More than Friends - Monica Murphy (2 page)

My heart is racing as I press gently on the brakes, taking him in, my gaze roving over every single tiny feature that makes him Jordan. I want to slow down the moment, revel in the anticipation of finding
him
waiting for
me
. He rises to his feet, runs a hand over his thick, perfect hair almost nervously, and a shuddery breath leaves me.

The memory hits me, socks me in the stomach and leaves me aching. I remember what it felt like, having those hands on me just last night. His mouth on mine, the words he whispered in my ear. It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t something I made up inside my head, because seriously, I was starting to wonder if I really was losing my mind when it came to Jordan Tuttle.

But no. Jordan is real. He’s in my life because he
wants
to be here for some crazy reason. And now he’s waiting for me, his hands on his hips, the faintest smile on his face as he continues to watch me.

“What are you doing here?” I ask as I make my approach, hopping off my bike so I can roll it up the front walkway.

We meet in the middle, Jordan stopping just in front of me. “Nice way to greet me.”

I frown, worried I was doing everything wrong. He had a way of making me feel like that. “How should I greet you?”

“Like this.” His hand is suddenly curled around my nape when he pulls me in for a too-quick yet somehow lingering kiss. My lips tingle when he pulls away, and by the smug expression on his face, I know
he
knows the effect he has on me.

“Jordan,” I chastise, stepping away from him and nearly tripping over my stupid bike. Luckily enough, he catches me by the elbow, steadying me before I fall over like an idiot. “What if my parents are inside?”

“They’re not.” He grabs the bike from me, nudges the kickstand down and sets it in place on the sidewalk a few feet away from us. “Where’ve you been?”

His confidence makes me crazy. He’s so sure of himself, and I wish I had even an ounce of his self-assuredness.

I don’t. Not even close. He lives in another realm. I’m just a lowly peon compared to His Majesty, Lord Jordan Tuttle.

“I went over to Livvy’s,” I tell him when I realize he’s waiting for my answer. As usual, my mind wanders when I’m in his presence. “I wanted to make sure she’s okay.”

Jordan frowns. “She is, right?”

“Oh yeah, her mom just grounded her for life.” When he sends me a
come on
face, I readjust. “Fine, she’s grounded for a couple weeks. No phone. No Ryan.”

“It might do her some good, the no Ryan thing,” he mutters.

I say nothing. I don’t understand the relationship he has with Ryan. They’re friends. Then they’re not. They’re teammates always, and that’s something Jordan has to deal with no matter what.

“What are you up to right now?” I ask, hoping to change the subject.

He smiles. Reaches out to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. I feel that innocent touch all the way down to my toes, which are currently curling in my battered white Converse. “I want to take you out.”

My mouth drops open. “In public?”

The frown is back. It’s not fair, how attractive he still is despite the scowl he’s currently wearing. “Of course in public. What the hell, Mandy.”

I shrug, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. “We haven’t actually been seen together.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me in close. My body immediately goes hot and I wonder if he has some sort of powerful force field I can’t resist. “I want to change that.”

My gaze meets his and I can’t look away. He’s so sincere. So serious. “What happened between us last night was…”

“Real.” He kisses me again. Another brief brush of lips on lips, yet I’m decimated. Shaky all over when he pulls away. When my ex Thad kissed me, I never felt like this. Ever.

Never.

Ever.

Never.

“Maybe we were just caught up in a moment?” I ask tentatively. It’s like I’m always waiting for the bomb to drop. For the joke to be on me. No one in a million years would ever match me with Jordan Tuttle. Not even me. So what’s his deal? Why is he so persistent? I don’t get it.

I like it, but he also scares me. I don’t want to get hurt.

I don’t want my heart to be broken.

“Every time I’m near you, I get caught up in a moment.” One side of his perfect mouth tips up in this semi-smile that is absolutely adorable. I wish I had my phone out so I could snap a pic of him. “Maybe we need to give this a try and see if all we ever experience together is one giant moment.”

“That’s impossible.” The words are out before I can stop them and I slap my hand over my mouth, my eyes wide as I stare up at him.

Jordan actually laughs, shaking his head. It’s a rare sound, but wow, is it amazing. “Nothing’s impossible if you want it bad enough.”

I drop my hand, gaping up at him. “So are you saying that you want—
me?
”

“Yes.” He dips his head, his mouth hovering above mine. “I do.”

He takes me to a coffee shop that’s tucked into a corner of a strip mall, an elegantly trendy place that looks totally out of place considering its location. He’s not the only one who’s heard of the place, though. It’s so crowded I practically have to fight someone to snag a suddenly empty table.

“Your mocha.” Jordan sets it on the table and drops into the chair across from me, scooting it in so his knees bump against mine.

“Thank you.” I turn my legs to the side, not necessarily wanting to touch his legs. Then again, I sort of want to tangle them up together. Preferably with no clothes on.

My cheeks go hot, betraying my thoughts, and the slow smile that curves Tuttle’s perfect lips tells me he has suspicions.

“We could go back to my house if you want,” he suggests in that velvety smooth voice of his. I swear it ripples across my skin and settles into my bones, staying there. Reminding me that he exists.

Like I could forget.

