“Did you just say we’re only dating?”
“Well…” My voice drifts. “I didn’t want to push.”
We’re quiet for a moment before he finally speaks again.
“Are you scared of me, Mandy?”
“It’s too early in the morning to have this serious of a conversation,” I tell him, trying to make a joke out of it. Even though it really is too early to have a serious conversation. It’s barely ten on a Sunday.
“Are you?”
I sigh. “No.” Ha. “Maybe.” Be honest. “Okay, yes. Just a little, though.”
It’s his turn to sigh. “I don’t want to scare you.”
“You don’t. Not really.”
“I’m coming for dinner tonight,” he says firmly, like he just made up his mind right then. “What time should I be there?”
“Oh, uh, we usually eat Sunday dinner around six.”
“Do I need to bring anything? Dress a certain way?”
“Just bring yourself. And dress how you usually dress to—school.”
“You want me to wear sweats and an old hoodie?” Now he’s the one who’s teasing.
“You don’t always dress like that.”
“When it gets colder in the mornings I do.”
“Dress nice,” I tell him. “But not too nice.”
“I can probably manage that.”
“You should probably come around five-thirty.”
“This is an event, huh.”
“It’s a nice way for us to be together and talk about stuff. Otherwise, we rarely all sit down to eat dinner together.”
“I hope they don’t hate me,” he says, sounding the tiniest bit nervous.
I hope they don’t either.”
I’m trying to decide between a dress or a sweater and jeans combo when my little brother knocks on my door.
“Your boyfriend is here,” Trent sing-songs.
My stomach plummets and I check my phone. It’s not even five-thirty. He’s early.
“Aren’t you gonna come kiss him hello?” Trent asks when I don’t answer.
“Go away!” I shout at the door like I’m twelve. Screw the dress. I don’t have time to primp. Instead I slip on my favorite jeans, the ones that make my butt look curvy, and then I pull on my new sweater. It’s cream-colored, made out of a thin material, and it splits in the back, exposing my lower back.
Hmmm. I should probably wear a tank with it. Mom will probably throw a fit. Ask me to change.
After putting on a white tank, I go to the full length mirror hanging on the back of my closet door and check myself out. I look good. I’m having a good hair day and I’m wearing a good bra. I look almost as good as Miss Perfect, AKA Lauren Mancini.
Seriously, I need to stop comparing myself to Lauren Mancini.
“Amanda! Your guest is here!”
Ugh, my mom could shout down the rooftop, she yells so loud. “Coming!” I yell back, tucking my hair behind my ears. Yeah, that doesn’t look good, so I untuck it, spritz on some body spray and then calmly walk out to greet Jordan.
I stop in my tracks when I spot him in the living room. He’s talking with my dad as they stand in front of the TV, most likely about football. Jordan’s wearing dark rinse jeans, a blue plaid shirt and black Vans, and ohmigod, he looks adorable. Like, I want to run and tackle him adorable, but I’m guessing my parents won’t appreciate that.
So I calm myself, take a deep breath and make my presence known.
“Jordan, hi.”
He turns his appreciative gaze on me, and those beautiful eyes somehow warm even more when he takes me in. “Hey. Amanda. You look…pretty.” I wonder if he’s almost afraid to give me a compliment in front of my dad.
“Thanks. You look good too.” I go toward him and give him a hug, feel his lips briefly press against my forehead. He wraps his arms around my waist and his hand presses flat against my bare lower back. I wonder if that surprised him. “I’m glad you made it,” I murmur against his chest before I pull away.
Dad clears his throat and I glance his way, not missing the amused look on his face. “Glad you could join us, Amanda.”
I make a face at him and look around the room. “Where’s Mom?”
“In the kitchen finding a vase for the flowers Jordan brought her,” Dad says.
I turn to look at Jordan. “You brought my mom flowers?”
He shrugs, looking embarrassed. I notice he’s wearing a white T-shirt beneath the plaid shirt, and that just makes him look even cuter. “My mom always taught me you should bring your host a gift. Sorry I didn’t get you anything, Mr. Winters.”
