Never Enough

Chapter 11

After my shower, I dart into my room and quickly slip into my favorite outfit: a neon green tank top that pops with color, a white thong, and snug black spandex shorts. These shorts are my secret weapon; they give my butt that extra bit of oomph, making it look just a touch fuller. I grab the TV remote from my nightstand and slide into bed, the soft sheets welcoming me. I turn on The House Bunny, a movie I find both charming and underappreciated. Its lighthearted, predictable plot is a perfect escape from my stressful day.

As I settle in, struggling to keep my eyelids from drooping, I wonder how long it'll take for Jordan to arrive. It's amusing that despite knowing each other for about a month, I've never asked where he lives, and he hasn't mentioned it. I ponder over why that might be, my curiosity piqued.

Just as I'm lost in thought, the door to my room swings open, and Jordan steps in, holding a bag from The Melt—a fantastic burger joint, in my opinion. He's dressed in the most laid-back outfit I've seen him wear: light grey jogger sweatpants, white socks, and a snug blue dry-fit shirt that highlights his well-defined physique. His hair is tousled, as if he's just rolled out of bed, adding to his relaxed, effortless vibe.

I can't help but smile lazily at him and pat the space next to me on the bed, inviting him over. Jordan's face lights up with a matching smile as he crosses the room and settles beside me. He sets the bag down and then gently lifts my chin with his finger, pressing a tender kiss to my lips. The taste of fresh mint from his breath is invigorating.

"I hope you're hungry," he murmurs against my lips.

"Starved," I reply, the warmth of his kiss melting away the exhaustion of the day.

"Music to my ears," he says with a playful grin. He turns his back to me and starts pulling out the food from the bag, arranging it neatly on the bed. "I wasn't sure what you wanted, so I got you the Melty Mac, a side Caesar salad, sweet potato fries, and the Melt Burger."

"That's a lot of food," I reply, eyeing the feast with gratitude. "But thank you. I love it all. Although, I'm definitely not going to eat it all."

"You're welcome. Don't worry, I'll help you out," he says, popping a sweet potato fry into his mouth. "Sorry it took so long."

"It's okay," I say, digging into the creamy mac and cheese. "But it does make me wonder where you live."

"I'm in a beach house on Miramar Beach," he says casually, as he slices his burger in half with a plastic knife and takes a bite of one half. "Miramar Beach? Isn't that like 45 minutes away?"

"Or something like that," he laughs. "It's about fifty-three minutes—just over an hour if traffic's bad. That's why I'm building a house in San Francisco."

He lives fifty-three minutes away and still managed to bring me food well past two in the morning. I glance at the time on my phone, then back at him as he enjoys his meal. A warm, tingling sensation spreads through me. Is this what love feels like? I've never felt this way before. Maybe I'm falling for Jordan, but I'm unsure how to process these feelings. If I had more experience with relationships, I'd know how to handle this. I can't say he's everything I ever wanted because I never really knew what I wanted in a partner. I just wanted to be noticed, to feel valued and enough for someone. And right now, Jordan is making me feel that way. Maybe falling in love with him is a good thing.

"What's wrong?" he asks, sensing my contemplation.

"I think I love you," I blurt out before I can second-guess myself. His eyes widen in surprise, a whirlwind of emotions flickering across his face.

"I thought you weren't there yet," he says, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"I thought so too," I admit, "but then you came all this way, so late, just to bring me food. And thinking about everything you've done for me and how you make me feel—right now, I feel like I'm exactly where you are."