More Than Friends (Friends, #2)(61)

She starts undoing the front of my jeans and I help until I’m as naked as her. Her slender fingers slip around my erection and I close my eyes. Grit my teeth. Tell myself I need to keep my shit together.

“Tell me what you like,” she whispers, a direct copy of what I asked her earlier. “I want to make you feel good, Jordan. Tell me. Show me.”

So I tell her. I show her. And she’s hesitant at first. A little puzzled yet fascinated, and it’s the fascination that gets me. She just wants to make me happy. She’s not using me for my money or my status. Amanda likes me. And I don’t get why.

I don’t.

When she puts her mouth on me, it’s nothing like those other times. With those other girls, girls whose names I forget, girls who meant nothing to me. It’s so much better with Amanda. Everything’s better as long as she’s part of it.

And that’s the scariest part of all.





“We need to talk.”

The four worst words in the English language, spoken by my father. My day couldn’t get any shittier than this and it’s only just begun. I’m in bed, it’s—I look at my phone—almost ten o’clock in the morning and here he is, bringing me down. Ruining everything.

Like usual.

“What about?” I snap as I sit up in bed, then run a hand through my hair. My respect for him went out the window a long time ago. I can’t hardly look at him. After what happened at the restaurant between us last night, I’m done. Yet here he is, strutting into my bedroom on a Sunday morning like he has every right.

I guess he does, since this is his house. But it’s like he’s a stranger. An imposter. A man that doesn’t belong here—and who isn’t wanted here. His showing up like this has ruined my good mood. Being with Amanda last night soothed me. She’s good for me.

Too good for me.

“Your mother and I have been talking.” He looms near the door, as if prepared to leave if he needs to. The way I’m glaring, I guess I can’t blame him. “You need to get serious about college.”

“How am I not serious about college?” I ask incredulously. “I play football. I’m in honors classes. I get good grades. I’m doing everything I can here to make this shit happen.”

He ignores everything I say. “I want to take you to Oregon this afternoon. I’ve already arranged for a plane, and I’ve scheduled some appointments first thing Monday morning.”

“With who?” This is my opportunity to tell him I don’t want to go to the University of Oregon. That’s his dream for me, not my dream. I don’t want to leave this state. There are better colleges here. I don’t understand his fixation.

But he doesn’t care what I want. It only matters what he wants.

“With the dean of students, and with the head coach and his staff. I know we’ve toured the facility before, but this time it’s serious. We’re serious. No more distractions allowed. The parties need to stop. The girls need to stop, especially that one your mother just met. You don’t need to break any hearts this year, Jordan. You need to focus.” The stern look my father sends me makes most men cower in defeat. Not me though.

I learned from a master. I stare back, not saying a word.

“Take a shower and pack an overnight bag. We leave in a few hours.” And with that, he’s gone. With that, I’m dismissed.

Grabbing my phone, I roll over on my side and scroll through my notifications. There’s a Snapchat from Amanda that came about thirty minutes ago and I open it to find a photo of her in bed, her eyes sleepy, her hair in a messy bun on top of her head, her smile soft.

And so fucking sweet, it kills me to look at her like that. Pretty and open and vulnerable and all mine. The caption tears me apart.



Last night was amazing. I miss you.



She added a few heart emojis and just seeing them totally slays me. I drove her home early this morning, dropping her off down the street from her house before eight. She was worried about my parents finding her in my bed. And if I would’ve had my way, it could’ve happened. I wouldn’t have cared either.

But she would’ve. I don’t want to disrespect her. I care about her too damn much.

Frustration slides through me and I want to punch something. It’s ridiculous. My feelings for her are ridiculous. But they’re also real. So incredibly real, she’s all I can think about. She consumes me.

Yet I can’t have her.

Inhaling deeply, I let it all out and close my eyes. Press my hands over them. I can’t do this. I can’t keep this up. What Amanda and I have will eventually end. Hell, I can already see the end. I need to let her down gently. I don’t want to hurt her, though it’ll happen. I know it will. I’ll hurt myself too because I can’t resist her. Why would I want to?

I don’t send her a reply. I don’t text her. I don’t call her. If I’m going to do this, I need to quit cold turkey. If this is what my dad wants, I need to do it. He’ll cut me off. He’ll screw me over. Damn it, I need him. I’m not even eighteen yet. He calls all the shots. I have to do what he says.

If I don’t, there will be hell to pay.





Monday I show up to school and there’s no Tuttle. He never makes an appearance.

Tuesday, more of the same. No Tuttle sightings. No texts, no calls, no Snapchats or Instagram posts. No one seems to even notice that he’s gone, with the exception of Livvy and Ryan, though they’re not saying anything. It’s like they’re scared to bring it up, especially after what happened Saturday night.