What a depressing thought.
“I do miss her,” she finally admits, turning to look at me. “But after everything that’s happened, how can we get our friendship back?”
“It’s not like it’s gone forever,” I say gently. “You still talk to Dustin and he’s betrayed you just as much as Em has. Maybe even more so.”
Oh yes, I dared to go there. Livvy’s eyes flare and I see the anger. Is it anger at me for reminding her of Dustin’s part in all of this? She shouldn’t forget. Forgiving him is somehow easy, but forgiving Em isn’t?
“I’ve known him longer,” she murmurs. “It’s harder to let him go.”
Because she wants him, though she’d never admit it to me. She wants both boys, but that would never work. I’m not going to say that to her. She needs to figure it out on her own.
“It should be hard to let Em go, too, Liv. I think she’s suffering without your friendship.” Something tells me she’s been suffering for a while, and it has nothing to do with Livvy or Ryan or Dustin.
“I’m suffering too. We’re all suffering.”
“Then be the bigger person and make it better. Reach out to your friend. Tell her you miss her. Try your best to forgive her.”
“It’s not that easy.” Livvy frowns and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look sadder. All the anger is gone. She just looks…defeated. “I’m scared,” she whispers. “Em knows all of my strengths and weaknesses. She knows how to hurt me with a look, a few chosen words, a deliberate move. And since I’ve come back home from my dad’s, she’s hurt me over and over, and she doesn’t seem to care. I don’t know if I can trust her again.”
“Then take it slow.” I nudge her side with my own. “Ease into it. But don’t just shut her out. I think she’s hurting more than she’ll ever admit.”
“Don’t forget how she tried to sabotage our relationships, Amanda. That photo she posted on Instagram was aimed at us. She’s jealous.” Liv shakes her head. “And she ratted me out to my mom about Ryan’s party. You might’ve not got in trouble, but I was grounded for a week! That’s all Em’s fault.”
“Maybe if you guys can talk it out, it won’t happen again,” I suggest, trying to sound positive. Don’t know how long I can maintain it, though.
“Please,” Livvy mutters, shaking her head.
She’s quiet for a while and so I remain quiet too. I watch the boys play, the constant whistle blowing from Coach Halsey making me wince. He’s running them especially hard this week, what with this Friday’s homecoming game. And there’s nothing worse than losing that game. You not only disappoint the entire school, you let down the alumni as well.
Tuttle’s on fire, though. He throws the ball with expert precision, a spiral in the sky, I can almost hear the whoosh as it flies through the air. I have to admit Ryan catches just about every one of those passes and does his damnedest to run it into the end zone. He’s a great player. Together they seem almost unstoppable.
“Okay, I’ll try to talk to Em,” Livvy finally says minutes later, a long sigh escaping her. “I’m probably making a huge mistake, but I’ll reach out to her for you, okay?”
“Good.” I smile and nod, feeling like I actually accomplished something. But Livvy’s giving me a weird look, and my smile instantly fades. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know why you’re trying to heal my friendship with Em or whatever. The two of us became friends because I’m not really hanging out with her anymore.”
“Can’t we all be friends?” Nerves bubble in my stomach. I never thought of it that way. What if Em and Livvy really do reconcile and cut me out of the relationship altogether? I would have no one to blame for that happening but myself.
“I want us to,” Livvy says slowly. “But sometimes…Em can be really possessive.”
“Well, she’s just going to have to learn how to share,” I say with a faint smile.
Livvy nods, returning a similar almost-smile before she resumes staring at the field. “Oh my God, Ryan is so awesome.”
“Yeah,” I say distractedly. Worry nags at me for the rest of the time we sit on the bleachers, though. What if it’s not that simple?
But when is any of this ever simple?
Friday night. I’m working. I’m not at the homecoming game. The rally right before school ended was a study in torture. All of the homecoming nominees were brought out to the center of the gymnasium and Lauren Mancini stood next to Tuttle, beaming like a beauty queen and adorable in her cheer uniform, her ponytail bobbing as she smiled and waved at everyone.
