to do that, he needs space.
“You know,” Taylor says, putting down the last of Jordan’s boxes in the middle of his brand-new empty living room, “it’s not too late to change your mind. You can come back.”
Jordan looks at him, at the way his hair is falling into his eyes and at his crooked grin, and his stomach flips. He wants to laugh and agree, to move every last box right back into the home he and Taylor made for themselves.
“Nah,” he says instead. “I can’t.”
Jordan’s not sure when, exactly, he fell for Taylor. It mostly just feels like it’s been forever, and to be fair, it has been years now. He doesn’t know when he fell for him, but he does know when he realized it.
It was the end of their rookie season, right after Taylor sprained his ankle and kissed goodbye to the rest of the season. He spent a lot of time lying on their couch and whining, which Jordan couldn’t blame him one bit, since he only just recovered from his own sprained ankle, and he hadn’t been any better. Taylor was basically a saint for putting up with him, so it was definitely Jordan’s turn.
“Do you need more ice?” Jordan asked from the kitchen. “Did you take your painkillers?”
“Yes, Mom,” Taylor groused. Jordan snorted and got a new ice pack from the freezer, bringing it over and swapping the old for the new. Taylor stared at him, pouting, the entire time. Jordan stuck his tongue out at him, and Taylor turned his head away, completely failing to hide his smile.
Normally Jordan would stay in his room if he wasn’t actively hanging out with Taylor in the living room, but with Taylor injured and pouting on the couch, he felt the need to be close by. Jordan was learning that it was weird to be out on the ice without him—and more than that, he hated leaving Taylor behind to go to the rink. He wondered if Taylor had felt like that when he had to leave Jordan.
“Turn on the TV,” Taylor demanded when Jordan sat down next to him on the couch.
“Turn it on yourself,” Jordan said, because he might be willing to help Taylor out, but he wasn’t going to be a pushover.
Taylor, predictably, pouted. “The remote is over there.”
“Come and get it, then,” Jordan said.
Taylor eyed him for a moment and then leaned over him to get the remote. Jordan grabbed it before he could and held it up in the air just to see what Taylor would do. Taylor narrowed his eyes and did his best to reach for it without moving his ankle and potentially jarring it. He could almost reach it, but to do so he had to lean against Jordan’s chest and support himself with a hand on Jordan’s shoulder. Jordan was abruptly aware of just how close Taylor’s face was to his and how easy it would be to kiss him. Taylor’s eyes were focused on the remote above Jordan’s head, but Jordan’s were fixed to Taylor’s lips.
“Give it to me, Ebs, come on,” Taylor whined.
“Uh, um,” Jordan stammered. He lowered his arm and offered Taylor the remote. “Yeah, here.”
Taylor beamed at him, and Jordan thought, Shit.
Taylor turned on the TV and flipped through the guide until he found Beauty and the Beast. He chirped Jordan about insisting they watch it together when he had been injured, but Jordan was still too overcome by his realization to chirp him back. Taylor put it on, anyway, so it wasn’t like he really had a leg to stand on.
Jordan sat there watching Beauty and the Beast with Taylor leaning against him for two hours, and he was in love with Taylor the entire time.
It was pretty much all downhill from there.
When Taylor moves out of their—his apartment and into a house with Luke, Jordan tells himself it doesn’t matter.
He can’t think about their landlord filling in the stupid tiny holes in the walls in order to rent it to someone else without wanting to be sick.
Jordan does his best to act as normal as possible around Taylor, and for the most part, it works. They see each other all the time, and it’s fine. They play decent hockey, winning some games and losing a lot, and nothing is weird between them.
“Hey, Ebs,” Taylor says, coming up to him after practice one day, “sick shot today, we gotta see that when it’s crunch time.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jordan says, rolling his eyes. Taylor is shirtless and scrubbing at his hair with a towel, and Jordan is doing his level best to not care.
“Is that any way to accept a compliment?” Taylor asks, and then he’s grappling Jordan into a headlock and draping the towel he was using on his hair over Jordan’s head, laughing all the while.
Jordan digs his fingers into the part of Taylor’s torso he knows is the most sensitive, and Taylor lets go. “Fucking gross,” Jordan complains through his own laughter, throwing the towel back at Taylor’s face.
