More Than Friends (Friends, #2)(31)

“You look freaked out.”

Leaning in closer, I whisper, “Did you hear Mrs. Meyer? She said we should have at least two entries done each. We only have one.”

He’s so close I might be able to count every single eyelash that lines his eyes. There is the faintest bit of stubble on his cheeks and I want to touch it.

“Maybe I’ve already finished my two entries,” he murmurs, his eyes sparkling.

I suck in a breath. “You have not.”

“I have.” He flicks his chin in my direction. “Let me read your first entry.”

Nerves assail me and I swallow hard. I don’t want him to read it right in front of me. But how else can this go down?

“Um…” My voice trails off.

“Hand it over.” Ugh. He can be so bossy sometimes.

I grab my backpack and unzip it, randomly digging around even though I know exactly where the paper is. Jordan leans back in his desk with a bored expression on his face, like he knows I’m trying to fake him out, and I give up. I reach for the thin folder, pull the sheet of paper out of it, and hand it over, just like he asked.

Then I lay my head down on the desk and wait quietly for the humiliation to be over.





Amanda hands me the fluttery piece of paper and I realize her hands are shaking. She’s nervous, those big brown eyes staring at me, her teeth sinking into her plump bottom lip. I want to lean in and suck on that lip so damn bad it’s killing me.

Killing. Me.

She lays her head on top of the desk and buries her face against her arm while I start to read her Juliet diary entry.



It is so very difficult, to want what you cannot have. To love who you fear you’ve already lost. They say we’re too young to know what real love is. They say we’re foolish and reckless and stupid, that we can’t make our own choices. We don’t make a proper match, they remind us. We’re too different.

But when he looks at me, I don’t feel foolish or reckless or stupid. I feel beautiful. Special. Loved.

So loved.

We are not so different after all. When we are together, we are one and the same. We are like a puzzle, each of us made up of so many varied pieces. And those pieces only make sense when we come together.

They say we can’t make our own choices, but they’re wrong.

I choose him.



I stare at the paper for so long the words start to blur together. It doesn’t feel like she’s talking about Juliet and her feelings for Romeo. It feels like Mandy is talking about her feelings for me. She’s my missing puzzle pieces. She’s the only one I need.

“You hate it.”

Her flat voice makes me jerk my head up to find she’s watching me, her eyes full of worry. She’d be a terrible poker player. She wears her every emotion on her face, with her body language, even the tone of her voice.

“I definitely don’t hate it.” I glance over the words again, sticking on one sentence.

I choose him.

Does she choose me? Most of the time she acts like she’s running away from me.

“Do you think the puzzle analogy is bad? I don’t know if they had puzzles during Shakespeare’s time, so maybe it’s inaccurate. Maybe I should ask Mrs. Meyer.” Amanda raises her hand into the air.

I immediately pull it down, my fingers circling around her wrist. I can feel her pulse and it seems a little fast. Did I do that to her? I smooth my thumb along the inside of her wrist to calm her down. “Don’t ask her. Not right now.”

She frowns. “Why not?”

“I don’t want her to interrupt us.” I gently squeeze her wrist before letting her go.

“Oh.” She visibly swallows. “By the way, I, um, didn’t mean anything by those love references. Just to let you know.”

“I understand.” I pause. “You were just—getting into character.”

“Right.” She nods. Flips her hair behind her shoulder, reaches up to twist the tiny pearl earring in her ear. She fidgets when she’s nervous. I’ve noticed that about her.

I’ve noticed lots of things about her.

I let my gaze roam over her face, drinking in every tiny detail. Her pretty dark brown eyes and smooth cheeks and perfect, sexy lips. I’m kissing her tonight. I don’t care what happens or how she acts toward me, it’s been too long and nothing is going to stop me.

I’m kissing her. And I’m going to kiss her for a long time. Until we’re both out of breath and our mouths are sore and she’s probably late for her curfew but she doesn’t care. I won’t care either.

Yeah. That is definitely going to happen.

“Where’s your next diary entry?” she asks, her sweet voice knocking me out of my thoughts.

“You wanna read it?”

She rolls her eyes, a big smile on her face. “Yes, I do.”

I make a production out of pulling it out of my backpack, then glance over it real quick, frowning when I realize just how…needy this thing sounds. I wrote it last night, thinking about that hug in the parking lot. I sort of poured all of my own feelings into Romeo’s diary entry and now I’m having second thoughts about her reading it.

“You can’t back out now.” She tries to snatch the paper out of my hands, but I lift it up, away from her grasping fingers. “Hey! That’s not fair. I let you read mine.”