More than Friends - Monica Murphy (28 page)

Amanda changed everything. Even when I was twelve, she scared me. And not in a bad way—more like in a good way. It scared the shit out of me how much I actually
liked
her. And the more time I spent watching her, listening to her, seeing her every day in various classes over the years, the more I liked her.

The more I eventually knew I had to make her mine.

And now here she is. Lying in my arms completely naked. I just made her come and damn, she is beautiful when that happens. I don’t think I could ever get tired of making her come again and again.

“I want to touch you,” she murmurs into my neck. She shifts closer to me, her naked body brushing against mine, and I smooth my hand along her hip, trying to keep myself under control.

“You’re tired.”

“Not too tired to keep this going.” She kisses my jaw once. Twice. Three times. Sweet little kisses that bring her lips closer and closer to mine. “It’s your turn.”

I turn my head and kiss her fully, effectively shutting her up. When I pull away she’s watching me with flushed cheeks and stars in her eyes. “This is ridiculous. I’m completely naked and you’re completely clothed.”

“I like you this way.” I squeeze her ass because it’s perfect and I can’t stop touching it. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I want to worry about you.” She reaches for the front of my shirt and starts unbuttoning it. “This moment rates high in my fantasies.”

“You have fantasies? About me?” That’s intriguing. Wonder if she’ll tell me them someday. I have a few I could share with her too.

She bats at my chest. “Stripping you of your clothes is a pretty fine fantasy to have, don’t you think?”

“As long as I’m the one benefitting from this fantasy, then hell yes.”

Her fingers brush against my skin with every button she slips undone, and then my shirt is open and she’s spreading the fabric away from my chest, trying her best to tug it completely off. I sit up and get rid of it, tossing the shirt on the floor before I rejoin her.

“Not good enough.” She’s reaching for the fly of my jeans and it’s my turn to bat her hands away. She accidentally brushes her fingers against my dick, and I’m done for. I’ll probably come in my jeans and that would be all sorts of messed up.

“It’s either we do this or talk about your dad,” she tells me, sincerity glowing in her pretty brown eyes.

And there goes my erection.

I fall onto the mattress right next to her, exhaling loudly. “You want to talk about my dad right
now?
”

She shrugs and pulls the comforter over us, then snuggles in close to me. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. I know that what happened at the restaurant wasn’t—pleasant for you.”

The mildest way she could’ve put it. I’d barely looked at the man and became enraged. My behavior was completely over the top.

But my family is pretty fucking ridiculous, so…

“I’m here for you, Jordan, if you ever need to talk. Or even if you don’t want to talk, you know?” She hugs me. Kisses my chest with those lush, beautiful lips.

I say nothing. How can I answer her? I love that she wants to be there for me, but I can’t rely on her. I can’t rely on anyone.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” she whispers against my chest before she lifts her gaze to mine. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Mess what up?”

She shifts so she’s now kissing my stomach. Again and again, her lips soft and damp and making me shiver. Her fingers fumble over the front of my jeans and she hesitates.

“Do you want this?”

Fuck yes
, I want to shout, but I remain calm. Neutral. I don’t need to act like a crazy man when I’m with her.

But Amanda makes me want to lose my mind.

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.

“W
e 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.

M
onday 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.

I run into Kyla at lunch Monday and she asks me to come to football practice that afternoon to help her. “I know you have a job after school and I was trying to do it on my own, but I can’t,” she explained. “So if there’s any day you can help me, that would be awesome.”

I had to turn her down for Monday and Tuesday. I worked both days after school, covering for Blake since he was sick with some sort of horrific virus. Sonja called me Sunday night asking me to work, and of course I said yes.

I never had to work alone, though. Sonja was there both nights, stuck in her office behind the computer and working on end-of-month accounting stuff. Livvy gave me a ride both days and Dad picked me up once work was finished. Once I got home I stayed up until almost midnight, finishing my homework, checking out stupid Snapchat and getting pissed every time Lauren Mancini made some vague
I wish he was my boyfriend
reference.

For all I know they’re spending time together. That’s what my envious heart whispers to me late at night anyway.

So yeah. Blake didn’t come to school on Monday and Tuesday either. Neither did Mrs. Meyer. It was like everyone was out with some sort of weird virus or whatever, and I started to grow concerned. Was Jordan ill? Was he okay? Where could he be?