“No way.” I shake my head quickly, bringing the cup to my lips and taking a careful sip. It’s not too hot. In fact, it’s perfect, much like the guy who’s sitting with me, and I sort of hate this stupid mocha for its perfection.

But I can’t hate my drink for too long because it tastes so good.

“Why not?” He reaches across the table, his fingers dancing across the top of my hand for the briefest moment. “No one’s home.”

That’s the problem. I don’t do well in Tuttle’s presence, especially when we’re alone. I tend to become careless. Reckless. I do things that I would never do otherwise. That sort of behavior is completely unlikely me.

And dangerous to my well-being.

“I have to be home by dinnertime.” I sit up straighter, my fingers clutched around the smooth, hot paper cup that holds my coffee. “No matter what, I can’t escape our Sunday family dinner.”

A dark brow rises. “You have dinner with your family
every
Sunday?”

I nod, a little embarrassed. “It’s the only time we’re together, you know? There’s always something going on. Soccer practice, volleyball practice, band—” I clamp my lips shut for a brief moment, mentally crossing band practice off the list. It’s hard to break the habit when you’ve been going to band practice for the last five years of your life. “Either my mom is working or Dad’s working, and Sunday evening is the only time we’re all under the same roof.”

He stares at me like I’m a rare, exotic animal that he’s only noticing for the first time. Wonder, confusion, maybe even the faintest hint of disgust crosses his face. Like he can’t believe that we’d be such a close family. Is family time a foreign concept to him?

I wouldn’t doubt it.

“Sounds like something out of a movie,” he mutters with a shake of his head before he takes a long drink from his cup.

“My family is close.” I shrug, not willing to offer up any more explanation. He doesn’t reveal too much to me any more, so why should I open up to him? “We’re weird, I know.”

“I never said you were weird.” His gaze lingers on my lips for a beat too long, and I wonder if he’s thinking about kissing me. I know I’m thinking about kissing him. So much that my lips are tingling. “Most everyone I know has shitty parents.”

He’s right. Most everyone I know has bad parents too. “Guess I lucked out?”

Jordan nods, his gaze meeting mine once more. “Guess so.”

I change the subject and we talk about school. Homecoming is happening this week and king and queen nominations are tomorrow. Nominees will be announced Tuesday morning and lots of activities are held throughout the week, including way too many pep rallies, a parade and finally the big game Friday night, followed by the annual homecoming dance.

“You’ll be nominated,” I say with all the assurance I feel, because come on. It’s Jordan.

He makes a face. “I don’t want to be.”

“Please.” He has to be full of crap. “You love it.”

“Not really.” He waves a dismissive hand as if he can make the subject magically disappear. “Are you playing in the powder puff game?”

It’s my turn to make a face. “Um, I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” He tilts his head to the side, appearing thoroughly confused. And thoroughly adorable. “You should.”

“No thanks.” Only the popular girls play. It’s the female version of the big homecoming game, and all the girls wear the football players’ jerseys, paint their faces and basically run around on the field like idiots trying to catch a ball. All while the football players wear the cheerleaders’ uniforms and too much makeup, jumping up and down while risking junk exposure. “It’s totally sexist.”

“You really think so?” He hesitates, his gaze dropping to the table before he blows out a breath. “And to think I was going to let you wear my jersey.”

I’m gaping. I can feel my mouth hanging open and I’m sure I look ridiculous, so I do my best to force it shut. “You were not.”

“I totally would. All you have to do is ask.”

I sort of hate how he throws it into my court. Shouldn’t he offer? Why do I have to ask?

“You never let a girl wear your jersey,” I whisper, not knowing if that’s really true but guessing it must be. My chest suddenly feels heavy, and it’s like I can’t breathe. He puts too much on me, too much importance on this—
thing
between us. And it is so equally terrifying and wonderful all at once, I’m tempted to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.

“Yeah, well, I’ve never found someone worthy before.” He drains his coffee, crumples the cup between his fingers and turns around, tossing it into a trashcan with ease.

“And I’m worthy.” My voice is full of sarcasm.

“Amanda, you’ve been worthy for months. You’ve just been fighting it.” His gaze meets mine, deep blue and deadly serious.

I can’t think of anything else to say, sooo… “I should go home.”

“No way I can convince you to come back to my house?” His expression is completely neutral, but I see a faint glimmer in his gaze—and it reminds me of hopefulness.

Surely I must be seeing things.

“I can’t,” I say regretfully. “But maybe you should come with me to my house. Have dinner with my family.” Mom would be mad that I’m bringing an unexpected guest, but she’d get over it. I would love for my parents to meet Jordan. He’s so good-looking and smart and rich and…

My stomach sinks. He’s too smart. And too rich. He’d take one look at our shabby house with the ratty old couch and the walls that need paint and the kitchen that needs updating and he’d
know.

He’d know I’m really not worthy of him. And then he’d leave me in the dust.

Jordan makes a face as he stands, reaching across the table to grab my empty cup. “No thanks. I’m not the bring-home-to-family-dinner type.”

I say nothing as he tosses my cup in the trash. Instead, I follow beside him quietly, letting him guide me out of the shop with his hand pressed against my lower back. No way can I react to his touch or his closeness. He makes me feel vulnerable and unsure and I constantly second guess myself in his presence. In fact, the entire ride back to my house we remain quiet, the music playing softly, and I wish it could drown out my thoughts.