“You love it,” Taylor says, self-satisfied.
“Ew,” Jordan says, wishing it weren’t true.
At least he can go home and be alone rather than continue to deal with Taylor looking like that in his presence anymore. Jordan was right: the more distance away from Taylor, the better. Jordan’s an adult with adult feelings, and he’s going to get over this any day now.
At the beginning of February, Taylor is out for six weeks with a cracked ankle. It’s the latest in the series of injuries that seems to make up Taylor’s life, and Jordan feels unspeakably guilty for not being there for him. Maybe if he had done more with the whole knee thing before this—but he can’t blame himself. He didn’t slash Taylor in the ankle.
Even though he doesn’t have to, he makes up for it by sending Taylor near-constant texts. He mostly sends pictures of baby animals, because he knows Taylor-on-painkillers is a sucker for those, and occasionally he texts about dumb shit the boys do at practice. He figures Taylor probably hears it from Luke at home, but he always replies to Jordan’s texts anyway. Jordan’s not really surprised, not even when Taylor starts initiating the conversations most of the time. He has to be bored out of his mind, and texting Jordan is better than doing nothing.
The timing of Taylor’s injury isn’t the worst it could be—see the two season-ending injuries he’s had for that—but it does fall during some of their longest road trips. Jordan knows how much it sucks to have to stay home when the team is gone, and he also knows that Taylor hates it even more than most. It sucks, thinking of him in that stupid house by himself.
They play a particularly awful game in Ottawa, losing 7-2 and having nothing to say for it at all. The locker room is quiet after, and they all go their separate ways to their rooms when they get back to the hotel. Jordan lies down on the bed and takes a moment to be angry about the state of his life.
Then he looks at his phone, and Taylor has texted him a picture of monkeys with the caption “this is the sens”. Jordan snorts despite himself. He’s not even sure what that’s supposed to mean.
He considers texting back, but then he changes his mind and calls Taylor instead. Taylor answers within a few rings. “Hey, you.”
“Hey,” Jordan says. “How are the Senators monkeys?”
“I dunno,” Taylor says. Jordan can practically hear the shrug in his voice. “They just are. Buncha monkeys skating around the ice scoring goals, whatever.”
“How high on painkillers are you?” Jordan asks suspiciously, and Taylor’s answering giggle is response enough to that. “Christ, Hallsy.”
“But seriously, it fucking sucks, though,” Taylor says. “I wish…”
Jordan knows exactly how that sentence is supposed to end. “Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”
“I wish you were here,” Taylor says, which isn’t quite what Jordan was expecting. “Watching Beauty and the Beast alone isn’t the same.”
Something in Jordan’s chest aches. They haven’t missed watching that movie together when one of them is injured since they started the tradition. “It wouldn’t be,” Jordan says carefully.
“Ugh,” Taylor complains. Jordan completely agrees.
Things don’t really stop sucking. They win a couple games, but then they lose seven in a row, and Jordan can’t even get too excited about his point streak when it’s not helping anything. He feels even worse for thinking like that when Taylor still isn’t fully healed and can’t contribute at all, but he can’t stop himself.
They finally snap their losing streak with a home game against the Leafs. Jordan is first star of the game and his point streak is five games now, and that feels pretty great. Most of the team goes out to celebrate, and Jordan barely has a choice about tagging along. He thought Taylor might come, too, but he’s not at the bar even though Luke, who was a healthy scratch, is. He gets a little buzzed and texts Taylor a bunch of sad faces and a sentiment somewhere close to “wish you were here”.
Taylor texts him back almost right away, saying “with my luck i would trip in the bar and be out another month.” It’s obviously meant as a joke, but it’s so sad that Jordan can barely stand it. He feels an intense need to go see Taylor, and after a moment of resistance, he gives in to it. If he can’t be a little selfish after playing a good game, when can he?
“Listen, guys,” Jordan says, getting up from the table, “I gotta go, eh?”
There’s a chorus of protests, but Jordan shakes them all off. He gets a cab to Taylor’s place and leans on the doorbell until Taylor opens the door.
