More than Friends - Monica Murphy (23 page)

Uh oh. I’m having one of those moments where I feel inferior yet again.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” I murmur.

“You’re welcome. I’ll expect full reimbursement this afternoon. After practice.”

“What are you talking about?”

He smiles and kisses me again, his lips lingering, his voice so deep, so low, I swear it vibrates within my soul. “You’ll see.”

He takes me to his house after practice. I text my mom saying I won’t be home for dinner, that I have to work on my English project with Jordan. When she asks where we’re working on it, I make up a lie and tell her we’re going to the school library, then to a mutual friend’s house, implying a bunch of us are working on this project together.

There’s no working on the project. The project is long forgotten. He’s keyed up after a particularly intense football practice played out in the rain. I hung out with Kyla while he took a shower, and when he came to get me after he was finished, I lost all train of thought at first sight of him. He glowered, his muscular body practically vibrating with frustration.

There were no friendly greetings, no acknowledgement of Kyla. He just looked at me and said, “Let’s go.”

Now we’re hanging out in the kitchen and he’s given me a Coke to drink. He has a beer. Odd choice for a Monday afternoon, but I don’t question him. He seems tense. Annoyed. And I don’t know why. He won’t talk to me.

“Are you okay?” I finally ask.

“Tough practice today.” He looks away, staring out the giant window that sits above the sink. “Really, it was the talk afterward that was tough.”

“Why?”

His gaze meets mine. “We were talking about our futures.”

“Do you not have a plan?” I figured he would. We’re all supposed to have one. My plan includes taking the SAT this upcoming Saturday. I should study for it.

I will later.

He shrugs. “I have a plan. My father’s plan.”

I frown. “Is it what you want to do though?”

“I’ve never really thought about it.” I catch a flicker of emotion in his eyes that tells me he’s…holding back.

I set my drink on the marble counter and approach him. “What does your dad want you to do?”

“Go to the same college he went to.”

“And where’s that?”

“University of Oregon.”

“He’s a Duck?”

Jordan cracks a smile, but his eyes are still dark. Full of anger. “Yeah.”

“And you don’t want to be a Duck.”

Another shrug, but no words are said. They don’t need to be said.

He doesn’t want to go there. He’s only going along with that plan to please his father.

An ache tugs at my heart and I set my hands on his chest. “What do you want to do, Jordan?”

“Stay here in California. Go to UC Berkeley or USC.” He blows out a harsh breath. “They both have excellent football teams. Excellent academics. But my father doesn’t believe they’re good enough in his eyes. He wants me to follow in his footsteps. He doesn’t care what I think or what I want.”

I can’t help but wonder if his father doesn’t think Jordan is good enough either.

“I don’t want to talk about this.” His voice is hard, as is the look on his face. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me in closer to him. “Let’s do something else.”

“Like what?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer me with words.

He kisses me instead.

It’s an aggressive kiss. Hungry. Possessive. No gentle brushing of lips, no tender explorations. He’s consuming me, his tongue thrusting into my mouth, his hands gripping my hips. I let him, because it feels good. The kiss is raw and full of untethered emotion and that’s what I want from him.

I want Jordan to lose control.

Out of nowhere he lifts me up and sets me on the kitchen counter, the marble cold beneath my butt. He pushes my legs open and steps in between them, devouring my mouth once more, his hands slipping under my hoodie, the hem of my T-shirt, to touch bare skin. His hands are big and warm, and they slide over my stomach, shift up to touch my bra, and then he’s breaking the kiss to pull off my hoodie.

He’s so frantic, it feels like he’s trying to pull off my head.

“Jordan.” I want him to slow down, but it’s like he can’t. “Hey.” I touch his cheek and he lifts his gaze to mine. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t want to talk,” he murmurs. “Please.”

“All ri—”

He cuts off my words with his lips and I lose myself in his kiss. He seems almost desperate, like he’s trying to chase after something he can never catch, and I try to calm him down. Soothe him. I run my hands over his shoulders, down his chest. I try to slow the tempo of the kiss.

But he won’t have it. He just keeps pushing, becoming bolder. I’m not scared—he doesn’t scare me, I know he would never hurt me. I
am
confused, though. And worried. This has nothing to do with me.

He’s upset about something else. Something he’s not really telling me.

“Really, Jordan? In my kitchen? You could at least take her to the theater room.”

An unfamiliar female voice makes me jerk away from him. He doesn’t move, though. Just stands there right next to me, his hands still on my hips, his entire demeanor changing in an instant.

A woman stands in the doorway of the kitchen. She’s elegantly dressed in a pale gray sweater and black pants. Her blonde hair is swept back into a ponytail and giant diamonds dot each ear.

“What are you doing here?” Jordan snaps.

The woman enters the kitchen, not ruffled by Jordan’s hostile tone in the least. “I came home early.”

He mutters a curse under his breath and lifts me off the kitchen counter, setting me on my feet. “We’ll leave then.”

