You Promised Me Forever (Forever Yours #1)(5)
The food smells delicious and I start shoveling it in, but when the TV goes black for the briefest moment and then a photo of Jordan on his NFL draft day magically appears, the announcer rattling off facts and stats, my stomach churns.
I’m instantly afraid all the food will go to waste. I set the plate on my coffee table.
Curling up on the couch with the wineglass clutched in my hand, I watch with rapt attention. This is ridiculous, I tell myself as they show a few photos from his younger years. A class picture from fourth grade—yes, holy shit, I’m in it—a team photo from his youth league days, when they won the regional championships in the eighth grade.
The announcer gives the brief rundown on Jordan’s life, talking about his parents, his successful father, his much older sister, how the family is extremely wealthy. They don’t talk to any of his family, though, not even his pitiful mother or his wretched father.
Despite my feelings about them, this makes me sad. He never had solid parental support. My parents may drive me crazy, but at least I know they love me.
I’m not so sure Jordan knows his parents love him.
When the photo flashes on the TV of Jordan after our high school team won the championship game our senior year, I almost spill my wine. He’s holding up his helmet in the air in victory, his other arm wrapped around…
My shoulders.
His gaze…
Staring adoringly in mine.
Me…
Smiling up at him like he’s the love of my life.
The photo is there and gone in the blink of an eye. I rewind the DVR back a few seconds, then hit pause so I can study it. I own this photo. It’s buried deep in a box somewhere, probably still at my parents’ house. There’s no reason to keep the photo with me.
God, we look so in love with each other, it’s heartbreaking.
“I’m seriously trying to drive myself crazy,” I mutter before I hit the pause button and the show resumes.
The commercials go on forever and I eat some of my dinner, drink a lot more of the wine. When the show finally comes back on, I’m hypnotized as the stupid flirtatious female reporter—Liz Rockwell, at your service—is walking side by side with Jordan as he takes her on a tour of his freaking mansion.
He talks. I stare. She asks lame questions, he answers them, always with the faintest hint of irritation in his eyes like he’d rather be anywhere else. I’d know that look anywhere. He hasn’t changed much.
Well. I take that back. He’s changed a LOT. He’s filled out even more, and while he’s not bulky, he has muscle. A broader chest. A more chiseled jaw. That same reluctant smile—he’s never been a smiler, though he would just for me—and those beautiful blue eyes.
They’re standing by his kitchen counter, Liz thumbing through a pile of photos, the ones they flashed on the screen earlier. She comes to a stop at the one of me and him, tapping her index finger on top of my face. “Who’s that?”
The camera flashes to Jordan. His eyes are cold. “An old friend.”
“Girlfriend?” Liz gives him a pointed look.
He shrugs. The rat bastard. “I suppose.”
Her smile is cunning. I bet she thinks she’s going to get information out of him. “Bad breakup?”
He hesitates for a moment, like he has to think about it, and I realize I’m literally sitting on the edge of the couch, waiting breathlessly for his answer.
“Typical breakup,” he finally says with a quick nod. “We were young.”
Liz is staring at the photo once more, her expression thoughtful. “You two look very much in love.”
Massive understatement.
“It was nothing,” he says quickly.
“Nothing?” I leap to my feet, pointing my index finger at the screen. “Freaking liar!”
Liz sets the photos aside and focuses all of her attention on Jordan. “Is she the one who got away?”
“I guess.”
Ugh. I fall back onto the couch. He’s being his typical evasive self. I can tell you right now, I don’t miss that shit for the world.
They talk about other stuff, but I can’t hear anything. I’m too caught up on his I guess statement. I don’t warrant much, do I? I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m the one who walked away first. I deserve his indifferent treatment.
After the next commercial break, Jordan gives Liz a tour of his home, and it is beautiful. Gorgeous. Like out of a dream. They talk about his future, about football, she tries to talk to him about his past, his family, but he hedges, changes the subject. It’s all coming at me at a rapid-fire pace, throwing me off balance. Sending me into Tuttle overload.
I haven’t experienced anything like this in years.
“So.” Liz smiles. They’re now sitting opposite of each other, the hot lights shining on them, Liz appearing as cool as a cucumber while I swear Jordan looks like he’s sweating. “Do you ever think about the one who got away?”
My heart drops into my toes as I wait for it.
He stares straight at the camera, his expression sincere when he says, “I think about her all the time.”
Ugh. My heart just skipped like, five beats.
“You said it was nothing, though,” she counters, looking pleased with herself, like she just caught Jordan in a lie. Which she totally did. “I’m guessing the relationship was serious.”