Tuttle just stood there, stoic and handsome in his jersey and jeans, his gaze scanning the crowd as if he was searching for someone before he gave up.
It’s too arrogant on my part to think he was looking for me.
After a few minutes of the homecoming court nonsense, he looked ready to bail. They dragged him back out when they talked about the game and only then did his lips curve when Coach Halsey patted his back and announced, “We’re going to kill them!”
The entire gym erupted in cheers and the band started to play, the sounds so loud, Livvy and I both put our hands over our ears, laughing. When my gaze returned to the center of the gym, I saw Ryan nudge Tuttle and point at Livvy and me. Tuttle’s gaze met mine and he smiled, ever so faintly. It’s almost a warrior’s smile, one I imagine some long-ago Viking offering up right before he charged into battle and slayed everyone.
I looked away, frustrated by my wandering yet vivid imagination.
After school let out, I rushed to Yo Town, skipping the homecoming parade, the game, all of it. Livvy promised me she’d let me know what the score was in live time, and she did. She sent me Snapchat updates and the occasional photo. Including a few from halftime, when the homecoming king and queen were announced.
The photo of Tuttle and Lauren standing together with their arms looped almost made me want to vomit.
Thankfully, business is brisk tonight at Yo Town. Time passes quickly, and after a while I can hardly think about what I’m missing. All I can focus on is the shop. Blake and I are running around like crazy, trading off working behind the register so one of us can keep the store clean and maintain the toppings bar.
At one point I’m so busy ringing up customer after customer that I don’t notice the big group that comes into the shop at first. It’s just been one continuous group after another, you know? No big deal.
Until the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and my skin prickles with goose bumps. Someone is watching me. It’s like I can literally feel their eyes sweeping over my body. Slowly I glance up, look to my right and discover it’s…
Tuttle.
And he’s with a girl.
Not just any girl either.
He’s with Lauren Mancini.
My heart feels like it shrivels to half its size and all the air lodges in my chest. Our gazes meet and my breath catches. He’s devastatingly handsome wearing a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, black pants and a cheap-ass crown on his head.
The same cheap-ass crown he was wearing in that photo Livvy sent me. I’m half tempted to go rip it off his head, but I contain myself.
He tears his gaze away from mine when Lauren curls her arm through his, batting her eyelashes up at him as she tucks herself in close. As close as she can get without embarrassing herself and climbing him like a tree. I stare in shocked disbelief as she clings to him like they were made for each other.
And let’s be real, they sort of were. They’re a stunning couple, him so tall and dark and her so slight and fair and freaking beautiful. I hate her. She’s wearing a gorgeous black dress that makes her boobs look amazing and she has a sparkling tiara on her head.
Lauren is the perfect queen to Tuttle’s handsome king.
“Hey.” Someone taps on the scale in front of me and I startle, turning to find a guy waiting for me to weigh his frozen yogurt. It’s piled high in the cup and covered with every topping imaginable. So gross
. “You giving it away for free tonight, or what?”
The guy starts laughing and so do his friends. I glare at him as I ring him up, trying my best not to pay attention to Tuttle.
But it’s so hard. I watch as he walks down the row of machines beside Lauren—at least she’s not hanging on him anymore—a patient look on his face as she whines about calories and how we don’t have her favorite flavor and what sort of toppings should she dump on her frozen yogurt because oh my God—and I quote—she loves them all.
He never says a word. Just nods in all the right places and occasionally looks my way. I occasionally look his way too, so our eyes meet far too much. And I sort of hate myself for it. I shouldn’t look at him. I should forget all about him and focus on my job. On my life.
He’s a distraction I don’t need.
“Aren’t you having any frozen yogurt, Jordan?” Lauren asks sweetly, her voice carrying through the shop despite the noise level. Her voice also makes me feel stabby.