“Well, lookie here,” Taylor says. “If it isn’t the first star.”
Jordan grins. Taylor is still wearing his dress shirt and trousers from the game, though the shirt has the sleeves rolled up now. He looks stupidly good. “Hi,” Jordan says.
“Weren’t you out?” Taylor asks, opening the door farther.
“Was,” Jordan agrees, stepping inside, “but you weren’t, so I came to make sure you don’t break yourself any worse.”
Taylor looks amused. “Didn’t I say that was more likely in the bar?”
Jordan shrugs. “You didn’t have any supervision here. Now you do.”
“Ah, I see,” Taylor says, nodding in a way that makes it obvious he’s humouring Jordan.
“Your first task is to put on comfier clothes,” Jordan decides on a whim. He gently steers Taylor in the direction of his bedroom. “I’ll wait.”
This is another level to being selfish. Jordan basically doesn’t get to see Taylor wearing anything but hockey gear and suits anymore, and he misses it. It’s stupid, but… when Taylor comes back out of his room wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, Jordan doesn’t regret it one bit.
“You look… better without the boot,” Jordan says.
Taylor looks down. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I feel better.” His face breaks out in a grin. “But not that much better. I think I still need to be taken care of, Ebs. Bring me soup, I’m absolutely incapable.” He starts exaggeratedly limping toward the living room, eventually flopping down on the couch.
“It’s late, you don’t need soup,” Jordan says, though he would definitely bring Taylor soup if he really wanted it. “What about hot chocolate, do you want hot chocolate?”
“You sure know how to treat a boy,” Taylor says, putting his hands behind his head.
Jordan takes that as a yes. When he gets back with the hot chocolate, Taylor is sitting upright, scrolling through Instagram on his phone. He puts down his phone and takes the mug Jordan holds out to him with a smile. “Thanks, dude. You didn’t really have to.”
“Sure I did,” Jordan says, sitting down on the couch as well. He feels awkward now, his alcohol buzz gone. It’s nice, sitting here with Taylor, but it also feels like he’s breaking some sort of rule. The rule is probably his own, but that doesn’t make it any less important.
“Hey,” Taylor says after a minute, “you know what?”
“What?” Jordan asks.
“We should watch Beauty and the Beast. I never could convince Luke to watch it with me.” Taylor leans his head back on the couch and smiles over at Jordan, wide and lazy.
Jordan swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he says, “let’s do it.”
Taylor’s back to playing not long after that, and the Oilers’ season ends less than a month later, the playoffs missed once again. Jordan tries his best not to dwell.
It’s easy enough when he has Worlds to focus on. Both he and Taylor are representing Team Canada, and their team is fucking killer, that much is obvious from the beginning. They tear the ice up, winning game after game, and it feels incredible.
The whole experience is kind of surreal. By the time they’re getting gold medals draped around their necks, Jordan’s one hundred percent sure he never wants this to end. They all get completely sloshed on champagne, and Jordan and Taylor are practically glued together all night. Jordan is pretty sure that at one point he and Taylor take turns pouring alcohol down each other’s throats. He thinks about kissing Taylor a lot but doesn’t actually do it, thankfully, even when Taylor hangs off his back for a good fifteen minutes, breathing warm air against Jordan’s cheek the whole time.
So it’s been months since he moved out and he’s still fucked up over Taylor, yeah, but like. It’s not like he needs to do anything about it. They just fucking won it all, so what does it even matter, really. Everything is one million times better than fine just the way it is.
As summers go, Jordan’s is pretty chill. He doesn’t do too much, focusing on relaxing in between keeping up with his workout schedule. He keeps up with Taylor through text a bit, but not constantly or anything. They don’t talk as much during the off-season; they never have. Even so, they’ve definitely been texting more than other off-seasons. Jordan wonders if that’s a side-effect of not living together anymore, then pushes that out of his mind.
In August, Taylor goes to Biosteel camp, which Jordan knows because he keeps texting him about oh-so-hyped-up Connor McDavid. Jordan doesn’t have any ill will toward the kid, and it’s nice that Taylor and Luke are befriending him, but it grates at Jordan a little anyway.
