Definitely, Maybe, Sometimes. | ✔️ COMPLETED

Chapter Eleven

"I've never dated before." Jordan is saying as he leads me through town.

He's wearing a blue denim shirt, a faux-fur-lined Levi's jacket, black jeans and Chelsea boots. He looks unreal. I can barely take my eyes off him.

He continues, "And I don't think you have either. I was thinking to myself, what would be a good first date? It needs to be something that breaks the ice, a little bit quirky. Then I thought, what do people in Oxford love to do?"

"Oh, no." I laugh. "You're taking me punting? It's October! It's freezing!"

"Hey," He chides, but there's a little smile on his face. "I won't have any naysayers gatecrash my date. Not even ones with claw-like hands. Seriously, did they even grow past the age of five? Why are they so small?"

I look down at our entwined hands. "I thought they were normal sized?"

"Yeah," He snorts. "For a pre-pubescent teen."

"Well, I probably can't go punting then, can I? I won't be able to hold the stick with my tiny hands."

He tuts. "Punting will be fun."

"Says who?"

"Me. Besides, I'm good with my hands."

He must know what he's doing. He must, because in that instant my mind is filled with all kinds of images, things he can do to me with his hands.

Before I can say anything, Jordan gestures to a row of boats in front of me. "Here we are."

He talks to a man who leads us to our own boat, then Jordan gently guides me on. I'm very glad I'm wearing trainers and jeans. Imagine heels on this thing. It's a long, narrow, boat, with a platform for Jordan to stand on whilst he steers it. He looks like he's escaped straight from a Venice brochure, enticing people to travel to Italy.

Once I'm seated, we push off.

I look at Jordan. "Do you know what you're doing?"

He nods, "The date took so bloody long to set up because I had to take some classes on how to steer. Boring things they were, it's literally just a stick you turn, but they were treating it like I've got access to nuclear codes."

"You went to classes on how to steer?"

He nods. "It was that or pay for someone to steer us, but that didn't seem very romantic."

I can't think of anything to say because that's incredibly thoughtful. Also, I'm very distracted by the way he has to move his arms as he takes the oar from side-to-side, showing off his lovely muscles.

We glide south, pushing gently past the botanic gardens (which are a bit dull, due to the time of year), then we slowly sail past Christ Church College and the meadows.

"Did you know this is where Lewis Carroll taught in the nineteenth century? It's where he wrote Alice Through the Looking Glass."

I gawp at him, "Did you research the route?"

"Of course I did. I'm trying to make the best first impression."

He tells me every fact he could possibly have googled, and I listen, enthralled, as though I've always cared about the arbitrary facts of Oxford. I think Jordan could read the opening crawl of Star Wars to me and I'd sit like he's telling me the most entertaining thing.

Then, out of nowhere, he asks, "Tell me about your first kiss?"

"What?" I'm unable to hide my surprise (and horror).

He looks down at me. "Your first kiss? What was it like?" 

A pause.

I don't want to talk about my first kiss. I can't. It was so embarrassing. The boy I had liked forever kissed me and I cried because I was so happy, only he thought I cried because I hated it and he never spoke to me again.

"You have been kissed, right?" Another pause, then his eyes widen at my silence. "It wasn't the dick from the other week, was it?"

"No!" I hiss. "And since you brought it up, I'd like you to know I didn't kiss him. He forcefully kissed me."

There's a silence whilst Jordan stares at me. I hold my breath.

Until finally, he says, "I know. I mean, I didn't at the time. That wasn't what it initially looked like, but the more it replayed in my head, the more I could see the repulsion on your face."

"But you wouldn't let me explain." I say. "The next day. You cut me off."

"Because I felt like an idiot. He kissed you against your will and I just stood there. I got mad. I blamed you. I thought if I dismissed it, that if you knew I wasn't angry or anything, that I didn't blame you and it had been forgotten about then we could move on."

I don't get to respond because just then a huge swan, like, almost the size of a child, swoops down on his head, skidding onto the lake, and sending Jordan hurtling backwards.

Everything seems to move incredibly slow, like in films when there's a big action scene and someone can move ultra-fast, but we get to see how they're saving the world because they've slowed it down.

I watch as his footing stumbles, then he lets go of the oar and his feet travel backwards, his arms flail out, trying to balance himself.  Then time speeds up again, and before I can utter a single world, he's gone from the boat, a loud splash following him.

"Jordan!" I scream, scrambling to my feet and quickly peering over the edge.

He surfaces from under the water, gasping for air, his arms reaching up and clinging to the side of the boat.

"Oh my god!' He shouts.

"Are you alright?" I frantically say.

"Oh my god." He repeats.

He takes one hand off the boat to wipe his face. Though what good that will do with an equally wet hand, I'm not sure. His hair is slicked back, and he's looking up at me all wide-eyed. He looks a bit like a seal... an extremely cute seal you want to wrap in your arms and protect.

Then he pulls himself up onto the boat with such ease I'm almost salivating, except this really isn't the time. He immediately whips his jacket off, showing his shirt clinging to his abs - I just sort of mutely stand there, staring at him.

He sits on the floor, in a bit of a daze and there's just a silence. Then his eyes catch mine and we both fall at the seams with laughter. Real, uncontrollable, belly laughs.

"Did that actually happen?" He asks me, wiping tears from his eyes.

"It really did." I nod, also sobering. He shivers from the cold. Horrible images of him catching hypothermia flash through my mind. "I think I've got a hat and scarf." I begin to say, taking a seat and reaching for my bag.

"I'm fine." He says. "I'm a man."

I pull out my pink bobble hat and matching scarf. "I'm pretty sure men have died of hypothermia. Here."

He looks at it for a second and then pulls the hat right down over his ears, wrapping the scarf around his neck.

"You look ridiculous." I tell him. He doesn't. He couldn't. The man could pull off a sumo-wrestling outfit with a tutu and tiara.

He nods, getting to his feet. "I think we need to head back so I can get changed."

"No more punting?" I ask, in a fake whiney voice.

He's laughing as he says, "Never again."