More than Friends - Monica Murphy (17 page)

“We’re going back to his place,” I mumble.

Livvy’s face falls. “Oh. Don’t tell me you’re going to watch a
movie.
”

I frown. “Why do you ask?” He hasn’t mentioned exactly what we’ll be doing, and I hadn’t thought to question him.

“It’s just that…” Her voice drifts and she clears her throat. “I’m going to be honest with you, Amanda. And I’m not saying this to be mean like Lauren, but I want you to know the truth.”

“The truth about what? Come on, Liv. You’re scaring me.”

“Okay.” She takes a deep breath, like she needs to prepare herself. “Whenever Tuttle takes a girl into the theater room at his house, that’s basically code for, ‘Give me a blowjob now.’ That’s all he ever wants from girls. Blowjobs. That’s it. He’s a total BJ whore.” Livvy’s expression is full of sympathy. “You don’t think that’s all he wants from you, do you?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think so.” But what do I know? Look what happened with Thad. I didn’t give it up to him quick enough, and he screwed my old best friend instead.

Maybe I’m too much of a prude. Maybe guys give up so easily on me because I don’t put out. Maybe that’s what I need to do—put out for Jordan Tuttle. Get on my knees and…

I wince. I have no idea how to do something like that. I’d probably make a fool of myself and do something wrong. And then Tuttle wouldn’t like me anymore. It would be over. He probably prefers a girl with experience, and I am not that girl.

Dumped because I can’t give a blowjob. Or even a hand job. That would be awful. Humiliating.

“Don’t do anything you’re not ready to do,” Livvy says firmly. “I’m serious. Don’t let him pressure you.”

Turning away from her, I blow out a harsh breath. “What’s it like anyway?”

“What’s what like?”

I turn back around to face her. “Giving a blowjob. Or a hand job—like, what does it feel like, touching his…”

Livvy looks like she wants to smile, but she’s doing her best to keep a straight face. “Touching his—penis?”

“Well, yeah.” We both dissolve into giggles. I’m not used to saying the word penis. I’m guessing she’s not big on it either.

“I don’t know if I can have this conversation right now,” Livvy finally says once she’s composed herself. “I need to have, like, three drinks in and be at a party. We can’t talk about dicks here in front of the school.”

“Who’s talking about dicks now?” Ryan rushes up behind Livvy and wraps his arms around her, lifting her up off her feet and twirling her around. Livvy squeals and struggles against his hold, but I can tell she’s loving every minute.

I guess there goes our dick talk.

“You are,” Livvy says in between peals of laughter as he swings her around. “Now put me down!”

He does as she says, but not before he lays one on her. The kiss is long and tongue-filled. I know this because I see actual tongue.

Ew.

I avert my eyes, feeling like an intruder. When Ryan finally breaks the kiss, Livvy is wobbly on her feet and she shoots me a lopsided smile. “Um, we’ll have to talk some other time.”

“I’m holding you to it,” I tell her, pointing a finger in her direction.

She laughs and stumbles into Ryan, who tugs her close. “We’ll wait with you until Tuttle comes out,” he says to me.

My chest goes warm. How sweet. “Thanks, Ryan.”

“No prob.” He shrugs. “Tuttle said I couldn’t leave you, so…”

So he didn’t do it out of the kindness of his heart. Figures. “I’ll be all right alone.”

“No way.” Ryan shakes his head. “If Tuttle knew I left you alone, he’d kill me.”

I doubt that, but whatever.

Within minutes Jordan approaches and the four of us chitchat until he takes my hand and asks me, “Are you ready?”

I nod, pressing my lips together. “Yeah.”

“We should double date sometime,” Livvy says, like she’s trying to gauge what Tuttle’s intentions are.

“We should,” he agrees, though his expression is reluctant. He lets go of my hand, and I immediately miss his touch.

“Us girls will have to plan something soon.” She grins at him before pulling me into a tight hug. “Remember what I said,” she whispers into my ear. “Don’t do anything you don’t want to do. If he’s a good guy, he won’t pressure you.”

“Okay. Thanks for the advice,” I whisper back. I squeeze her and she squeezes me in return. “Have fun tonight,” I say as we pull away from each other.

“Mama’s not home until late, so we have the house to ourselves,” Liv says with a big grin. “She went to a concert with her gross boyfriend.”

“Fitch?” I’ve met him. He’s sort of a creeper.

Liv shudders when I say his name. “Please. Don’t ruin my good mood.”

We say our goodbyes and I turn to look at Jordan, see the impatience written all over his face.

“Come on.” Jordan takes my hand once more and leads me toward his Range Rover. He opens the passenger side door for me and I climb inside, breathing deep the leather scent that lingers once he closes the door. My heart thumps wildly and I rest a hand over my chest, telling myself I need to get a grip.

I’m in control of my destiny. What I say, goes. I know he won’t push me to do anything I don’t want to do.

But what if I get caught up in the moment and want to do…everything?

Guess I’ll figure it out as we go.

W
e walk inside the quiet, dark house and the second the door is shut, Jordan gathers me in his arms and pushes me up against the wall just before he kisses me. I open my mouth in shocked surprise and his tongue is there, sweeping inside my mouth, circling my tongue, making me gasp. I clutch at him, my arms going around his neck, my hands sliding into his thick, soft hair.

He presses into me and I can feel his hard, hot body. When we’ve kissed before, it’s always been different. Lighter. More explorative. This is nothing like that. It’s urgent and edgy and full of passion. I break away from the kiss first so I can catch my breath, and he dives for my neck, his damp mouth blazing a trail of hot kisses along my throat.

