More Than Friends (Friends, #2)(44)

“Are you saying that you’re—serious about me?” My heart starts pounding and I swear my palms are sweating. Why does that question and his answer freak me out so much?

He gives me a trademark Tuttle smirk. “What do you think?”

That is not a real answer. I’m about to question him further, but I decide against it and clamp my mouth shut.

Maybe I don’t want to know the answer to that particular question.

Maybe it’s best I leave well enough alone.

We get to Yo Town less than ten minutes later and I’m about to hop out of the car when Jordan grabs my hand and stops me from leaving. “What?” I ask when I see the expectant look on his face.

“You want me to pick you up at six, right?” He slowly slides his palm against mine, interlocking our fingers, his thumb rubbing my hand. A jolt of electricity shoots up my arm at the intimate touch.

“Please. If you don’t mind.” I smile at him, but he acts like he’s not going to let me go any time soon. “I need to get inside, Jordan. I’m going to be late.”

He tugs on my hand and pulls me closer. Then he kisses me, a soft yet lingering kiss, the both of us leaning over the center console. It’s sweet and romantic, and I tell myself I shouldn’t read too much into it.

But I do. I can’t help it.

“I definitely don’t mind,” he murmurs against my lips. “See ya later.”

He gives me one last kiss and I almost fall out of the Range Rover when I climb out of it seconds later, I’m so dazzled by his talented lips. I practically float into Yo Town, like a girl with a major crush on the hottest boy in school.

That description isn’t too far off the mark.





“My parents want you to come over for dinner,” I tell Jordan over the phone, then mentally brace myself in anticipation of his answer. I tried to talk them out of it, but when I walked through the door last night at exactly 11:59 p.m., I found my parents sitting in the living room waiting up for me.

“Were you with that boy?” Mom asked. “The one with the Range Rover?”

“His name is Jordan Tuttle, sweetheart,” Dad told her.

“Oh.” Mom’s face fell and I knew she remembered what I told her. “That boy who has the sex parties?”

And that comment blows up the entire conversation—to the point where I felt like I was being questioned by the cops.

“Are you two serious?”

“Are you boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Have you met his parents?”

“Been to his house?”

“Why didn’t you tell us about him before?”

“Are you in love with him?”

“Is he in love with you?”

“He is worth a lot of money, Amanda. More money than we could ever make in our lives.”

They hit me with one question after another, until I wanted to run screaming from the house. Then Mom said I had to invite him over for dinner. “So. We can get to know him better.”

Uh huh. They wanted to drill him like they drilled me last night.

“When?” he finally asks, knocking me from my thoughts.

“Um, tonight?” My voice squeaks and I clear my throat, hoping he doesn’t catch on to my nervousness.

“You sound worried.”

So much for that.

“I’m not worried,” I reassure him. “It’s just that…I’m pretty sure you’re not going to say yes.”

“What makes you think so?”

“You just told me you didn’t like to meet parents because it gives the girls false hope,” I remind him.

“Well, I happen to like you, Amanda. There’s a difference.” He hesitates before he adds, “A big difference.”

He says a few choice words and I want to melt into a puddle. “Will you come over for dinner, then?”

“Do you want me to?”

I sigh. “We should get this over with if you want to continue dating me.”

“Is that what you’re calling it? What we’re doing?”

“Dating?” Did I use the wrong word? Are we just an endless string of hook ups to him? I hope not. God, I really, really hope not, because I feel like a fool if that’s the case. A total and complete fool— “Yeah.” His voice deepens. “We are.”

“Is that okay?” I ask carefully.

“What do you think?”

“I asked first.”

“Well, when it comes to answering, I’m going with ladies first.” I can hear the amusement in his tone and it makes me laugh.

“Whatever.” I hesitate. “Let’s say it together. At the same time.”

“What exactly are we saying?”

“You can say we’re dating, we’re hooking up or…” My mind searches for another word for what we’re doing. “Or we’re boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“So serious,” he murmurs.

“Stop. Okay.” I exhale loudly. “On the count of three.”

“I never said I was down for this.”

“Come on, Jordan,” I plead, laying it on thick. “Just go along with me. Please?”