More Than Friends (Friends, #2)(32)

“After I already let you read mine,” I remind her.

“That you shoved into my locker like some sort of love note.” She blushes. I love that I can make her do that. If she’d give me half a chance, I can do a lot of things to her that would make her blush. And I’d get to see if that same pretty shade of pink blooms all over her body.

“Maybe it was a love note,” I say as I set the paper on my desk face down. Her blush deepens. “To Juliet from Romeo.”

“Whatever.” She shoves me and I grab her hand, linking our fingers together. I rub my thumb against her fingers, her soft, soft skin. Her nails are painted a pale pink and cut short. She wears a ring on the index finger of her right hand and I touch it. Trace it. It’s a braided silver ring, thin and delicate, old and worn.

“Where’d you get this?” If she says that dick ex-boyfriend gave it to her, I will rip it off her finger and crush it.

“It was my grandma’s.” She meets my gaze and smiles, but it’s sad. “We were really close. She died when I was thirteen.”

“I’m sorry.” I have no idea what that’s like, losing someone I love. I honestly feel like I’ve never really loved…

Anyone.

“She gave this to me right before she died of cancer. Said her dad gave it to her when she was little. My mom tried to take it and put it away for safe keeping after Grandma passed, but I told her no. Grandma wanted me to have it.” She studies the ring and I touch it again, tracing it all the way around her finger.

“A family heirloom,” I tell her.

Amanda nods but doesn’t say anything. If she cries, I’m gonna lose it.

“How’d you get this scar?” I touch a jagged one across the top of her hand, between her thumb and index finger.

“My cat Stubbs. He was super feisty when he was a kitten.” The sadness is gone, replaced with a faint smile.

“Did it hurt?”

“Not really.”

I hate the thought of her in pain. Which means—holy shit—I’ve got it bad for this girl.

Really bad.

“How’s it coming, kids?”

Amanda jumps in her seat and rips her hand from mine, looking up at Mrs. Meyer. She watches us with full on amusement in her face, like she knows exactly what we’ve been up to. “We’re sharing our entries with each other,” Amanda says. “Well, I did. Jordan hasn’t yet.”

Mrs. Meyer looks at me. “And why is that, Mr. Tuttle?”

She is the only teacher who adds the mister to the front of my last name. Everyone else just calls me Tuttle. No one ever calls me Jordan.

Except for Amanda. Oh, and Lauren Mancini when she thinks she can get something out of me.

“I’m still working on mine. Amanda’s is so good, I want to make sure my next one is too,” I say smoothly.

Amanda glares. Mrs. Meyer smiles. “Well, that sounds like a compliment. Don’t you agree, Amanda?”

She mumbles, “I guess,” and then Mrs. Meyer is gone, moving on to the next group project.

“She saw us holding hands,” Amanda says.

“So?”

“I’m surprised we didn’t get in trouble.”

“Mrs. Meyer doesn’t care. Besides, we can tell her we’re getting into our parts.” I reach for her hand again, but she snatches it away. “You’re going to deprive me?”

“Stop.” She sends me a look. “You aren’t going to let me read it?”

“I’ll let you read when I have something to read from you,” I remind her. “Sounds like a fair deal, right?”

“I guess.”

“Hey.” I slip my fingers beneath her chin and tilt her face up. I could kiss her right now. We are in perfect position. But I’m not going to let it happen in the middle of Honors English. “You’ll sit with me on the bus?”

She frowns. “Tonight? To the game?”

I nod, releasing my hold on her chin. “I want to sit with you.”

“What about your friends?”

None of those guys are my friends. Not really. Ryan is the closest thing to it, and I cultivate that friendship out of needing his trust on the field. “They can live without me.”

“Jordan.” She rests her hand on my forearm. “You’re their quarterback. Their leader. You can’t ditch them. You need to spend time with them and get them pumped up, so you’ll get pumped up.”

Amanda has a valid point. “I’ll sit with you on the ride back home then.”

She nods. “Okay.”

No other girl would’ve suggested what she just did. They all want a piece of me. And don’t want to share with anyone else. I’m willing to give my all to this girl, yet she wants to make sure I’m taking care of everyone else in my life.

She’s unreal.

And soon she’s going to be all mine.





I’ve been on the football field plenty of times in my life, but always as a band member. Always as one of the girls in her scratchy polyester blend uniform, trying her best to run as fast as possible while playing the clarinet. Working hard to keep up with the coordinated moves and praying my too large hat doesn’t fall off my head and trip the person running behind me.