More Than Friends (Friends, #2)(38)

Oh my God, my thoughts are all over the place.

“What time do you have to be home?” he asks, his extra low voice knocking me out of my thoughts.

“Midnight.”

He glances at the clock on the bedside table. “Little less than two hours then.”

“And it takes at least fifteen, twenty minutes to get to my house from yours,” I remind him.

“So we have about ninety minutes.”

I nod. Wondering what he’s going to suggest we do.

“You should take off your sweater.” My shocked gaze meets his. “Aren’t you hot?”

It is a little warm in here. I shrug out of my oversized cardigan and leave it on top of his dresser. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?”

I cringe the moment the words leave my mouth. I didn’t mean to sound like every other girl he’s been with. Or maybe he’s the one who suggests they watch a movie. I don’t know how this works. I feel so…stupid.

Inept.

“I’d rather just get into bed with you and hang out.” I must look totally freaked out, so he feels the need to clarify. “I just want to relax, Amanda. I’m beat after tonight’s game. Figured we could talk or whatever.”

It’s the or whatever that has me curious. But at least he didn’t suggest the theater room. “That’s fine,” I say with a shrug, like I’m cool. Like I’ve done this a million times.

“Mandy.” His voice is soft, barely above a whisper. “We’ve done this before. A few times. Remember?”

He’s right. We really have done this sort of thing before. It’s just that tonight, it feels like there are all of these expectations riding on me. Though I’m just putting unnecessary pressure on myself, which is dumb.

I watch as he goes to his bed and pulls the comforter and sheets back, then plumps up the pillows. We may have cuddled together on a bed before, but never under the covers. That somehow feels more intimate.

“Come here.” He pats the empty spot, then looks up at me.

I go to him, take his offered hand, and let him pull me down so I’m sitting in his lap. “You look scared,” he whispers, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my skin.

“This feels different with you tonight.” I rest my head in that spot between his neck and shoulder. I breathe in his scent and close my eyes, savoring the quiet, the stillness, his steady breathing the only sound.

“I don’t want you scared of me.”

“I was more scared you’d suggest we go watch a movie in that fancy theater of yours,” I admit, feeling bolder now that I’m not looking directly in his eyes.

He sighs. “The number of blowjobs I’ve received in that theater room is vastly exaggerated.”

I sit straight up, startled he’d even mention it. “But it is true. That you get—serviced in the theater room?”

Jordan looks away, and has the decency to appear faintly embarrassed. “I can’t lie and say I’ve been a saint, Mandy. I’ve done stuff with a few girls. But not as many as the rumors say I have. My actual number is surprisingly low.”

He wouldn’t lie to me, would he? Or is he trying to save my delicate feelings? “I really don’t want to talk actual numbers.”

“We don’t have to. None of those other girls matter anyway.” He gathers me in his arms and stands, making me squeal and cling to him. Gently he sets me down on the bed, then climbs in beside me, pulling the sheet and comforter up so we’re facing each other, covered to our chins.

I start to giggle. I can’t help it. He looks so cute with the covers pulled up, his hair still damp, his eyes sleepy and that tiny smile curving his lips.

“What’s so funny?”

“You.” I slap my hand over my mouth to contain the giggles. I’m tired too. “You look cute.”

“Cute?” He yawns, quickly covers his mouth. “Really?”

“Really.” I reach for his wrist and slowly move his hand away from his face. “You’re adorable.”

Jordan grimaces. “You make me sound like a baby.”

“You are definitely not a baby.” I shift closer, my hand skimming his stomach before I wrap my arm around his waist. “You have too many muscles.”

He pulls me in until our legs are tangled and my head is resting on his chest. “You’re wearing too much clothing,” he murmurs against my hair.

I go still. “What do you want me to do? Strip?”

Next thing I know I’m flat on my back and he’s hovering above me, his hand at the front of my jeans, his fingers toying with the button. “I could take these off for you.”

“I don’t know…” Nerves make my stomach clench and I tell myself he’ll only take it as far as I’ll let him. And it isn’t very comfortable, lying in bed with him wearing my jeans.

“Only if you want,” he whispers against my lips just before he kisses me. “I don’t want to make you nervous.”

He touches my stomach, brushes his knuckles across my skin, and I suck in a soft breath, closing my eyes. It feels so good. His hand pauses over the front of my jeans again and I open my eyes to find him watching me carefully. I give a little nod, my silent permission for him to continue, and he undoes the snap. Slowly pulls down the zipper, his fingers spreading open the denim and exposing my panties.