More Than Friends (Friends, #2)(50)

I can’t help but wonder if his father doesn’t think Jordan is good enough either.

“I don’t want to talk about this.” His voice is hard, as is the look on his face. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me in closer to him. “Let’s do something else.”

“Like what?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer me with words.

He kisses me instead.

It’s an aggressive kiss. Hungry. Possessive. No gentle brushing of lips, no tender explorations. He’s consuming me, his tongue thrusting into my mouth, his hands gripping my hips. I let him, because it feels good. The kiss is raw and full of untethered emotion and that’s what I want from him.

I want Jordan to lose control.

Out of nowhere he lifts me up and sets me on the kitchen counter, the marble cold beneath my butt. He pushes my legs open and steps in between them, devouring my mouth once more, his hands slipping under my hoodie, the hem of my T-shirt, to touch bare skin. His hands are big and warm, and they slide over my stomach, shift up to touch my bra, and then he’s breaking the kiss to pull off my hoodie.

He’s so frantic, it feels like he’s trying to pull off my head.

“Jordan.” I want him to slow down, but it’s like he can’t. “Hey.” I touch his cheek and he lifts his gaze to mine. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t want to talk,” he murmurs. “Please.”

“All ri—”

He cuts off my words with his lips and I lose myself in his kiss. He seems almost desperate, like he’s trying to chase after something he can never catch, and I try to calm him down. Soothe him. I run my hands over his shoulders, down his chest. I try to slow the tempo of the kiss.

But he won’t have it. He just keeps pushing, becoming bolder. I’m not scared—he doesn’t scare me, I know he would never hurt me. I am confused, though. And worried. This has nothing to do with me.

He’s upset about something else. Something he’s not really telling me.

“Really, Jordan? In my kitchen? You could at least take her to the theater room.”

An unfamiliar female voice makes me jerk away from him. He doesn’t move, though. Just stands there right next to me, his hands still on my hips, his entire demeanor changing in an instant.

A woman stands in the doorway of the kitchen. She’s elegantly dressed in a pale gray sweater and black pants. Her blonde hair is swept back into a ponytail and giant diamonds dot each ear.

“What are you doing here?” Jordan snaps.

The woman enters the kitchen, not ruffled by Jordan’s hostile tone in the least. “I came home early.”

He mutters a curse under his breath and lifts me off the kitchen counter, setting me on my feet. “We’ll leave then.”

“Don’t go on my account.” The brittle smile the woman offers me looks downright painful. Like she’d rather be anywhere else than dealing with me. “Are you Jordan’s friend?”

She has to be his mother. I see a familiarity in her features, a fleeting expression that reminds me of Jordan, but otherwise I wouldn’t say he got his looks from his mother. He must resemble his father.

She’s a beautiful woman, though. Her skin is smooth and not a wrinkle in sight. Her lips are full and shiny with nude gloss. Was she a teen mom or what?

“This is Amanda,” Jordan says gruffly.

Her smile fades. “I’ve heard about you.”

What? “Um, hi.” I run a hand over my hair, wishing yet not wishing I had a mirror to check myself out. I look like absolute hell. On Monday mornings I lack motivation to put together a cute outfit, and with this morning’s rain, I really took the slacker’s route. She must think I’m an absolute bum, especially compared to how well put together she is.

“We’re in English together,” he tells his mother. “We’ve been working on a project.”

“Some project.” Amusement tinges her voice and I feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment. “You should take her to the library then. You two can work on your project there.”

There’s a library in this house? I had no idea. How many rooms do they have anyway?

Jordan’s hand is still on my waist but I slide out of his grip. I grab my hoodie from the floor where he dropped it only minutes ago. “It was nice meeting you,” I tell his mother.

“Likewise.” Her mouth twists into what I think is a smile, but looks more like a grimace.

He doesn’t say a word. Just tugs on my hand and leads me out of the kitchen. We walk right past her, but he doesn’t acknowledge her. She just watches us coolly, her expression betraying no emotion.

I’ve seen that look before. She reminds me of Jordan.

We end up in his room, not the library. He shuts and locks the door, leaning against it while watching me go to the mirror that sits over his dresser.

“I look terrible,” I moan as I stare at my reflection. My mascara is smudged under my eyes. I’m wearing an old T-shirt I never planned on anyone seeing and my legs look like black legging-covered sticks.

He walks over so he’s standing directly behind me, our gazes meeting in the mirror. “I think you look beautiful.”

My heart leaps at the compliment, but he must be blinded by our earlier kisses. “Your mom must think I’m a scrub.”