Close Enough to Break

Jordan wasn't sure where he was going. He just knew he needed out.

The cool night air hit him as he pushed out of the bar, inhaling deep like it could wash away the last hour. His feet moved fast, almost like he was trying to outrun something.

But of course, James Calloway wasn't the type to let things go.

"Hey, Miles!"

Jordan clenched his jaw and kept walking.

"Aw, come on," James called, voice laced with amusement. "You're not gonna storm off like some jealous boyfriend, are you?"

Jordan whipped around so fast James nearly walked right into him.

"Say that again," Jordan said, voice low and dangerous.

James tilted his head, all smirk and sharp angles. "What? That you're acting like some jealous—"

Jordan shoved him. Not hard, but enough to make a point.

James barely stumbled. "Ohhh, so you are jealous."

Jordan scoffed. "You wish."

James hummed, stepping closer. "I do actually."

Jordan blinked. "What?"

James grinned. "I do wish. Because the thought of you, Jordan Miles, getting all worked up over me?" He let out a low whistle. "That's funny as hell."

Jordan's pulse was racing. "You're an asshole."

James shrugged, eyes gleaming. "You like my arrogant ass."

Jordan's stomach did something stupid at that.

James took another step, close enough now that Jordan could smell his cologne, the faintest trace of sweat and beer on his breath. Close enough that if Jordan wanted to—if he lost his damn mind—he could just lean in.

But James leaned in first.

"I like you better when you're pissed," he murmured, voice dropping.

Jordan forgot how to breathe.

James' eyes flicked down, just for a second, and Jordan thought—holy shit, is he—

Then James pulled back with a smirk.

"See you at practice, babe ."

And just like that, he was gone, leaving Jordan standing there, fists clenched, heart hammering.

And hating how much he liked it.

The next few days were a blur of confusion, frustration, and—strangely—anticipation.

Jordan tried to focus, really tried, but the image of James leaning in, his voice low and teasing, wouldn't leave his mind. He couldn't stop replaying the words in his head: I like you better when you're pissed.

It was like a game, a game he didn't want to play, but somehow was already deep into.

He found himself distracted during practice, thoughts flitting between plays and the strange, simmering heat between him and James. Every time they made eye contact, it felt like something shifted in the air, thickening it with tension he didn't know how to name.

Except James-fucking-Calloway was acting like nothing happened.

As if he didn't just get under Jordan's skin in ways no one else ever had. As if he didn't know exactly how much he'd rattled him.

It was Friday night when it finally hit a breaking point. The team was gathered in their usual hangout spot after practice, a bar with overpriced wings and the kind of atmosphere that felt like it belonged to a reality show. Everyone was talking, laughing, but Jordan couldn't focus.

He knew James was here somewhere, but he didn't want to acknowledge it. He didn't want to care.

But then—

"Hey, Miles."

That familiar voice—too smug for its own good.

Jordan sighed, not even bothering to look up. "What do you want, Calloway?"

"You still mad at me?" James' voice was too close. Too casual.

Jordan glanced up, and their eyes met. James' smirk was still there, but there was something different in the way he looked at him now. It wasn't teasing. It was knowing.

It made Jordan's chest tighten.

"I'm not mad," Jordan said, even though he wasn't sure if that was true.

James tilted his head. "Really?" He took a step forward, standing just inches away. "'Cause the way you stormed out the other night?"

"I was pissed because you were—"

"Being myself?" James cut in, his tone playful but cutting. "Maybe you should learn to handle me a little better. Then you won't get all worked up every time I talk to someone."

Jordan's hands clenched at his sides, fighting the urge to throw a punch. "Stop talking like you know everything about me, Calloway."