These are the silly things that go through my head in Tuttle’s presence.
“Hey.” My eyes snap up to meet his and I realize he’s holding a fry in front of my face. “Eat this.” And then he feeds it to me. I open my mouth like a baby bird and he drops the fry inside, his thumb brushing against my lower lip. His eyes smolder and he goes still as I slowly chew the fry and swallow it.
The tension grows between us, until it feels like a living, breathing thing sitting in the car with us. All over a fry. All over his thumb barely grazing my lip. He’s staring at my mouth now as he sips from his drink, and of course my gaze goes to his lips wrapped around that straw.
All of a sudden I’m ravenous. I grab my burger and bite into it, not caring if I look like a slob or not. The burger tastes delicious and I take another bite, catching him watching me out of the corner of my eye.
“What?” I ask when he doesn’t look away.
“Why do we keep doing this?”
I take a sip of my drink. “Doing what?”
“Playing this game. Pretending we hate each other when we don’t.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“I definitely don’t hate you either.”
“But I don’t want to be with you.”
He raises a brow. Remains quiet.
Ugh.
“I don’t,” I reiterate.
Somehow the brow rises higher. How does he do that? He said about a billion words with that one gesture.
“It won’t work.” I look away from him. It’ll be easier to say these things if I don’t have to see his gorgeous face. “You’re you and I’m me and we’re not a match. I’ll be insecure and you’ll get tired of my clingy ways and break up with me immediately. Then I’ll be devastated and pissed at myself because I knew it was a bad idea, being with you.”
“You’re not clingy.”
I whirl on him, irritated that he…actually complimented me. “How do you know?”
“I just know.”
“How?” I ask again. “You don’t know me. We’ve never really gone out. We go to a few of the same parties and always end up together, but we’re never really doing anything.”
“Oh, we’ve done a few things.” His suggestive tone makes my entire body go hot. With irritation.
With…hmmm…desire? Is that the right word?
I also want to hit him. Seriously. What is up with me lately with the violent tendencies?
“Nothing serious,” I mumble, keeping my head bent. I need to stick with the don’t-look-at-Tuttle plan. It’s easier to say things when I don’t have to see him. I should’ve never gotten into his car.
He exhales loudly and resumes eating. I can tell because every few seconds his hand rustles around in the bag, grabbing fries. Or he takes a sip of his drink. Eventually I start eating too, and we remain quiet. It’s not a comfortable silence, though. Not even close. It’s tension-filled and edgy and it makes me uneasy. I can feel the irritation and frustration radiating from his body, and I decide to talk about something safe.
“I heard you played a really great game Friday.”
Tuttle pauses mid-chew and then swallows before he answers. “I did all right. It was really the team. Ryan, he ran in three touchdown passes.”
“He’s a great player.”
“He is.”
“So are you.” I get a shrug as an answer. “I hate that I missed the game.”
“I know you love football.”
“Sucks that I have to work every Friday night.”
“You should tell them you’re busy.”
I huff out a laugh. “Yeah, that’ll go over real well with my new boss. ‘Sorry I can’t work Friday nights. I gotta watch the football game.’ She won’t go for that.”
He’s quiet. Contemplative. “What if I could give you a valid excuse?”
“An excuse for what?”
“To come to every football game.”
“How are you going to do that?”
Tuttle grins. Full on grins so broadly, I’m slightly taken aback. “Watch and see.”
“They’re in a relationship. Like boyfriend and girlfriend already. He’s probably had sex with her.” Livvy shudders, her gaze locked on what’s unfolding on the other side of the quad during lunch. It’s the day after Tuttle took me to In-N-Out and now I’m back to eating lunch at school. The temporary heat wave has passed and it actually feels like fall today.
“So?” I sound bored because I am bored. She needs to stop focusing her energy on Dustin and Brianne Brown and instead pay attention to Ryan. He’s totally into her. Like, he acts the fool around her all the time and she thinks it’s adorable.
I find him annoying, but that’s me.
“He took her to the homecoming dance, they went out Saturday and Sunday. And they’ve spent every free moment at school together,” Liv continues.
“How do you know all of this? And I thought you were over Dustin.” We should stop talking about him. Ryan could appear at any moment.
She rolls her eyes. “I promise, I’m trying my hardest to get over him, but it’s—difficult. I still miss him. He was a daily part of my life for so long, and now he’s gone. Poof. Like our friendship never existed.” A pained expression crosses her face. “Gross, he just kissed her. I think I saw tongue.”
Dustin and Brianne Brown were bound to happen. The girl has been working him over since the school year started. Actually, she’d been after him for years, according to Liv. Dustin had just been so wrapped up in Livvy, hoping he had a chance with her. Until he blew it. And she blew it. Oh, and Em blew it too.
Literally.
Ha ha. Bad joke.
“They wouldn’t be doing the tongue tango on the quad,” I reassure Liv just as Ryan sits down next to her, plopping his tray full of food on the table. He’s laughing, his gaze meeting mine.
“Who’s doing the tongue tango?” he asks.