“Don’t go on my account.” The brittle smile the woman offers me looks downright painful. Like she’d rather be anywhere else than dealing with me. “Are you Jordan’s friend?”

She has to be his mother. I see a familiarity in her features, a fleeting expression that reminds me of Jordan, but otherwise I wouldn’t say he got his looks from his mother. He must resemble his father.

She’s a beautiful woman, though. Her skin is smooth and not a wrinkle in sight. Her lips are full and shiny with nude gloss. Was she a teen mom or what?

“This is Amanda,” Jordan says gruffly.

Her smile fades. “I’ve heard about you.”

What?
“Um, hi.” I run a hand over my hair, wishing yet not wishing I had a mirror to check myself out. I look like absolute hell. On Monday mornings I lack motivation to put together a cute outfit, and with this morning’s rain, I really took the slacker’s route. She must think I’m an absolute bum, especially compared to how well put together she is.

“We’re in English together,” he tells his mother. “We’ve been working on a project.”

“Some project.” Amusement tinges her voice and I feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment. “You should take her to the library then. You two can work on your
project
there.”

There’s a library in this house? I had no idea. How many rooms do they have anyway?

Jordan’s hand is still on my waist but I slide out of his grip. I grab my hoodie from the floor where he dropped it only minutes ago. “It was nice meeting you,” I tell his mother.

“Likewise.” Her mouth twists into what I think is a smile, but looks more like a grimace.

He doesn’t say a word. Just tugs on my hand and leads me out of the kitchen. We walk right past her, but he doesn’t acknowledge her. She just watches us coolly, her expression betraying no emotion.

I’ve seen that look before. She reminds me of Jordan.

We end up in his room, not the library. He shuts and locks the door, leaning against it while watching me go to the mirror that sits over his dresser.

“I look terrible,” I moan as I stare at my reflection. My mascara is smudged under my eyes. I’m wearing an old T-shirt I never planned on anyone seeing and my legs look like black legging-covered sticks.

He walks over so he’s standing directly behind me, our gazes meeting in the mirror. “I think you look beautiful.”

My heart leaps at the compliment, but he must be blinded by our earlier kisses. “Your mom must think I’m a scrub.”

He chuckles, then leans in and nuzzles my neck. “I don’t care what she thinks about you.”

“Well, I do. I want to make a good first impression, like you did with my parents.” I elbow him in the ribs and he lifts his head, glaring at me, though there’s no real anger there. “You didn’t even tell me her name.”

“It’s Celeste.” He resumes kissing my neck, his lips lingering. “Celeste Tuttle the ice queen.”

His tone and his words make me sad. “You don’t get along with her.”

“She’s rarely home, and when she is, she’s either drinking or high on pills,” he explains with a weary sigh. “She needs them to cope.”

“Cope with what?”

“Life.” He lightly bites my neck, making me shiver. “I don’t want to talk about all this shit, Mandy. I’ve had a bad day.”

He wraps his arms around my waist and I rest my hands on top of his. “You never really want to talk to about anything.”

“Because there’s nothing really good in my life that I ever want to talk about,” he says, his voice soft, his gaze locked with mine in the mirror. “The only thing that’s good in my life right now is you.”

“Oh, Jordan.” He’s breaking my heart. I don’t know what else to say to him, don’t know how to make him feel better.

“It’s true,” he whispers against my cheek just before he kisses it. “How I feel about you scares the hell out of me.”

His confession should make me feel good. I know it should.

But it doesn’t.

T
he rest of the week buzzes by. I studied for the SAT when I could and didn’t even go out with Jordan Friday night because of it. Mom wouldn’t let me, claiming I needed to work on my future.

When I went and took the test, there were so many other people there, including Em and Livvy and Ryan and Cannon Whittaker and Brianne Brown and Dustin, too. No Jordan, though. He told me his score was good enough—no surprise—and he even applied early at a few colleges.

I totally bombed the SAT. My mom is going to be so disappointed.

I worked from three to seven at Yo Town, and Livvy agreed to pick me up. She’s helping me get ready for our double date tonight with her and Ryan. Somehow I convinced Jordan we should go out with them tonight and he reluctantly agreed. We stopped by my house and grabbed a few things before we went back to hers, where I took a quick shower and then Livvy did my hair and makeup.

I’m both excited and nervous about tonight. I like having Jordan all to myself, but I don’t like how he isolates himself all the time. His explanation makes perfect sense—everyone wants a piece of him and he doesn’t have enough pieces to give. I get it.

Sort of.

“It looks so pretty curled,” Livvy says as she lightly sprays the ends of my hair with hairspray. “You should curl it more often.”

“Takes too much time.” I’m sitting on a stool in the bathroom with my back to the mirror because Livvy doesn’t want me to see myself until she’s finished. I’ve never let a friend give me a makeover before and I can tell she loves every minute of it.