More Than Friends (Friends, #2)(34)

I hand out water as the boys pass by and a few of them take the bottles, squirting the water all over their heads after they take the helmets off. They’re in good spirits and I congratulate them all, laughing when they say something funny. They’ve been nice to me, every one of them, and even Ryan comes up to me and tells me, “Good job,” before he slaps me on the back and jogs off.

When I see Jordan approach, I busy myself with cleaning up the portable water station, stashing the empty water bottles in their carriers, doing what Kyla tells me to. I feel him drawing closer, but I won’t look up. Not yet. My entire body prickles with awareness and I go completely still.

“So, what did you think?”

Glancing up, I meet his gaze. He’s a sweaty, dirty mess. He’s clutching his helmet in one hand and his hair is standing up on end. The black lines under his eyes are smudged and there’s a giant grass stain streaked across his chest from when he got tackled earlier. He’d fallen hard and I’d leapt to my feet when it first happened, my heart racing so fast I thought it would gallop right out of my chest.

“You played great,” I tell him, offering him a tiny smile. “Congratulations on the win.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me closer, his gaze unwavering. “I played for you.” His voice is achingly sincere, and I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat.

“Jordan…”

He cuts off my protest with a kiss. It’s soft and sweet and so fast, I almost think it didn’t happen, but the satisfied gleam in his eyes tells me it did. “You need to wear my number next time.”

“Huh?” I’m in a daze over his lips connecting with mine. We’ve kissed plenty of times in the past, but it’s been a while. And his lips have always had a way of rendering me senseless.

He points to the number eight on his chest. “I can give you an old jersey if you want.”

“I’m supposed to wear this.” I point at the navy blue polo that Kyla gave me to wear. She has on a matching one.

“I want to see my number on you.” The possessive gleam in his eyes sort of turns me on.

“But—“ Without warning he tugs me in close, his mouth at my ear, his breath so hot I shiver.

“Stop pretending this isn’t happening, Amanda. I’m tired of fighting it.” He kisses my ear, the sensitive spot just behind it, and I sag against him.

He’s right. I’m tired of fighting it.

I’m ready to give in.





The bus ride to the game had been loud and chaotic. The cheerleaders were obnoxious, squealing and yelling and shooting lusty glances in the players’ directions. Coach Halsey kept trying to give the boys “let’s get pumped up” speeches, and they worked. They sounded like roaring beasts ready to unleash and conquer by the time we pulled into the opposing school’s parking lot. I even had the fleeting thought that I needed to bring my ear buds next week so I could avoid the noise and listen to music.

The ride home is completely different. It’s quiet and dark in the bus. Most everyone is worn out and there’s not much talking. I do see a lot of faces illuminated by the glow of their phones.

I sit with Jordan, his legs spread wide in that way boys like to sit, taking up all the space, but with him, I don’t mind. His knee is pressed against mine and he has his arm slung over my shoulders casually, his big hand lightly gripping my upper arm. I feel…owned. He’s declaring to everyone on this bus that he wants to be with me, and I bask in his attention.

“Yo, Tuttle.” It’s Ryan.

Jordan leans his head against the wall of the bus for a moment, closing his eyes. “What?” He sounds irritated.

“You having a party at your house?”

Oh. Is he? I can’t remember the last time he had one. It’s been a few weeks. I turn to watch him, noting how thick his eyelashes are when his eyes are closed. He is too pretty for words. I can’t help the little sigh that escapes me.

He cracks his eyes open. “You don’t want me to have them over, do you.” It’s a statement, not a question.

I want him all to myself, but I can’t say that out loud. Can I? “Only if you want to.”

“No party tonight,” he calls out, and they answer him with groans and protests. But he ignores them. He just focuses on me, pulling me in closer so I’m snug against him. His lips press against my forehead and I close my eyes, sitting with him, soaking him up. His scent, his warmth, his strength.

“Are you sure?” I finally ask, my voice soft and only for him.

“I want to be alone with you.”

My heart drops, then picks up speed again. We’ve been alone plenty of times, but usually with other people in the house. Namely Livvy, who I could always text and say, get me out of here, and she would rescue me every single time.

I pull away from him so I can look into his eyes. “Are your parents home?”

He makes a face. “When are they ever home?”

Never. I know they’re busy and they work a lot, but they’re never around for their son. Ever. “I don’t know…”

“I’ll have you home by your curfew,” he murmurs. “Promise. Just say yes.”

“Yes,” I tell him, and his eyes light up, though he doesn’t smile.

He kisses me gently on the lips instead. So gentle, my entire body tingles in anticipation. I know what that mouth can do. I know what his hands can do as well. Not that we’ve taken it too terribly far, but we’ve done a few things. I’ve let him touch me in certain places. But I’d always push him off if we got too carried away, scared he’d use me and leave me.