“Brianne Brown and Du—”
“Hey, baby.” Livvy cuts me off and flashes Ryan a seductive smile as she strokes a hand down his chest. Guess she doesn’t want to look like she’s spying on Dustin in front of Ryan. Smart move. “What did you get for lunch?”
He points it all out, offering her some, but she shakes her head and holds up the prepackaged salad she brought from home. I’m munching on carrot sticks again and guzzling water. Ryan is eating pizza and a hamburger and a salad, plus he has a brownie that he claims his mom made. Right before Livvy bursts into a giggle fit. I’m thinking it might be a pot brownie, but what do I know.
“Hey.” I glance up at the sound of the familiar voice, the sun so bright I can’t make out the face of who’s standing by our table, but I recognize his shape. It’s Tuttle. And he doesn’t wait for an invitation, he just sits down next to me, lifting his brows as he shows me the Subway bag he’s carrying. “Want to split a sandwich?”
Before I can ask him when he found the time to go to the Subway down the street, he’s unwrapping the sandwich and giving me half. “What’s on it?”
“Turkey with everything except tomatoes, pickles and peppers.”
“Onions?” I wrinkle my nose. I don’t want onion breath around him.
He nods. “Oh yeah.”
“I don’t know…” I start, but he silences me with a look.
“Eat it.”
I dutifully pick up the sandwich, take a bite and almost moan at how good it tastes. I didn’t realize how burnt out I am on baby carrots and ranch until this very moment. “Thank you,” I say once I swallow.
“I have good news,” he says casually, facing Ryan and Liv. Making me think the good news is for either Ryan or Liv.
“What is it?” Ryan asks.
Tuttle turns to look at me. “You’re our new team water girl.”
I’m packing up my carrots and ranch, and I pause, meeting Tuttle’s gaze. “Are you talking about me?”
He nods. Takes another bite of his sandwich. There’s a tiny gob of mustard stuck in the corner of his mouth a
nd I’m tempted to wipe it off with my finger.
Or my tongue.
My cheeks go hot at the mere thought.
“But I can’t do it. I work on Friday nights.”
He licks the mustard from his mouth and I feel a little weak at the sight of his tongue. What’s up with all the tongues today? “Find someone to cover you.”
“I can’t do it this week.” No way. “Maybe I can work next week’s game.”
“But we need you this week. It’s an away game, and that’s when we need our water girls the most.”
The water girl title is so undignified. “What happened to your previous water girl?”
“Turns out she’s allergic to the grass on the field and can’t do it anymore. I told Coach about you and he knows how much you love the game and our team. He said he wanted no one else. Just you.” The smug look of satisfaction on Tuttle’s face was more than obvious.
And sort of annoying.
“You can’t just volunteer me up for a job when I’m not sure if I can do it,” I tell him.
“When do you next work?”
“This afternoon.”
Tuttle frowns. “A closing shift?”
I bite my lip and nod. Then I open up my sandwich and pick off all the onions, one by one. I am not risking onion breath while I’m around him.
“By yourself? Or with that drippy guy?”
I’m offended on Blake’s behalf. “Don’t call Blake drippy.” I put my sandwich back together and take a bite.
“He seems sorta drippy.”
“Aw, look, Ryan. They’re having a lovers’ quarrel,” Livvy teases as she nudges her boyfriend right before they both start cracking up.
I send them a withering stare before I resume my conversation with Tuttle. “Don’t be so mean. Just because he’s not some big, sexy jock like you.”
Oh, the look he sends me is priceless. “You think I’m a big, sexy jock?”
“You know you’re a big, sexy jock. Everyone thinks so.”
“I only care what you think,” he says as he leans in close, his voice low. Too low. Sexy low.
There he goes again, saying dangerous things. “You shouldn’t.”
“Too late.” He resumes eating like the conversation is over.
I push his shoulder out of irritation, and because I want to touch him. Shoving him when you’re me is pointless considering he’s a solid wall of muscle. “I can’t ask my boss for every Friday off. I just started there.”
“Just through the football season, Amanda.” Oh. He said my name. He doesn’t say it very often, but it sounds nice falling from his lips. His perfectly kissable lips. “Maybe until mid November, but that’s it. Then you can work every Friday night for the rest of your life if you want to.”
I’m tempted. I think he knows it too because I see the light catch in his eyes and the warm way he studies me is enough to make me want to squirm.
“Just ask,” he says, his voice soft. He sends a quick glance in Ryan and Livvy’s direction, but they’re too wrapped up in each other to pay attention to us. “The worst she can say is no.”
“I’ll ask,” I say, my voice as soft as his.
“Promise?”
I nod. “I’ll let you know what she says.”
We both eat for a while before he asks another question. “You’re really closing by yourself tonight?”
“Yeah. It’s my first time.” I swallow past the sudden nervousness that swamps me. “Blake said I could call him if I need help.”
“Please.” Tuttle scoffs. “Like that guy can help you.”
“I mean, with like the register or whatever. The money I have to put in the safe in the back before I leave. There’s this whole closing up procedure I have to follow and I don’t want to mess it up.”
Jordan studies me, the concern in his eyes obvious. “I don’t like the idea of you being alone there at night.”