Then Taylor texts him that he and Luke are thinking they’re going to invite Connor to live with them, and Jordan has to put his phone down and walk away for a minute. McDavid living with Taylor and Luke… it’s not like Jordan has anything against anyone else in this situation; it’s no one’s fault but that of himself and his stupid feelings, but he can’t shake the thought that it should have been him and Taylor.
It kind of feels like McDavid is going to show up and do the things Jordan couldn’t: save the Oilers and be plain old friends with Taylor. It’s fucking stupid, but there it is.
Once the season starts, everything is back to normal for a while. Jordan gets over his Connor-jealousy about two minutes after meeting him. He and Taylor hang out when they’re both back in the city, and it’s just like it always is. Training camp goes well, and they’re not doing badly in the pre-season, either.
Then Jordan goes down wrong and hears something in his shoulder make a fucked-up noise before he even feels anything, and he just knows it’s bad.
It figures, really.
He’s going to be out for four to six weeks, which feels like a lifetime when he’s just spent months gearing up to get back on NHL ice. That he doesn’t have to get surgery is a small comfort. He might immediately start sulking about being injured, but he lives alone, so it’s not like there’s anybody to witness it.
He has a few days to himself, and then Taylor shows up at his door late in the afternoon on Sunday, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder.
“Hey,” he says, already coming inside. “How’s it going?”
Jordan isn’t sure the painkillers aren’t making him hallucinate. “Not too great,” he says. “What are you…”
Taylor smiles crookedly at him. “Thought you could use someone to fuss over you for a bit,” he says casually. “We just got back from Vancouver this morning.”
Jordan nods stupidly. “Shit luck,” he says. He watched the stream of the game because he was feeling sorry for himself.
“Yeah, wasn’t too good, but whatever, preseason doesn’t matter,” Taylor says. “You should sit down, eh?”
Sitting down is not a bad idea. Jordan decides the kitchen table is a good place to do that. Taylor follows him, dropping his bag by the door. “You…” Jordan starts, but then he can’t remember what the rest of the sentence was going to be.
“How’s your shoulder?” Taylor asks. “Need anything? Ice?”
Jordan shakes his head. “No ice,” he says. Everything is numb enough already.
“Okay,” Taylor says. “Food, then.”
Jordan nods even though it wasn’t a question and Taylor is already opening his fridge. “Are you going to cook?” Jordan wonders aloud. “Do you even know how to make anything but KD?”
“I can cook,” Taylor protests, and when Jordan doesn’t respond, amends, “I’ve been helping Luke cook. You must have something easy somewhere here.”
‘Something easy’ turns out to be wraps, which Jordan thinks could be debated about whether it’s actually cooking or not. Taylor insists on cutting Jordan’s in half and helping him pick it up so that it’s easier to eat with one hand, and Jordan is still too confused about why he’s even here to do anything but quietly eat his wrap. It’s actually pretty good. It can maybe be counted as cooking.
Jordan expects Taylor to head out again after, having checked in and made him food and thus done his duty, but he sticks around. They watch HGTV and Taylor loudly criticizes all the people buying houses or trying to fix them or both, depending, and it’s nice. The more episodes they watch, though, the more Jordan wonders when Taylor is going to leave.
Eventually he decides to take matters into his own hands. “Getting late,” he says. “I think I’m gonna shower before I go to bed.”
“Okay,” Taylor says amiably. “Oh, hey, it’s been awhile, are you due for more painkillers?”
Jordan is, in fact, due for more painkillers, and he lets Taylor go get them and a glass of water for him. He expects Taylor to say he’s heading out, but Taylor just sits back down on the couch. Jordan takes his pills and continues to sit, uncertain.
“Still showering?” Taylor asks after a minute. Jordan nods. “Do you need any help in there with, like, shampoo or whatever?”
Jordan blinks in confusion. “Uh, nah,” he says. “That’s all right, bud.”
He flees to his bathroom before Taylor can say any more vaguely suggestive and painfully nice things. He really doesn’t need help with shampoo, anyway, he’s totally capable of being strategic about it.
When he’s done showering, Taylor is still on the couch—but he’s wearing different clothes. Jordan frowns. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this.
“So, um,” Jordan says from the bottom of the stairs, “I’m.” He makes a vague gesture back up the stairs with his good arm.
