You Promised Me Forever (Forever Yours #1)(62)

“What are your plans?” I ask, my cheeks hot. I’m sure they could guess what our plans are.

“Not sure.” Cannon turns to look at Susanna. “What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know. Go to a pub?” The color in her cheeks is high, and I’m wondering if she’s thinking of doing something else.

Like some alone time with Cannon.

Jordan yawns, his movements exaggerated, and he covers his mouth. “I think we’re going to have to pass. I’m exhausted.”

“No problem,” Susanna chirps, her gaze meeting Cannon’s. “I’ll take you to my favorite pub.”

“Sounds fun.” Cannon smiles down at her. I can’t help but think these two are making a possible love connection.

“You okay with going back to the hotel?” Jordan asks me.

“Yes, sure. Of course. I totally understand if you’re tired,” I say sympathetically. “Do you want to leave now?”

“And miss dessert? No way.” Jordan leans in, whispering in my ear, “Though you’re the dessert I want to taste later.”

My cheeks go hot at his words.

I can’t freaking wait.





I couldn’t hustle Amanda out of that restaurant fast enough. Susanna wasn’t lying—the desserts were delicious. And after the game I played, I allowed myself to totally indulge. In the food. The wine. The cannoli.

And as soon as we get to the hotel, I plan on indulging in the woman beside me as we exit the restaurant.

The moment we walk outside though, we’re immediately bombarded by flashing lights. Cameras. Shouting, insistent voices.

Paparazzi.

I throw up a hand at the line of people with cameras, slipping my other arm around Amanda’s shoulders and pulling her into me. She presses her face against my chest, trying to shield herself, and I glare at the small group of three men and two women who continually snap photos of us.

“Tuttle! Tuttle! Tell us who’s your new lady love!” one of them yells, his voice seemingly in time with the flash of the cameras.

“None of your damn business,” I tell them, guiding Amanda beside me, headed toward the black Mercedes SUV I requested via Uber a few minutes ago. The driver must’ve seen what was going on, because he hops out of the car and rounds the front of it, opening the passenger door for us.

“Get in,” I tell Amanda and she does as I say, sliding inside quickly, averting her face, her hair falling against her cheek.

The cameras are still flashing as Cannon and Susanna approach me, concern written across both of their faces. “What the hell is going on?” Cannon asks, wincing from the cameras’ flashes.

The photographers start yelling his name—and Susanna’s.

It appears they’re even more interested in them.

“Better go find her father’s car and get her out of here,” I tell Cannon grimly. “Looks like the paparazzi found us.”

“We’re out,” Cannon says, grabbing hold of Susanna’s hand and pulling her toward him. “Text me later. Let me know you two made it back to the hotel.”

“You do the same,” I tell him before I get into the car and slam the door, watching through the window as Cannon and Susanna hurry away, hand in hand.

The flirtation was strong between those two tonight. I can tell Cannon’s totally into her—something I’m not used to seeing. He’s a pretty quiet, keep-to-himself guy. But I have a strong feeling they aren’t going to end up at her favorite pub.

More like they’re going to end up in Cannon’s hotel room bed. That’s my plan for ending our night too.

Or at least, it was.

“You okay?” I ask, turning to face Amanda.

She nods, her eyes wide when they meet mine. “That was…intense.”

“Yeah, I didn’t expect them to find us.” Or to care. I rub my jaw, trying to ease the tightness there. “Don’t know how they did.”

“They must’ve followed us,” she says, her voice soft.

“They must’ve.” I glance at the driver, our gazes meeting in the rearview mirror. “Hey, thanks for helping us get away from the photographers.”

“No problem, mate,” the driver tells me, his eyes even wider than Amanda’s. “Aren’t you one of those American footballers?”

“No comment,” I tell the driver grimly, refocusing my attention on Amanda. I pull her close, so she’s pressed snug against me, and she rests her head on my shoulder. I place my hand on her knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

The driver remains silent, zipping through the still busy streets like a mad man, and I’m grateful for his speed. I’m anxious to get back to the hotel and away from the chaos.

“You’re awfully quiet,” I tell Amanda after a few silent minutes, hoping she’s not too shaken up over our earlier encounter the media. “Don’t let what happened with those photographers bother you.”

“Okay.” She says the word slowly. It’s clear she’s doubting my reassurance. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Go for it.”

She glances up so our gazes meet. “Does that happen often?”

“Sometimes.” With Selena Gomez it did. Hell, I’d meet a beautiful, famous woman anywhere and the photogs went nuts. The media would label us as a couple when all we did was chat for two seconds at an event.