“I’m a big girl.” I smile but it feels fake, so I let it fade. “I’ll be fine.”
“Uh huh.” He reaches out and brushes the corner of my lips with his thumb. “Mustard,” he tells me.
Just before he sticks his thumb in his mouth and licks it off.
Tuesday night at Yo Town is pretty boring. The shop is located in a busy shopping center, but once it hits about eight o’clock, business dies. The last hour would’ve dragged if I hadn’t prepped for closing during that time. I’m confident closing will be a breeze, but I can’t help but feel a little nervous after Tuttle showed so much concern about my being alone.
If he never would’ve acted like that, I’d be fine. He put too many dark thoughts in my head.
He’s pretty good at that.
My phone buzzes in the back pocket of my jeans and I pull it out to find a text from Blake.
You doing okay? Have any questions?
I text him back.
I’m fine. Last hour has been dead but that gave me time to clean up a lot.
That’s what I usually do too. Call me if you need anything.
Will do! :)
I put my phone away and start to cover the toppings that can stay out overnight. I’ll put the ones that need to be refrigerated in the back after I lock the front door. I check the clock. 8:47. Thirteen minutes ’til closing time.
I’ve got my back toward the door when I hear the buzzer indicating someone entering the building. I whirl around, a strangled sound leaving me when I see who’s standing there.
Tuttle. Of course.
“Why are you here?” I ask once I find my voice.
“Couldn’t stop thinking about you alone. Thought I’d come be with you. Make sure you’re okay.” He approaches the counter, walking with that unmistakable Tuttle swagger. He looks windblown—his hair is ruffled and his cheeks are red. A storm is coming in, nothing serious, but enough to drop the temps and kick up a gusty wind. He’s wearing a school hoodie and dark gray sweatpants. I have never in my life thought sweatpants were sexy before.
At this very moment, they are the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.
“Oh.” I stand up a little bit straighter. “I can handle it.”
“I know you can. I just don’t like thinking about you here. All by yourself. Anyone can see that you’re alone.” He waves at the giant windows that line the front of the store, then turns to meet my gaze. “The parking lot isn’t safe either. Who knows who’s out there?”
I fight the shiver that wants to take over me at his words. Talk about putting fear in me. “I’m parked pretty close.”
“Not close enough,” he retorts.
“Tuttle…” My voice drifts and the glare he sends me cuts like a knife.
“Don’t call me that,” he snaps.
I take a step back at the anger in his voice. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
He comes around the counter until he’s standing right in front of me. Blocking everything out so all I can see is him. “I told you before—call me by my first name.”
“Okay.” I nod, trying to ignore my racing heart at his nearness. He’s moody tonight. A little restless. I wonder why? “Jordan.”
The tension eases out of him and he relaxes. “You’ve got the braids in again.” He reaches out and touches one, tugs on the end like he’s six and a pain in my butt. “You look cute.”
He always tells me I look cute. I want him to think I’m beautiful. Gorgeous. Stunning. All those pretty words boys say to girls. Boyfriends say to girlfriends.
Oh my God, now I’m the one whose acting like she’s six.
“Thanks.” I glance around, trying to look anywhere but at him. Why, I don’t know. It’s like all the awkwardness of this entire situation has just hit me full force and I feel silly. Lacking. Which is dumb. He’s never done or said anything to make me feel less than in comparison to him.
But he doesn’t have to. He’s just…him. And I’m only me.
“Amanda.” I look him in the eyes when he says my name. “Do you need my help or anything?”
&
nbsp; “Can you sit out here while I do some stuff in the back?”
“Yeah.” He reaches out and brushes stray strands of hair away from my forehead, his fingers skimming my skin, making my blood hum. “Can I buy some yogurt first?”
I burst out laughing. “Absolutely.”
Once I ring him up, I start putting away the toppings in the refrigerator, then I make sure the bathroom is clean. I wipe down the yogurt machines, run a quick broom over the floor since I already mopped, then turn off the “open” light and lock the door.
“It’s only 8:59,” Tuttle reminds me. He’s sitting at one of the tiny tables, eating his frozen yogurt like he has all the time in the world as he checks his phone. I’m instantly curious. Who texts him? Snapchats him? He has an Instagram profile but barely uses it, though he has tons of followers, including myself.
“I’m a minute early. So what?” I smile at him and he doesn’t return it, which makes me a little sad.
“You talk to your boss?”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“About Fridays.”
“Oh!” I brighten. How could I forget? I was so worried about closing I guess I shoved it out of my mind. “I did talk to her. She said that was fine, mentioned that she could cover this Friday’s shift if I was needed that badly, which I assured her I was. I made it sound like I tried to line up the water girl job before I started at Yo Town and she was totally cool with it.”
“So you’re our new water girl.”
I nod, pleased with the happy expression on his face. “Thank you for arranging this for me.”
“I’m glad.” He offers up a smile. “Really glad you’ll be at all the games, Mandy.”
“Me too,” I murmur.
“You work on Juliet’s diary entry yet?”
I frown at his change of subject. “Um, not yet.”
He sends me a look, one I can’t decipher. “Better get to it.”
More than Friends - Monica Murphy Page 8
