More Than Friends (Friends, #2)(75)

“I don’t know.” I shrug. When I’m jealous, I lash out. That’s what I’m doing right now. Lashing out like an asshole because she let some other guy put his hands on her. Put his lips on her.

It’s killing me. Tearing me apart. But I deserve it. I pushed her away. I acted like she meant nothing, when she means everything to me, and I was too scared to face it, face her head on like a man.

I’m a coward.

“Nice to know you think so low of me.” She hops off the counter and stalks toward me, determination in her every step, looking sexy as hell, too. “Move out of my way.”

“No.”

“Open the door.” She’s standing so close to me, her body almost brushes against mine. Tilting her head back, she glares. “Open it.”

I study her beautiful face. Memorize every little detail. I’ve missed her. So damn much. “No.” I switch tactics. “Did you kiss him?”

“Who?”

“Eli Bennett! Did you, Amanda? Did you kiss him?”

“No, of course I didn’t!”

Relief floods me, heady and strong, and she notices. For some reason, that sends her into a full on rage.

She reaches out and pounds on the door, right by my shoulder. “Let me out!” She’s yelling at the top of her lungs, and I wince. “Please! Somebody!”

I cover her mouth with my hand, silencing her. Bending down, I thrust my face in hers. “Stop yelling, okay? I’ll let you out. Just—be quiet.”

Slowly I uncover her mouth and she starts beating on my chest. Pummeling me with her fists, one hit after another. She keeps saying something again and again, the words falling from her lips so fast, I can’t make them out at first. Until I can.

“I hate you, I hate you.”

I grab hold of her wrists to stop her from hitting me. “Amanda.”

“I hate you, Jordan. I really do. I hate you so much.” She’s crying. Tears are streaming down her face and her mascara is running. I’ve seen plenty of girls cry before. I’ve seen my mother’s tears countless times. They always make me uncomfortable. Tears in general put me on edge.

Seeing Amanda cry breaks my heart.

I pull her into my arms and hold her close, letting her cry all over the front of my shirt. “You don’t hate me.”

“I do! God, I do. I swear. I really, really hate you, Jordan.”

Her words are like tiny knives, carving into my already fucked up heart. She’s blubbering against my shirt, soaking it with her tears and I feel helpless. I can’t make the tears stop. How do I make the damn tears stop?

“Amanda.” I cup her cheeks and tilt her head back, forcing her to look at me. She glares, her eyes glittering with unshed tears, her lips red and swollen, her cheeks flushed pink.

“Please don’t cry,” I whisper, my throat raw. My feelings, my insides, my emotions, all scraped raw.

Her face crumples at my words, like I just made it worse. I lean down and press my forehead against hers. Close my eyes and inhale in her sweet, delicious scent. My heart pounds, and my breaths come fast. She’s killing me. Ripping my heart to shreds with every shuddery breath, every soft cry.

She slowly pulls away, her head bent, like she can’t look at me. “I trusted you, Jordan. I told you that you could talk to me about anything, that I would be there for you no matter what, and you still dumped me after the blowjob. Just like you do with all the other girls.”

“It wasn’t like that—” I start, but she cuts me off with a look.

“It was exactly like that. I gave almost everything to you, and in the end, you dumped me. I’m just like the rest of them. You discarded me as if I was trash and never really talked to me again. Not even for our project.” The tears start back up. “Who does that? What the hell is wrong with you? Don’t you care about anyone?”

“No!” The word explodes out of my mouth and I pull away from her, run my hands through my hair in frustration. “I don’t. I care about no one. Not my parents, not my so-called friends, not anyone. Okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

She stares at me like I’m some sort of freak. Unshed tears fill her eyes and I want to go to her, catch the tears with my thumb, kiss her pain away.

But I can’t. I’m the one who caused her so much pain. I have to leave her alone.

“Why are you like this?” Her voice is a harsh whisper. “Why?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I can blame my mom and dad. They’re fucked up, Amanda. More fucked up than I am.”

She grabs my hand and laces her fingers with mine, and that is my undoing. That I can be so awful to her and she still cares, she still wants to help me…

I can’t resist her. Instead, I pull her into my arms.

Having her like this, holding her like this, relaxes me. It’s been too long. The past few weeks have felt like years. My entire body sways toward her, like it’s desperate to get close and I have no control.

Amanda curls her hand around my nape, her fingers tightening into my skin. When she angles her head slightly to the right…

We’re kissing. Our mouths drawn to each other like we can’t fight it, fight this, whatever we have brewing between us. The kiss turns hot and deep in an instant and I pull her in close, whirl her around so she’s the one pressed against the wall as I continue to devour her sweet mouth. She grabs hold of me, a whimper sounding low in her throat, and I slip my hands around her, under her, gripping her ass and hauling her up so her legs go around my hips.