“Cool,” Taylor says. “Clean sheets in the guest room?”
“Uh,” Jordan says, “what?”
“Figured I’d crash here?” Taylor says, suddenly looking unsure. “I mean, who else is going to remind you to take your meds and make you eggs in the morning?”
Jordan refrains from pointing out that he can remember his own meds and make himself eggs just fine. “Okay,” he says instead. “See you in the morning, then.”
“See you,” Taylor says, back to smiling at him. Jordan has no idea what to do with that. He gives up and goes to bed.
As far as Jordan can tell, Taylor has essentially decided to move in for the duration of the time Jordan is injured in order to constantly fuss over him. Jordan tries to question him about it, but Taylor just brushes it off with jokes about needing to keep an eye on him rather than actually explaining anything.
A couple weeks into it, when Taylor returns straight to Jordan’s from the Oilers’ first road trip, Jordan gives up on asking and lets Taylor coddle him. After three losses in a row, Jordan figures Taylor deserves something nice.
“Don’t move,” Taylor says, tucking another pillow next to Jordan and tugging his blanket over his shoulders. “Do you have another pillow? We need another pillow.”
Jordan does not actually need to be propped up within an inch of his life on the couch, but it seems to be making Taylor feel better. Besides, in his painkiller-induced haze, Jordan can’t exactly deny that it’s nice. “I don’t think I have another pillow,” Jordan tells Taylor.
“Hm,” Taylor says.
Jordan thinks Taylor is going to let it be, but as ever when it comes to Taylor, he’s completely wrong. Taylor puts on the movie and then sits down on the couch close to Jordan, moving so he’s right up against his good side. “I’m gonna have to be the pillow,” Taylor says. “Put your arm over my shoulders.”
“Oh,” Jordan says. “Okay.” He puts his arm around Taylor’s shoulders, and Taylor pulls another blanket over both of them.
“You good?” Taylor asks.
“Yeah,” Jordan says. but it’s not until he’s nodding off ten minutes into Beauty and the Beast that he actually realizes just how comfortable he is cocooned in pillows and blankets with the warm, solid presence of Taylor tucked up next to him. It’s like something out of the dreams Jordan’s been trying to stop having.
He refuses to let himself fall asleep, because if he’s only going to have this for right now, he’s going to enjoy every second.
Slowly but surely, after a lot of games Jordan has to watch on TV or from the press box, a lot of physiotherapy, and enough time to get used to constantly having Taylor around, his shoulder heals. By the beginning of November, he’s cleared for contact and is almost ready to make his season debut—just in time, because Connor and two Flyers go crashing into the boards and Connor ends up with a broken clavicle. It fucking sucks to see something like that happen, especially to a guy like Connor.
It also has the effect of making Jordan even more glad he gets to play again; he doesn’t want to think about what it would be like to have to keep watching from the sidelines.
He doesn’t exactly have the most impressive first game, but he does his best to be okay with it. He needs to get it together, but no one expected him to be perfect immediately.
Taylor heads home with him after the game like usual, but, Jordan realizes quickly, it’s just because he’s grabbing his stuff. For the slightest moment, Jordan forgot that Taylor doesn’t actually live with him, and he’s immediately angry with himself for it. That’s exactly what he promised himself he wouldn’t do.
“Going home?” Jordan asks, keeping his voice deliberately level.
“Yeah,” Taylor says. He sighs. “Guess you don’t need me anymore, eh? Played a whole game in the big leagues.”
Jordan rolls his eyes and bites back a snide comment about never needing Taylor to be there. He doesn’t want to be ungrateful, even if it would have been easier to just deal with his injury on his own instead of getting to pretend he lives with Taylor again.
“Thanks,” Jordan says. “For everything. I know I was probably really fucking annoying.”
“Nah,” Taylor says. “I mean, yeah, you’re totally exhausting, but it was good. Like old times, eh?”
Jordan nods. “Yeah,” he says, “like old times.”
The corner of Taylor’s mouth turns up in a small smile. “See you tomorrow, dude.”
