More than Friends - Monica Murphy (20 page)

“I guess it is?” I know it is, but playing dumb sometimes works too.

“Very nice of him to drive you to work. I knew you could round some friends to help you.” And with that, she drifts out of the living room and heads to the kitchen. I nearly sag with relief.

But I don’t have time to sag or be relieved. Or be annoyed she basically said, “I told you so,” without saying those words at all. I can’t worry about that. Instead, I gotta go to work.

Grabbing the backpack I use for overnight stays—I packed clothes to change into after work—I sling it over my shoulder, calling out a, “Bye Mom, see you later!” before I slam the front door and dart down the walkway toward Jordan’s car.

“Where do you think you’re going, young lady?”

I skid to a stop and turn to see my dad approaching. He’s dressed in ratty, faded black cargo pants and a white T-shirt that’s seen better days. He’s been working in the yard all morning and he’s filthy. But he loves it. He’s why our yard looks so good.

“Um, work?”

“He’s taking you?” Dad flicks his chin at the Range Rover.

I nod and smile at him. “Yeah. He’s just a friend.” I hate that I’m downplaying what Jordan means to me, but I can’t make a big deal about him. Not right now. Mom would start questioning me and it would end up being a huge mess.

“Some friend. Must be loaded.”

“I guess so.” Okay, this conversation is awkward. Why are my parents so focused on his car?

“What’s his name?”

I sigh. “Do you want to meet him, Dad?”

He grins. “Yes, Amanda. I’d love to.”

Trying my best to shoot meaningful looks in Jordan’s direction, I lead my dad to the driver’s side of the car. I thought Jordan would roll down the window to talk to us, but instead he opens his door and hops out, his expression earnest, maybe even a little nervous.

It’s so…cute.

I smile at him and turn to look at my dad. “Dad, this is Jordan Tuttle. Jordan, this is my dad, Rick.

“Hello, Mr. Winters.” Jordan holds out his hand and Dad shakes it. “Great to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, son. Your family is a part of Tuttle International?”

Jordan’s jaw goes tight and his eyes turn cold. “Yes,” he bites out.

But Dad doesn’t even notice. “How exactly do you know my daughter?”

“Uh.” Jordan sticks his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, clearly uncomfortable. “We’ve gone to school together since kindergarten.”

“Really?” Dad sounds surprised. “She’s never mentioned you before.”

This is true. There’s no point in talking about Jordan Tuttle to my parents, when I never had a chance with him. Now, though, there’s a chance. And I guess I should’ve been talking about him.

“Jordan’s always been in my honors classes, Dad,” I interject. “He’s also our varsity team’s quarterback.”

Dad’s eyebrows rise. “Impressive. I’ve heard about you.”

“Hope it was all good,” Jordan jokes. And he never jokes.

My dad says nothing. I decide to speak up and end this conversation. I turn to face Jordan.

“We gotta get going. I need to be at work in less than fifteen minutes.”

“Then let’s go,” Jordan murmurs, his eyes never leaving mine.

“So,” my dad says, and I wince, waiting for the bomb to drop. I can tell just by the way he’s taking. “Are you two dating, or what?”

Oh, God. I just want to evaporate into thin air at Dad’s question. He’s so nosy. But then Jordan says the craziest thing.

“We are, sir.” He flashes me a sweet smile.

“Why haven’t we met you until now?” Dad’s demeanor changes in an instant. He’s standing up straighter, his gaze questioning as he checks Jordan out like he’s some sort of criminal.

“We’ve only just started dating.” Jordan’s gaze locks with mine, his mouth curved in this intimate smile that makes me tingle. “But I really like her. A lot.”

“Good,” Dad says gruffly, nodding. “Treat her with respect and we shouldn’t have a problem. Am I making myself clear?”

“Dad.” I’m whining, but I don’t care. This conversation has made a mortifying turn. “I gotta go or I’ll be late.” I shift closer to my father and kiss him on the cheek. “I’ll see you later tonight, okay?”

“Have a good afternoon, Amanda.” He smiles but then turns his icy gaze on Tuttle. “Nice meeting you, Jordan.”

“Nice meeting you, too, Mr. Winters. Bye.”

I walk over to the passenger side of the Range Rover and Jordan keeps pace, opening the car door for me. I climb inside and he shuts the door, rounds the front of the car and then he’s sitting behind the steering wheel, starting the car and smiling at me like we’re in on a private joke together.

“What’s so funny?” I mutter. That conversation had been all sorts of awkward.

“Your dad seems—nice.”

“He can be very nice.” I pause. “But also very protective.”

Jordan pulls onto the road. “I can tell. I’d be protective of you if you were my daughter too, I guess. Wouldn’t want some sleazebag kid who drives a Range Rover and plays football trying to feel up my daughter.”

“Jordan.” He described my father to perfection. I’m sure that’s exactly what Dad’s thinking. “When you put it like that…”

“Yeah, I know. I sound like an asshole.” He glances over at me. “But it’s probably the truth, right? That’s what your dad’s thinking?”

I nod. “Maybe?”

“I’ve never met a girl’s dad before,” he says conversationally, though I notice how he’s gripping the steering wheel extra tight. Did that encounter make him nervous?

“You haven’t?”