“Making my wife happy is gift enough,” Dad assures him.
I’m still stuck on the casual way Jordan mentioned his mom. He never talks about his parents. Ever. It’s like they don’t even exist, though I know they do, because otherwise he wouldn’t exist. But still. He does not bring them up in normal conversation.
Until now.
“The flowers look lovely on the table, Jordan.” Mom joins us in the living room, her smile brittle, her gaze sweeping over me before she returns her attention to him. “Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiles sheepishly and I feel suddenly awkward. Something’s up with Mom. She’s probably remembering all those things I told her about Jordan and is now seeing how he measures up. I don’t want her judging him for what happened with Thad and Tara having sex at his house. That was completely out of his control.
Of course, the Thad and Tara incident only confirms her suspicions everything that happens at his house is out of control. Meaning, he can’t win this argument.
Dad offers Jordan a seat and we all sit down in the living room, making small talk, mostly about football. Dad’s bombarding him with all sorts of questions and I’m listening closely, curious to hear how Jordan answers about where he wants to go to college.
Not that I want to follow him to his college of choice or anything. That would be ridiculous. He’s so smart, and talented on the football field. Plus he’s rich, so he could go to whatever college he wants. I fight the jealousy that wants to sweep over me. I wish I had it that easy. His life seems like a piece of cake. Yeah, he might have crappy parents, but he has all the money he could ever want, and his crappy parents let him do whatever he wants.
He’s lucky.
“He is the boy who had that party, right?” Mom asks me, her voice low, just for me to hear.
“Mom.” I send her a look. “He couldn’t stop that from happening. Don’t blame him for it.”
“I just wonder what sort of parties he has if things like that happen. You shouldn’t go to parties like that. They’re demeaning. What if—” Mom lowers her voice to almost a whisper. “—what if something like that happened to you? Against your will?”
I roll my eyes. “He’s very protective of me, Mother. Jordan would never let something like that happen.”
Mom checks him out before she returns her attention to me. “He’s very good looking.”
I feel my cheeks go hot. “I know.”
“He seems popular too.”
“He is.”
She studies me carefully. “I’m not trying to be rude, dear. But what exactly does he see in you?”
My mouth drops open. I’m at a complete loss for words. Parents are supposed to be your backup, right? The people who think you’re perfect no matter what, no matter if you screw up on a regular basis, they’re there to pick you up when you’re about to fall.
I feel like my mom just kicked me in the stomach and stole my breath with just a few words.
“I think your daughter is smart,” Jordan says, and I whip my head in his direction, my eyes going wide. Crap, he heard what my mom said. “And she’s kind. She makes me laugh, and not many people can do that.”
My heart aches a little at that statement.
“She’s beautiful.” His voice, his gaze is solemn as he watches me. “And she’s fun. Her smile brightens my day.”
I unleash a big
one at him and he smiles in return. “And I just really care about your daughter. A lot.” His gaze never leaves mine with that last statement.
Again, I want to throw myself at him and kiss him senseless. But I remain where I’m sitting, hoping he can see all the affection shining in my eyes directed straight at him.
Does he see it? Does he know how fast I’m falling for him? The more days that go by, the less anxious I feel when I’m with him. I was always waiting for that bomb to drop. Always waiting for the punch line, when Jordan—or someone else—would yell out, SURPRISE! Joke’s on you.
I don’t think that’s going to happen anymore. I really believe that Jordan is into me.
“Aw.” Mom looks ready to cry when her gaze meets mine. “That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
And that, folks, is how Jordan Tuttle wins over my parents.
I feel like I’m in a freaking dream. At the very least, I’m sitting on the set of a TV sitcom, appearing on some over the top show about a sweet family who loves each other so much they gather around the dinner table every Sunday night to break bread.
This shit is usually something I mock. Who does this? Definitely not me. I don’t remember the last time I ate a meal with my parents, especially at our house. We just don’t give a damn anymore.
