You Promised Me Forever (Forever Yours #1)(18)

His quick change of subject doesn’t faze me. “It was busy today.” I wave a hand at myself. “I had to come straight to the game. That’s why I’m still in my Atlas polo.”

“It looks good on you.” His eyes are locked on my boobs, and I almost want to thrust my chest out.

I restrain myself. Barely.

In high school, I was flat chested. They grew a little bit over the years, but I can never say I have big breasts. Because I don’t. I have nice little 34B-sized boobs that don’t quite fill up the cup size; they look extra good in a padded, lifted bra, and that’s about it. My legs are better. They’re long and lean and I’m tall, which I used to hate, but I can now deal with it. Most guys I’ve gone out with have been the same height or a little taller. There had been that one blind date with the guy who was five-foot-four and wore lifts in his cowboy boots.

I’m not into cowboys. Or short men. This probably makes me prejudiced. Or sexist. I’m not sure which.

Jordan is taller than me. He’s six-foot-three, I think.

Oh please, I know he’s six-foot-three. I read his stats online. He weights 225 pounds. He could crush me.

I find that unnaturally arousing.

“Thanks,” I finally say when I realize he’s still staring at my chest. He lifts his head, our gazes clashing, and all we can do is look at each other, all those unspoken questions floating between us. My skin is tingling, my blood flowing hot through my veins, making me vitally aware of my existence. It feels like I stuck my finger into an electrical socket and shocked myself.

“You’re welcome.” His voice is a deep rumble, and he clears his throat, looks to the side, rubs his jaw again, suddenly appearing anxious. Twitchy. “I need to go. Talk to the sponsors.”

No! Don’t go! Not yet!

My brain is an overdramatic lover of exclamation points.

“Sponsors for what?” I ask casually, trying to stall him. Keep him with me, if only for a few more minutes.

“Oh, you know.” He shrugs. “Marketing reps from a huge sportswear chain. They like to stop by and schmooze us. Take us for drinks or dinner, when they should just email our agents and put something together for us to consider. They all say they can offer the personal touch.” I can tell he wants to roll his eyes.

“They’re talking to just you?”

“And Cannon. Marketing people love our high school connection.” His smile is rueful.

All those old insecurities come rolling back, forcing me to remember how different we are. His world is nothing like mine. He’s making million-dollar-plus endorsements and I’m working at Atlas Wellness Center. He’s worth millions on his own and comes from a wealthy family, and I almost live paycheck to paycheck.

“It is pretty neat, how you two are playing together again.” I want to punch myself in the face the moment the words leave my lips. Neat? How lame can I get?

“We don’t even play together that much, at least not on the field. He’s defense, I’m offense.” His gaze lingers on mine. “But you already know that.”

He’s always respected my football knowledge. Sometimes I think I even impressed him. Taking a deep breath, I part my lips, ready to say something, but we’re interrupted.

“Hey.” We both turn to see Cannon headed toward us, his expression urgent.

“What’s up?” Jordan asks coolly.

“We need to go. They want to take us to dinner.” He jerks his thumb toward the two men in suits who stand nearby, covertly watching us.

“You get to see your aunt and uncle?” Jordan asks.

“Yeah.” Cannon smiles. “They’re so excited. Came all the way from Ohio to watch the game. I’m going to take them to Fisherman’s Wharf tomorrow.”

“Good idea.” Jordan claps him on the shoulder, his expression grave, his voice going deliciously low. “Give us one more minute, okay?”

“Take your time.” Cannon smiles in my direction. “Good to see you again, Amanda. Let’s get together soon, okay? Go out to dinner or something?”

I would love, love, love to go out to dinner with Cannon. I’ve always had a soft spot for him. And maybe I could ask him questions about Jordan. Ones I would never actually say to Jordan’s face, because I’m a complete chicken. “Sounds good.”

He walks away and Jordan remains silent. As do I. I don’t know what to say next. I feel like he’s going to bust out something momentous on me, but what? A declaration of love? That he’s never stopped caring about me, thinking about me, wanting me? Please.

That’s wishful thinking on my part.

“I’m really glad you came to the game,” Jordan finally says, his voice so low I have to step closer to hear him. “I wish I had played better.”

“You did fantastic,” I say softly, tempted to reach out and touch him, brush his hair away from his forehead, touch his arm, his chest. But I don’t. I need to keep my impulses under control.

He’s not mine anymore to touch.

“It’s good to see you. In person.” He offers up one of those barely there smiles again. Here and gone in a flash, no teeth revealed. “I’m glad we were able to reconnect.”

Does he still want to stay connected? Yes? Maybe?

Probably not.

“I’m glad we reconnected too.” My cheeks are flushed. I can feel the heat in my face and I’m now smiling so hard, it hurts. “I’ve—missed you.”