More Than Friends (Friends, #2)(49)

“You’re my hero!” Liv says from the backseat of the car. She reaches forward and gives Jordan a playful shove on the shoulder. “Better than Ryan. He hasn’t even bothered to text me back.”

“You’re welcome,” Jordan says with a hint of sarcasm, which makes me smile. He returns the gesture with one of those secretive smiles only for me, the ones that say, I’ve had you nearly naked in my bed and I’m going to do it again.

A shiver moves through me at the possibility.

He drives the Range Rover to the front of the main building and Liv hops out the moment he puts the car in park, not even bothering to look back or ask me to come with her. We watch her go and then I turn to look at Jordan, ready to offer him a thank you.

But he’s watching me with the most intense look in his gaze. All thoughts, all words, disappear in an instant.

“I did what you asked of me,” he says softly. “I came to your rescue and now you’re mine.” He pauses. “Forever.”

Oh. That’s right. I forgot I said that. Sort of.

“I was just kidding.”

“I take all requests from you seriously.” He waves a hand toward the building before us. “Like rescuing you from the rain.”

“I still need to go back out in it to get in the building.” I glance behind me, checking out the backseat. This of course, reminds me that a few nights ago, I’d been rolling around in that very backseat and it had been awesome.

“Want my hoodie?” He starts to take his off and I grab his arm to prevent him from taking it any further.

“No, stop. It’s okay. I have my own.” I’m dressed pretty sloppily today, with the weather spurring my choices. I have on a school hoodie, leggings and a pair of shiny black designer rain boots I found on clearance at the Nordstrom Rack this past spring. I put zero effort into my outfit, yet here I sit with Jordan in his fancy car and he’s wearing fancy clothes and fancy cologne he most likely bought at a high-end department store. A place I probably can’t even afford to walk into, let alone actually buy something.

Uh oh. I’m having one of those moments where I feel inferior yet again.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” I murmur.

“You’re welcome. I’ll expect full reimbursement this afternoon. After practice.”

“What are you talking about?”

He smiles and kisses me again, his lips lingering, his voice so deep, so low, I swear it vibrates within my soul. “You’ll see.”





He takes me to his house after practice. I text my mom saying I won’t be home for dinner, that I have to work on my English project with Jordan. When she asks where we’re working on it, I make up a lie and tell her we’re going to the school library, then to a mutual friend’s house, implying a bunch of us are working on this project together.

There’s no working on the project. The project is long forgotten. He’s keyed up after a particularly intense football practice played out in the rain. I hung out with Kyla while he took a shower, and when he came to get me after he was finished, I lost all train of thought at first sight of him. He glowered, his muscular body practically vibrating with frustration.

There were no friendly greetings, no acknowledgement of Kyla. He just looked at me and said, “Let’s go.”

Now we’re hanging out in the kitchen and he’s given me a Coke to drink. He has a beer. Odd choice for a Monday afternoon, but I don’t question him. He seems tense. Annoyed. And I don’t know why. He won’t talk to me.

“Are you okay?” I finally ask.

“Tough practice today.” He looks away, staring out the giant window that sits above the sink. “Really, it was the talk afterward that was tough.”

“Why?”

His gaze meets mine. “We were talking about our futures.”

“Do you not have a plan?” I figured he would. We’re all supposed to have one. My plan includes taking the SAT this upcoming Saturday. I should study for it.

I will later.

He shrugs. “I have a plan. My father’s plan.”

I frown. “Is it what you want to do though?”

“I’ve never really thought about it.” I catch a flicker of emotion in his eyes that tells me he’s…holding back.

I set my drink on the marble counter and approach him. “What does your dad want you to do?”

“Go to the same college he went to.”

“And where’s that?”

“University of Oregon.”

“He’s a Duck?”

Jordan cracks a smile, but his eyes are still dark. Full of anger. “Yeah.”

“And you don’t want to be a Duck.”

Another shrug, but no words are said. They don’t need to be said.

He doesn’t want to go there. He’s only going along with that plan to please his father.

An ache tugs at my heart and I set my hands on his chest. “What do you want to do, Jordan?”

“Stay here in California. Go to UC Berkeley or USC.” He blows out a harsh breath. “They both have excellent football teams. Excellent academics. But my father doesn’t believe they’re good enough in his eyes. He wants me to follow in his footsteps. He doesn’t care what I think or what I want.”