“I’ve been dying to kiss you like that for hours,” he murmurs against my skin. “Days. Weeks.”

I squirm from the sensation of his breath on my skin. “You’re tickling me.”

“Mmm, not the reaction I had in mind.” He cups my face and tilts my head back so our gazes meet. “I liked having you on the sidelines.”

I smile tremulously, my nerves coming at me full force.

“Why were you talking to Whittaker?”

It takes me a moment to figure out who he’s talking about. “You mean Cannon? I was taping his knuckles.”

“Hopefully that’s all you were doing.” His eyes narrow and I swear his nostrils just flared.

“Wait a minute.” I think about tugging out of his grip, but it’s nice having his hands cup my cheeks like this. The way he absently rubs my skin with his thumbs feels amazing. “Are you—
jealous
of Cannon Whittaker? Because he talked to me?”

He says nothing. Just keeps watching me with those narrowed eyes and the still flaring nostrils, his breathing a little heavier than normal.

“Jordan.” I stare into his eyes. He needs to know I’m serious. I may be setting myself up for a torturous heartbreak, but he needs to know how I feel. “I don’t notice anyone else. Just you.”

The faintest smile curls his lips and he kisses me. This time it’s softer, a little more controlled, and I fall into the kiss, twirling my tongue around his, savoring the taste of him, the feel of his hands cradling my face.

“I need to take a shower,” he says once he breaks away from my lips. He presses his forehead against mine. “Wanna join me?”

I freeze. My body screams
yes!
But my mind says
absolutely not.
The struggle is real. “Um…”

“I was kidding.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “But you should come upstairs and wait in my room for me.”

So I do. It’s sort of weird and awkward sitting on his bed and looking around his room, because I’ve never waited for a boy while he takes a shower—in that huge, gorgeous bathroom, I might add. All I can think about as I hear the water running is of Jordan. Naked. With hot, steamy water pouring down his body, making his skin all slick and shiny. I’d help him soap up. I’d wash his hair. I’d rinse him off. I’d grab his…

The water shuts off, and I leap to my feet and wander aimlessly around the gigantic room. I stop at his dresser and study the few photos that are on display. One is of him and other football players, I’m guessing from last year? They’re all smiling except for Tuttle. His expression is serious.

Always so serious.

The other photo is old. I think it might be him as a little boy with his parents, and maybe that’s his sister? He looks like he’s barely two, dressed in a miniature suit that matches the man’s. The girl I assume is his sister is your typical sullen teenager forced to pose. The parents look stern-faced and solemn. No one looks happy.

It makes me sad.

The door opens and I whirl around like I just got caught stealing his underwear. He stands in the open doorway, steam billowing out of the bathroom, his hair wet and slicked back from his face, and clad in only a towel.

Only. A. Towel.

I clutch the edge of the dresser, praying I don’t go down in a heap of melted bones. The towel is white and thick and hangs dangerously low on his hips. One wrong move and that sucker will fall right off.

“Snooping?” He magically produces another towel out of thin air and dries his hair with it, his biceps bulging. He has really nice arms.

He has really nice everything.

“No.”
Sort of.
“Just looking at the photos on your dresser.”

His expression turns grim and he drops the towel he held in his hands on the floor before he makes his approach. “Which one?”

“Both of them.” I point. Hold my breath when he comes to stand directly beside me. He is naked.
Naked
under that towel. And he smells amazing. All clean and fresh and delicious.

“That’s my parents.” He picks up the photo of the stone-faced family. I wonder why he’d keep such a depressing photo of them in his room, but maybe he doesn’t even notice it anymore. “And my sister.”

“I figured.”

“I was two. Already a non-believer in the fairytale.” He sets the photo back down and then opens one of the drawers, pulling out a pair of neatly folded gray boxer briefs. “Do you mind?”

“Do I mind what?” I back away from him slowly.

“If I get dressed?” He waves the underwear in my direction and I want to die. “Turn around if you can’t handle it. I’m about to drop the towel.”

“Jordan!” I spin away from him just as I hear the towel hit the floor with a wet plop. I keep my back to him. Hear the rustling of clothing being pulled on, the sound of another drawer being opened and closed. My mind is running in circles, imagining all the things I’m missing because of my prudish ways.

“It’s safe to look now,” he drawls, and I turn around slowly, relief and disappointment hitting me when I see he’s clothed.

But not
fully
clothed. He’s wearing a pair of black sweatpants and that’s it. They’re slightly fitted, and they cling to his thighs, ride perilously low on his hips. I swear his chest is still damp and his stomach is utterly lickable and…

Oh my God, my thoughts are all over the place.

“What time do you have to be home?” he asks, his extra low voice knocking me out of my thoughts.

“Midnight.”

He glances at the clock on the bedside table. “Little less than two hours then.”

“And it takes at least fifteen, twenty minutes to get to my house from yours,” I remind him.

“So we have about ninety minutes.”

I nod. Wondering what he’s going to suggest we do.

“You should take off your sweater.” My shocked gaze meets his. “Aren’t you hot?”

It
is
a little warm in here. I shrug out of my oversized cardigan and leave it on top of his dresser. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?”

I cringe the moment the words leave my mouth. I didn’t mean to sound like every other girl he’s been with. Or maybe he’s the one who suggests they watch a movie. I don’t know how this works. I feel so…stupid.