But as I sit in the small dining room just off the kitchen in the Winters’ house, I feel…warm. Cozy. Like I belong here.
Though really? I don’t.
The dad is nice. Likes to talk football, and I’ll always talk football. Our conversation is easy and it’s a relief because Amanda’s father is interested. Genuinely interested in my opinion, in what I tell him, and he doesn’t criticize. My father only wants to tell me what I do wrong when I play. Or he’ll remind me what I need to keep doing in order to move on to the college of my dreams.
More like the college of his dreams.
I have no real dreams. I just go through the motions. I have all the right traits to get what I want and I use them when I need to, but I don’t give a piece of myself to anyone. Not a soul.
My gaze drifts to the girl sitting across from me. The one who’s scowling at her little brother after he teases her about her hair or what she ate or maybe there’s something in her teeth. I didn’t catch what it was. I do know this—even when she’s irritated, she’s gorgeous. Her hair, her face, those eyes, her mouth…all of her is perfection.
I’d give her every piece of me. All she has to do is say the word and I’m hers.
Crazy, right? I don’t do this. And if I think about it too much, I’ll panic and back away from her. Because that’s what I do. Commitment is a dirty word in my vocabulary. I never wanted it before. Yet I want it with Amanda.
Proving the point that you always want what you can’t have. More like what I don’t deserve.
And I don’t deserve her. She’s too good for me.
She snaps at her brother, Trent, and her mom scolds them both, but gently. Everything is gentle in this house. No one yells, no one snaps, no one drinks, no one accuses anyone of any wrongdoing. It’s actually a pretty pleasant atmosphere, despite Amanda’s mom dissing her earlier, which had been weird.
I honestly didn’t think this life could exist. I’m wondering now if they’re on their best behavior and the minute I’m gone and the curtain drops, they’ll all go back to their mean selves.
“Do you want something more to eat?” the mother asks me, a concerned look on her face. I could tell she didn’t like me at first. She was sizing me up, examining me closely. I can’t blame her. She should kick me out and tell me to stay the hell away from her daughter. After what Amanda and I did…
Yeah. We didn’t take it too far last night. But I did have my hands up Amanda’s shirt when we made out in the back seat of my Rover. I tried to take her back to my house, but she wouldn’t do it. So we parked. Like we didn’t have a choice.
That’s okay, though. I’ll do whatever it takes to make her happy. See her smile. Kiss her lips. Touch her body—
“Jordan?” the mother asks me again, and I snap out of my dirty thoughts, smiling at her.
“No thanks.” She made a pot roast and potatoes and vegetables that she cooked all in one pot—along with the roast. I’ve never had anything like it before and it was good. “I’m stuffed.”
“Not too stuffed that you’ll have to turn away dessert, I hope.”
I’m intrigued. “Dessert?”
Mrs. Winters smiles. “Homemade cheesecake.”
“It is the best cheesecake you’ll ever have,” Mr. Winters adds.
“It’s really good,” Amanda says with a shy smile.
My whole body goes tight at seeing that smile. She makes me fucking crazy with her sweet smiles and bashful ways tonight. I can’t wait to get her alone and kiss her until she’s begging me to touch her. She did that last night. Begged. Whispered in my ear, pleading with me to put my hands on her. Slip my fingers under her shirt and touch her. Just a little bit, though. Never too much, yet I push every time we’re together. Push a little harder. Push a little more.
“Amanda, will you help me clear the table?” Mrs. Winters says as she starts to stand.
But I stand instead, my gaze locked on Amanda’s. “I’ll help her clean up, Mrs. Winters.”
“Oh, but you’re our guest—”
“I insist,” I say firmly, softening my tone with a smile aimed right at Amanda’s mom.
She smiles back, looking pleased. “Well then. If you insist…”
Amanda doesn’t say a word. Just sends me a cute little smirk as she starts to help me clear the table. I follow her cues since I’ve never cleaned up a table before in my entire life, and we walk into the kitchen, setting the dishes on the counter next to the sink.