Oh, and it’s like a knife to the heart, how casually she calls him Jordan. I swear I see irritation flash in his blue eyes, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he wants her to call him Jordan because she’s earned the right and I lost it. They’ve become close. Homecoming king and queen close—maybe even kissing close.
Maybe she’s the only one who gets to call him Jordan now.
The realization makes me sick to my stomach.
“I don’t want any,” he starts, but Lauren practically leaps on him, she’s such a rabid Yo Town fan.
“Oh, but you really, really should. It’s so delicious and besides, you need to celebrate your team’s win tonight. And your own win. Our win,” she tells him with a dazzling smile. “Come on. Pick something out.”
He glances at me and without missing a beat he asks, “What flavor do you recommend?”
My mouth drops open. Is he seriously drawing me into their conversation right now? What the hell? “Um…what flavors do you usually like?”
Tuttle shrugs those impossibly broad shoulders, his gaze never wavering from mine. It’s like everything else in the room fades away, and it’s just me and him. “I like lots of flavors.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, my brain scrambling for a better answer. “Such as?”
“I like fruit flavors, like peachy skin and cherry lips. Oh, and dark chocolate eyes.” His gaze slowly sweeps over me and I’ve never felt so self-conscious in my life. I look like hell in my battered jeans and Yo Town T-shirt smeared with frozen yogurt and melted candy, my hair a haphazard mess despite being in a bun. All while he looks like a god. Figures. “I also like pretty girls who bust my balls and make me feel like a jackass every time I so much as look at them.”
My cheeks are on fire because he is so talking about me. He’s with Lauren-the-most-popular-girl-in-high-school-Mancini yet he’s flirting with me.
“Sounds like you need to leave those types alone,” I say, my voice firm. Lauren is watching us, her head swiveling from Tuttle to me and back to Tuttle again. Like we’re playing some sort of game, volleying the ball back and forth to each other.
But someone calls her name, one of her friends, one of the princesses of the homecoming court, and Lauren darts off to see what she wants.
So it’s just me and Tuttle.
“Maybe I don’t want to leave her alone.” He stops directly in front of me with only the counter separating us, and presses his hands against the counter. “Maybe I just need to work a little harder to get her to believe we’re meant to be together,” he murmurs in that low, rumbly voice that makes my stomach twist and turn.
Meant to be together. He shouldn’t say such romantic, swoony things. He doesn’t believe that, and neither do I. I’m not sure why he continues to bother with it.
“Stop,” I whisper, flicking my head in Lauren’s direction. I rest my palms against the counter and lean over it a little, my face practically in Tuttle’s. “Go be with your girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” he whispers back, his hands coming dangerously close to mine.
“She’s your queen.” I snatch my hands away from the counter and point at his crown. “Congrats on winning.”
His face betrays nothing and he doesn’t bother acknowledging my statement. “When did you start working here?”
I lift my chin, trying for determined and cool and collected. Most likely failing miserably. “A few days ago.”
“You like it?”
I shrug. “It’s a job. I need the money.”
Tuttle studies me closely, like he can see right through me, and I want to take my words back. Somehow, he knows I’m lying. Well, I’m not really lying, but I am sad I wasn’t able to go to the game tonight. I love football. I love watching our boys play, and they’ve gotten so much better this year. They have a real chance to make it to the playoffs, and that’s incredible.
But I won’t get to experience any of it. I’ll be too busy working every Friday night, making approximately fifty dollars for my time served.
“You’ll be missed,” he finally says, his voice still low. Intimate. Like we’re sharing a deep, dark secret. “I liked seeing you in the stands at every game.”
I raise a brow, in full on skepticism mode. I can’t help it. He says things like that and I don’t believe him. Yet some part of me deep down inside does believe him. It’s incredibly confusing.
“You didn’t even notice me.”
“I always noticed you, even when you were in band.” He pauses. “I’ve told you that before. Why don’t you believe me?”
The sincerity in his tone almost makes me want to laugh. Or throw myself at him. I’m not sure which option is worse.