He shakes his head. “Always figured it was pointless. Would put too many ideas in a girl’s head.”

“What sort of ideas?”

“That I was serious about her.” He won’t look in my direction and I wonder why.

“Are you saying that you’re—serious about me?” My heart starts pounding and I swear my palms are sweating. Why does that question and his answer freak me out so much?

He gives me a trademark Tuttle smirk. “What do you think?”

That is not a real answer. I’m about to question him further, but I decide against it and clamp my mouth shut.

Maybe I don’t want to know the answer to that particular question.

Maybe it’s best I leave well enough alone.

We get to Yo Town less than ten minutes later and I’m about to hop out of the car when Jordan grabs my hand and stops me from leaving. “What?” I ask when I see the expectant look on his face.

“You want me to pick you up at six, right?” He slowly slides his palm against mine, interlocking our fingers, his thumb rubbing my hand. A jolt of electricity shoots up my arm at the intimate touch.

“Please. If you don’t mind.” I smile at him, but he acts like he’s not going to let me go any time soon. “I need to get inside, Jordan. I’m going to be late.”

He tugs on my hand and pulls me closer. Then he kisses me, a soft yet lingering kiss, the both of us leaning over the center console. It’s sweet and romantic, and I tell myself I shouldn’t read too much into it.

But I do. I can’t help it.

“I definitely don’t mind,” he murmurs against my lips. “See ya later.”

He gives me one last kiss and I almost fall out of the Range Rover when I climb out of it seconds later, I’m so dazzled by his talented lips. I practically float into Yo Town, like a girl with a major crush on the hottest boy in school.

That description isn’t too far off the mark.

“M
y parents want you to come over for dinner,” I tell Jordan over the phone, then mentally brace myself in anticipation of his answer. I tried to talk them out of it, but when I walked through the door last night at exactly 11:59 p.m., I found my parents sitting in the living room waiting up for me.

“Were you with that boy?” Mom asked. “The one with the Range Rover?”

“His name is Jordan Tuttle, sweetheart,” Dad told her.

“Oh.” Mom’s face fell and I knew she remembered what I told her. “That boy who has the sex parties?”

And that comment blows up the entire conversation—to the point where I felt like I was being questioned by the cops.

“Are you two serious?”

“Are you boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Have you met his parents?”

“Been to his house?”

“Why didn’t you tell us about him before?”

“Are you in love with him?”

“Is he in love with you?”

“He is worth a lot of money, Amanda. More money than we could ever make in our lives.”

They hit me with one question after another, until I wanted to run screaming from the house. Then Mom said I had to invite him over for dinner. “So. We can get to know him better.”

Uh huh. They wanted to drill him like they drilled me last night.

“When?” he finally asks, knocking me from my thoughts.

“Um, tonight?” My voice squeaks and I clear my throat, hoping he doesn’t catch on to my nervousness.

“You sound worried.”

So much for that.

“I’m not worried,” I reassure him. “It’s just that…I’m pretty sure you’re not going to say yes.”

“What makes you think so?”

“You just told me you didn’t like to meet parents because it gives the girls false hope,” I remind him.

“Well, I happen to like you, Amanda. There’s a difference.” He hesitates before he adds, “A big difference.”

He says a few choice words and I want to melt into a puddle. “Will you come over for dinner, then?”

“Do you want me to?”

I sigh. “We should get this over with if you want to continue dating me.”

“Is that what you’re calling it? What we’re doing?”

“Dating?” Did I use the wrong word? Are we just an endless string of hook ups to him? I hope not. God, I really, really hope not, because I feel like a fool if that’s the case. A total and complete fool—

“Yeah.” His voice deepens. “We are.”

“Is that okay?” I ask carefully.

“What do you think?”

“I asked first.”

“Well, when it comes to answering, I’m going with ladies first.” I can hear the amusement in his tone and it makes me laugh.

“Whatever.” I hesitate. “Let’s say it together. At the same time.”

“What exactly are we saying?”

“You can say we’re dating, we’re hooking up or…” My mind searches for another word for what we’re doing. “Or we’re boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“So serious,” he murmurs.

“Stop. Okay.” I exhale loudly. “On the count of three.”

“I never said I was down for this.”

“Come on, Jordan,” I plead, laying it on thick. “Just go along with me. Please?”

“Let’s do it.” He pauses. “One.”

My stomach twists and I take a deep breath.

“Two.”

What am I going to say? What should I say?

“Three,” Jordan says, pauses, then blurts out, “Girlfriend.”

Right when I blurt out, “Dating.”

We both go silent.

“Did you just call me your girlfriend?” I’m incredulous.

“Did you just say we’re only dating?”

“Well…” My voice drifts. “I didn’t want to push.”

We’re quiet for a moment before he finally speaks again.

“Are you scared of me, Mandy?”

“It’s too early in the morning to have this serious of a conversation,” I tell him, trying to make a joke out of it. Even though it really is too early to have a serious conversation. It’s barely ten on a Sunday.

“Are you?”

I sigh. “No.”
Ha.
“Maybe.”
Be honest.
“Okay, yes. Just a little, though.”

It’s his turn to sigh. “I don’t want to scare you.”

“You don’t. Not really.”

“I’m coming for dinner tonight,” he says firmly, like he just made up his mind right then. “What time should I be there?”