“You’re going to help me wash them too?” She flashes a smile at me over her shoulder.
“Whatever you need,” I say easily, fighting the urge to grab her and push her hair away from her nape so I can kiss her neck. My gaze drops to all the exposed skin of her lower back and my fingers literally itch to touch her.
The moment she sets her dishes on the counter, I’m on her. I rest my hands on her back, sliding them to her waist, and I grip her there, standing directly behind her, my nose buried in her fragrant hair.
“Jordan…”
“Give me a minute,” I murmur. “I need to touch you.”
She goes still. I swear she’s not even breathing. But then I reach up and brush her hair away from her nape, just like I envisioned and she gasps softly. Her thick, dark hair drapes over her shoulder, exposing her neck, and I lean in, pressing my mouth just below her ear.
A shuddery breath leaves her and she melts into me, turning her head more to the right. “You should stop,” she says shakily. “What if my parents catch us?”
“One more kiss.” I slide my hands along her waist, kissing her neck, her ear, tasting her skin.
“Okay.” She sounds breathless. “But hurry.”
I kiss her cheek and whisper in her ear, “You wore this sweater to drive me crazy, didn’t you?”
“I almost wore a dress.”
“A dress?” I think of all the things I could do to Amanda if she wore a dress. “I like easy access.”
“Stop.” She pulls out of my grip and turns to face me with a stern look on her face. “Now you’re trying to drive me crazy.”
I grin. I can’t help myself. That’s what she does to me. She makes me smile too much. Like I have a problem or something. “We should go clear the rest of the table.”
She sends me a look. One that tells me she’s going to ask a question. “I was wondering. Have you ever helped clear a table before, Jordan?”
I slowly shake my head.
Her eyes fill with surprise, but she recovers quickly. “What about washing dishes? Have you ever done that?”
Again, another slow shake of my head.
“Seriously?” Her voice squeaks. “Well, I’m going to teach you.”
I
frown. “What about the cheesecake?”
Amanda laughs and it’s the best sound. I don’t need alcohol or weed or whatever when I have her around to fill me up with her laughter. “We’ll finish gathering the dirty dishes and then we’ll have cheesecake. After cheesecake, we’ll wash the dishes. Deal?”
I pull her into my arms and give her a quick kiss, wishing I could give her more. “Deal.”
“He came over to your house for dinner?” Livvy sounds shocked. Not that I can blame her.
I’m still fairly shocked too. I’d been so nervous yesterday, but the moment Jordan showed up with flowers for my mom and I saw how naturally he talked to my dad like they were old friends, I couldn’t believe how easy the night became.
Jordan enjoyed the meal—Mom was super nervous about that—he laughed when my brother told him stupid jokes and he gave Dad the scoop about the football team and what their chances are to go all the way to the state championship.
I loved watching them talk about football. I got my love for the game from Dad, who has been a Raiders fanatic forever. They’re not the best team, but Dad doesn’t care. He’s loyal to a fault, and while George never showed much interest in football and Trent gave up playing league football last year, I’m the one who’ll sit with Dad and watch the games. Listen to him rattle off stats and explain what’s happening and why certain players make certain plays.
“You two are getting serious,” Livvy says, pulling me out of my thoughts.
We’re hanging out in her mom’s car in the senior lot before the first bell rings. It’s drizzling outside and windy. We don’t want to get out of the car and Liv has texted Ryan multiple times, asking if he’d meet us with an umbrella in the next five minutes.
So far, no response.
“I guess so.” I don’t want to say anything more for fear I might jinx myself—and us. And when I say us, I mean me and Jordan.
“What did your parents think? About Tuttle?”
“They liked him a lot. He brought my mom flowers.” A beautiful arrangement of fall flowers, including sunflowers, which are my favorite. I was jealous of that stupid bouquet too. He hasn’t brought me flowers, yet he gave some to my mom?
More than Friends - Monica Murphy Page 14
