You Promised Me Forever (Forever Yours #1)(29)

Going on this date sans underwear is by far the most scandalous thing I’ve ever done, which proves I haven’t done very many scandalous things. It’s hard to be daring when you’re going to school, working endless nowhere jobs just to get a paycheck so ultimately you can find that job you love one day. That’s been me the last few years, before I graduated college and finally got my dream job. My mom told me I was lucky to find it, but my dad pulled me aside that Thanksgiving after I started working at Atlas and I went home for the holiday. He told me how proud he was, what a hard worker I’ve proven to be.

Just hearing those words made my eyes well up with tears. Mom has been a solid support, but Dad has always believed in me, even when I failed and made mistakes and seemed hopeless.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Jordan says, interrupting my nostalgic, vaguely melancholy thoughts.

No way am I telling him what’s going on in my brain. I need to focus on the sexy times that might happen tonight.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask.

“Have you ever been to Santana Row?”

“Once. Went to dinner at one of the restaurants there.” With a date. Not that I want to mention that particular part.

“I made a reservation at a steakhouse there,” he says, pausing for a moment before he adds, “I live there too.”

“But I thought you had a house in the wine country.” Oh God, I sound stupid. Like a fangirl whose information was wrong. Like a stalker who’s been scoping him out on the Interwebz.

“I do, but I also have a townhouse here. It’s not far from the stadium, and it’s pretty private. Lots of guys from the team live there,” he explains.

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“Yeah.” He pauses. “Maybe I’ll take you there after dinner.”

If I immediately say yes, does that make me look too eager?

Probably.

I don’t say yes. I don’t say no either. Instead, I totally change the subject. “Did you have practice today?”

“We did, though it wasn’t as intense the day after a game. We fly out this weekend for an away game.”

“Who are you playing?”

“Tampa Bay.”

“Really?” I think of the joke my dad used to tell us when we were kids. He still tells it now, though we all groan and beg him to stop when he asks the question.

Where are your Buccaneers?

On your Buccan-head!

Totally cringe worthy.

“Uh huh. We’re going to Florida,” Jordan comes to a stop at a red light and glances over at me. “Doing anything this weekend?”

“Laundry,” I tell him jokingly. “Need to clean my apartment too.”

He chuckles. “What does that take? Ten minutes?”

“Are you mocking my fun-sized apartment?”

“Definitely.” He shakes his head. “It’s so small, Mandy.”

“It works for me.” I don’t like how defensive his words make me feel, or how what he said is almost like an accusation. I’ve never had the money or the privilege that comes with being Jordan Tuttle. I had a taste of it when I was his girlfriend, but I always felt like I didn’t belong in his world. That I was just pretending.

He hated that. He hated it so much, he’d get mad at me when I said stuff like that. He knew it was a huge insecurity, my Achilles’ heel, yet he never understood why I felt like that. He worried he was the one making me feel that way, but it was never him.

That was my personal complex.

I’m starting to feel it now, as we head toward the upscale Santana Row, with its expensive, trendy restaurants and the even more expensive, mostly designer stores. Growing up, we didn’t have a lot of money. Our house was small—and my parents still live there. They will die there, I’m sure of it. We’re a simple family. We didn’t have a lot of extras or fancy vacations. We went to the beach. We went to the mountains. And only because we were so centrally located that the drive to the beach or the mountains didn’t take long. I knew from a young age that I had to find a career that would make me actual money, because my parents weren’t going to support me forever.

And I did find a career that I not only love, but I make good money doing it too. I’d live like a freaking queen if I lived anywhere else but the Bay Area. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished these last few years. Yet I still have that tiny bit of uncertainty nestled deep within me. That insecurity rears its ugly head whenever I feel less than. When I think I don’t measure up.

Being with Jordan the first time around made that insecurity rise more often than I like to admit. I really don’t want to deal with it again. I’m older now. More confident. More capable of dealing with negative feelings and turning them around.

At least, I hope I’m more capable.

“I wasn’t making fun of your place,” he tells me once the light turns green and he starts driving again. “It just shocked me, how small it was.”

“No surprise. I’d bet your bedroom is bigger than my entire apartment.” I’m joking, yet I’m also fairly certain that I speak the truth.

“Yeah. For sure,” he says, hesitating for a moment. I realize we’re both being cautious around each other. “Don’t you want something bigger?”