More Than Friends (Friends, #2)(15)

I glance over the list, smiling when I see Moby Dick and Captain Ahab.

“Do you seriously want us to write diary entries in the point of view of a whale?” someone asks incredulously.

Mrs. Meyer laughs. “I thought it might be interesting.”

My gaze snags on one particular couple and I bite my lower lip, contemplating the idea.

Romeo and Juliet.

Star-crossed lovers at their finest. A tale of passion and sadness and lust and loyalty and, overall, young, tragic love. That could be...exciting. But would it be smart to work on a romantic project with Tuttle? Or would that only end up driving me crazy?

The classroom door suddenly opens, and I know it’s him. I can literally feel his eyes on me, seeking me out.

“Ah, Mr. Tuttle. So glad you decided to join us today,” Mrs. Meyer says, not a hint of sarcasm in her voice. “Please sit down.”

I want to look back at him. I want to ask him where he’s been. But I can’t. I don’t have the right. Plus, I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. Instead I stare straight ahead, trying my best to calm my nerves because I know what’s coming next.

“All right everyone, get together with your partner and discuss who you want as your couple. You’ll need to run your choice by me before you can start, so make sure you let me know who you’re going to use. No one can have the same couple, so the results will be varied.” She rubs her hands together, looking pleased. “This is going to be so much fun! I can’t wait!”

Within minutes everyone’s rearranged themselves and we’re all sitting with our group partners, including Tuttle and me. He settles into the empty desk next to mine, his gaze sweeping over me, taking in every detail, and I practically squirm in my seat, the longer he studies me.

“Cute outfit,” he finally drawls, his eyes gleaming with appreciation.

“Are you just saying that?” I don’t look cute. I look sloppy and comfortable. The longer the day goes, the more comfortable I look too. I’m kind of a wreck, but I don’t care. “I know I look like I just rolled out of bed.”

“Well, you just kicked my imagination into overdrive.”

“Stop.” I shove at his rock hard shoulder, but it’s like trying to move a brick wall.

“You really wear all that to bed?”

It’s the way he says the word bed that reminds me of the night at Ryan’s house. Just last weekend we spent the night together. Jordan and I in a giant yet cozy bed, our bodies wrapped all around each other, my head nestled against his broad shoulder. We talked a little. Kissed a little. Touched a little. And then we eventually fell asleep. We really didn’t do much at all, but somehow it had become one of the most intimate moments of my life.

And then it was ruined by that photo and my insecurities—insecurities that I’m thinking are actually valid.

“Minus the hoodie, but yeah.” My voice is husky and I clear my throat. Wishing I could clear out this awkward moment between us.

“Don’t you get hot?” His fingers trail over my thigh, smoothing over the thin flannel fabric of my sleep pants, and I jerk my leg away from his hand. It was as if he touched my bare skin. “I sleep in boxers. Gets too hot, wearing clothes.”

“Jordan.” My voice is firm, my gaze direct. I will not think of him wearing a pair of black boxer briefs—my imagination goes to that image because I know for a fact he wears black boxer briefs—and nothing else. I can’t. “Why are we talking about what we wear to bed?”

“You’re the one who started it, wearing your pajamas to school.” He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He’s not one to participate in school activities. “Remember a few nights ago when we slept togeth—”

I slap my hand over his mouth to shut him up and I swear I can feel him smile behind the wall of my fingers. Worse, his teeth graze my skin—lightly yet with just enough force that I feel it pulsate all the way through me. I immediately drop my hand from his face as if I were burned.

“You need to stop,” I tell him quietly. I’m tempted to beg him to stop but that might be overkill. “And we need to pick out our couple for the English project.”

He frowns. “What are you talking about?”

I explain the project details to him and hand over the list. He scans it thoughtfully, and I remain quiet. Impassive. I don’t want him to think I’m excited about any one choice. I want him to make with his own decision.

“You want to work on one of these in particular?” he asks, lifting his gaze to mine.

My breath catches at the gleam in his pretty blue eyes. He has such long, thick lashes. It’s kind of ridiculous. “Not sure yet.” I hesitate. “Do you?”

“Mmm.” He glances over the list again. “Is she serious with the Moby Dick thing?”

I nod, barely able to keep a straight face. “You can take on Ahab and I’ll take on Moby Dick.”

“No.” His voice is firm, but his eyes are sparkling with amusement when they meet mine. “I’m thinking something a little more complex than that.”

“How much more complex do you need to get? There’s a whale and a man in a power struggle. I would say that’s a little odd.”

“True.” He taps a pencil against his slightly pursed lips, his gaze still trained on the paper. This gives me time to look at him, and look I do. My eyes are like greedy little addicts as they trail over him, lingering on his dark hair, that firm, sexy line of his jaw I might’ve kissed once or twice in the not so distant past. His thick brows are slightly furrowed and he’s squinting a little bit as he keeps skimming that list. Yet this all works for him.