Jordan lifts his hand in a wave and leaves it there as he watches Taylor walk out the door. He lets it drop when the door closes and sighs. He supposes it’s time to start all over again in the business of getting over Taylor Hall.
But first he’s going to watch Beauty and the Beast by himself. Let it never be said that Jordan doesn’t know how to have a good sulk.
They have a four game road trip after that, so Jordan is too blessedly busy to think about still being in love with Taylor. They at least manage to win one, even if it is against the Ducks. Jordan is exhausted by the time they get back, still settling back into playing games, and he sleeps hard the first night back in his own bed. He wakes up early as a result, and he doesn’t have to be anywhere for a long time, so he just stays in bed. When Taylor was here, he would make Jordan get up every morning for breakfast. Jordan misses that now. Sure, he can make his own eggs, but why would he want to?
Jordan eventually stops lying awake feeling sorry for himself and goes downstairs. To his complete shock, Taylor is sitting in Jordan’s living room. He’s fully dressed and has two cups of coffee sitting on the table in front of him. Jordan is still wearing his pajamas and probably looks like a complete wreck. He stops at the bottom of stairs and stares at Taylor. He has no idea why Taylor is here when Jordan doesn’t need taking care of anymore.
It takes a moment, but Taylor looks up from his phone and notices him. “Morning,” he says. He pats the empty space on the couch next to him. “Come sit.”
Jordan obeys because he doesn’t know what else to do. “What are—”
“It’s still hot, if you want it,” Taylor interrupts, nodding toward the coffee.
Jordan does, in fact, want coffee, though he’s not sure it’s going to make processing this any easier. He picks up the mug and takes a sip; it’s made perfect, because of course it is. Jordan wishes he could divorce himself from the fluttery feelings that still gives him.
They sit in a fairly comfortable silence until Jordan is done his coffee. He puts the empty mug down on the table and opens his mouth to question why Taylor is here again.
“So,” Taylor says, beating him to the punch, “I figured something out.”
“Oh,” Jordan says. Taylor doesn’t say anything, so he adds, “Oh?”
“I…” Taylor sighs and shakes his head. “I just gotta say it, okay? Hear me out.”
Jordan nods, his heart in his throat. “Of course, I’m listening.”
“I’m in love with you,” Taylor says, and Jordan wonders if he’s actually fallen back to sleep. “I think I have been for a long time, but I just. I guess I was ignoring it? But I can’t ignore it anymore, because you moved out, and I love living with Luke and now Connor, they’re great, but they’re not you.”
He pauses, clearly collecting his thoughts. “I tried to help Connor with his injury, get him stuff the way we do for each other, you know, and he told me off for being too overbearing. Which I get, it’s fine, but you’ve never once done that, and I guess it made me realize that, uh… we don’t have just a bros thing. And I missed you.”
Taylor is looking at Jordan expectantly. The silence stretches on and on, and Jordan doesn’t know what to say or what to do because he’s never let himself think about what he would do if this ever happened.
“Sorry if it’s weird,” Taylor says, and Jordan’s brain kicks back into gear. He shakes his head.
“No,” he says. “No, it’s not weird. It’s—wow, unexpected, but—Taylor.”
“What?” Taylor asks, wary and a little alarmed.
“I love you, too,” Jordan says, feeling a little hysterical with it. “I have for—ages. I thought… I thought there was no way you felt the same, because if you had, something would have happened already, and I thought since it hadn’t that meant it never would, and—”
He gets cut off by Taylor’s lips on his, and he immediately sinks into the kiss, slotting their lips together and automatically bringing his hand up to cup Taylor’s cheek. It feels like they kiss for a long time, carefully exploring each other’s mouths in a way that makes Jordan think of the easy way they take care of each other, how they navigate the punches life and hockey throw at them together.
“Wow,” Taylor says when they break apart, resting his forehead against Jordan’s. “Wow, you thought I didn’t… this whole time—”
“Hey,” Jordan protests, “I don’t know what you think you’re making fun of me for, here. You certainly didn’t have any revelations until now either.”
“Mmmm,” Taylor hums. “Point. Let’s just go back to kissing.”
“Lots of time to make up for,” Jordan agrees, and then they’re kissing again, and it’s everything Jordan thought he could never have and more.