I brace my hands on the counter once more, mimicking his position. “I always feel like you’re yanking my chain, Tuttle.”
He smirks, and it’s adorable. Sexy. “Right back at you, Winters.” And then he does the most incredible thing. Without saying a word, without any indication of what he was about to do, he scoots his hand closer to mine, reaching out to graze the top of my hand with just his pinky finger.
I feel that touch all the way down to my toes. It’s like he electrified me. Reminded me that I’m alive. And he’s the only one who can make me feel like that.
The only one.
“Does it always take this long to clean up on a Friday night?” I stuff the mop into the yellow bucket and wring it out, frowning when I notice all the dark brown water floating inside. It’s disgusting. The entire shop was disgusting once we cleared everyone out.
“Nah. Tonight was an exception, with the homecoming game and all. Though it’s always pretty busy when there’s a home game,” Blake says as he finishes cleaning up the toppings station. He made a huge deal about it earlier, like his taking on that particular task was some sort of favor to me, but I don’t know.
Mopping definitely sucks.
We closed over thirty minutes ago and we’re still cleaning. When I finally finish mopping, I guide the bucket out through the back door, dumping the dirty water in the nearby drain. The air is cool, tinged with the faint biting hint of autumn, and my gaze snags on the black Range Rover sitting in the mostly empty lot.
No. It can’t be.
But I think it…might be.
I’m incredulous. Seriously? Really? I’m tempted to march out to that car, knock on the window and demand that he leave, but who am I to do that? It’s a public parking lot.
And maybe it isn’t him. There are a lot of black Range Rovers in the world. I’m just fixated on him so I think he’s everywhere. Like I’m some sort of obsessed psycho.
Pushing all thoughts of him out of my brain, I go back into the shop and head straight to the bathroom, taking out all of my frustration and disbelief on the toilet and sink counter. I scrub the hell out of that bathroom, and by the time I’m finished my forehead is sweaty and wayward strands of hair stick to my cheeks.
In other words, I look awful, but I don’t care. My body’s tired and my muscles ache. I’m
ready to go straight home and collapse into bed. At least I can sleep in tomorrow. My next shift doesn’t start until noon.
“You ready?” Blake asks after I put away the cleaning supplies in the small closet.
Turning, I nod. “Yeah, let’s go.”
I gather up my things and head outside with Blake, watching as he locks the front door before shoving the keys into his front pocket. He offers me a faint smile as we start for the parking lot. “You did good tonight, Amanda.”
“Thanks.” I walk right beside him, headed toward our cars, which are parked relatively close to each other far out in the lot. I see the Range Rover out of the corner of my eye, but I ignore it.
I refuse to acknowledge him. Acknowledging means I accept what he’s doing, and I don’t.
“You kept up and tonight was like a trial by fire. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it that busy since we first opened,” he continues.
“Guess I proved my worth then.” I smile at him and he gives me that somber Blake look, with a hint of wonder in his gaze. Like he can’t believe I’m walking with him.
I can feel his pain. I really can.
“Yeah, you did. I’ll have to tell my mom.” His cheeks go red and I almost think it’s cute.
Until I remember that a certain someone is lurking in the parking lot like a stalker.
“That’s my car,” I tell Blake, pointing at my Toyota. Blake nods, waves goodbye and practically sprints to his older Nissan truck. He hops in it, fires up the engine and pulls out of the parking lot without any hesitation whatsoever.
“What a jackass.”
Whirling around, I spot Tuttle leaning against the side of his SUV, looking as casual as he pleases with his hands shoved into the front pockets of his black pants. He’s still wearing the same clothes from earlier, though he looks a little more mussed. Wrinkled. Cuter.
Argh. I hate my thoughts sometimes.
“Are you talking about yourself?” I ask with raised brows.
He inclines his head, a silent acknowledgement, I guess. “He didn’t even bother waiting to see if your car started.”
More than Friends - Monica Murphy Page 6
