More Than Friends (Friends, #2)(46)

Until now.

“The flowers look lovely on the table, Jordan.” Mom joins us in the living room, her smile brittle, her gaze sweeping over me before she returns her attention to him. “Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiles sheepishly and I feel suddenly awkward. Something’s up with Mom. She’s probably remembering all those things I told her about Jordan and is now seeing how he measures up. I don’t want her judging him for what happened with Thad and Tara having sex at his house. That was completely out of his control.

Of course, the Thad and Tara incident only confirms her suspicions everything that happens at his house is out of control. Meaning, he can’t win this argument.

Dad offers Jordan a seat and we all sit down in the living room, making small talk, mostly about football. Dad’s bombarding him with all sorts of questions and I’m listening closely, curious to hear how Jordan answers about where he wants to go to college.

Not that I want to follow him to his college of choice or anything. That would be ridiculous. He’s so smart, and talented on the football field. Plus he’s rich, so he could go to whatever college he wants. I fight the jealousy that wants to sweep over me. I wish I had it that easy. His life seems like a piece of cake. Yeah, he might have crappy parents, but he has all the money he could ever want, and his crappy parents let him do whatever he wants.

He’s lucky.

“He is the boy who had that party, right?” Mom asks me, her voice low, just for me to hear.

“Mom.” I send her a look. “He couldn’t stop that from happening. Don’t blame him for it.”

“I just wonder what sort of parties he has if things like that happen. You shouldn’t go to parties like that. They’re demeaning. What if—” Mom lowers her voice to almost a whisper. “—what if something like that happened to you? Against your will?”

I roll my eyes. “He’s very protective of me, Mother. Jordan would never let something like that happen.”

Mom checks him out before she returns her attention to me. “He’s very good looking.”

I feel my cheeks go hot. “I know.”

“He seems popular too.”

“He is.”

She studies me carefully. “I’m not trying to be rude, dear. But what exactly does he see in you?”

My mouth drops open. I’m at a complete loss for words. Parents are supposed to be your backup, right? The people who think you’re perfect no matter what, no matter if you screw up on a regular basis, they’re there to pick you up when you’re about to fall.

I feel like my mom just kicked me in the stomach and stole my breath with just a few words.

“I think your daughter is smart,” Jordan says, and I whip my head in his direction, my eyes going wide. Crap, he heard what my mom said. “And she’s kind. She makes me laugh, and not many people can do that.”

My heart aches a little at that statement.

“She’s beautiful.” His voice, his gaze is solemn as he watches me. “And she’s fun. Her smile brightens my day.”

I unleash a big one at him and he smiles in return. “And I just really care about your daughter. A lot.” His gaze never leaves mine with that last statement.

Again, I want to throw myself at him and kiss him senseless. But I remain where I’m sitting, hoping he can see all the affection shining in my eyes directed straight at him.

Does he see it? Does he know how fast I’m falling for him? The more days that go by, the less anxious I feel when I’m with him. I was always waiting for that bomb to drop. Always waiting for the punch line, when Jordan—or someone else—would yell out, SURPRISE! Joke’s on you.

I don’t think that’s going to happen anymore. I really believe that Jordan is into me.

“Aw.” Mom looks ready to cry when her gaze meets mine. “That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

And that, folks, is how Jordan Tuttle wins over my parents.





I feel like I’m in a freaking dream. At the very least, I’m sitting on the set of a TV sitcom, appearing on some over the top show about a sweet family who loves each other so much they gather around the dinner table every Sunday night to break bread.

This shit is usually something I mock. Who does this? Definitely not me. I don’t remember the last time I ate a meal with my parents, especially at our house. We just don’t give a damn anymore.

But as I sit in the small dining room just off the kitchen in the Winters’ house, I feel…warm. Cozy. Like I belong here.

Though really? I don’t.

The dad is nice. Likes to talk football, and I’ll always talk football. Our conversation is easy and it’s a relief because Amanda’s father is interested. Genuinely interested in my opinion, in what I tell him, and he doesn’t criticize. My father only wants to tell me what I do wrong when I play. Or he’ll remind me what I need to keep doing in order to move on to the college of my dreams.

More like the college of his dreams.

I have no real dreams. I just go through the motions. I have all the right traits to get what I want and I use them when I need to, but I don’t give a piece of myself to anyone. Not a soul.

My gaze drifts to the girl sitting across from me. The one who’s scowling at her little brother after he teases her about her hair or what she ate or maybe there’s something in her teeth. I didn’t catch what it was. I do know this—even when she’s irritated, she’s gorgeous. Her hair, her face, those eyes, her mouth…all of her is perfection.