One Night (Friends #0.5) (8 page)

When I pull away, she’s smiling. “Is that a line, Cannon Whittaker?”

Shaking my head, I crack a smile as I say, “No ma’am.”

She bursts out laughing. “Did you just call me ma’am?”

“Yeah.” I shuffle my feet and look down at the floor. Could I be any dumber? “I did.”

“Come on. Let’s go outside.” She tugs on my hand and I follow after her, surprised when she takes us through the front door. The moment we walk outside, the air is cooler, a fresh breeze washing over us, and I’m grateful to be out of that house, away from the noise and the heat. I suck in a deep breath as I let her lead me down the front steps, past a couple literally writhing around on the front lawn, their arms and legs intertwined.

“Get a room,” Emily yells at them, making me laugh.

“Where we going, Em?” I ask her as she leads me past the fence that surrounds Tuttle’s front yard. I’m not sure what she’s up to, but I’m game for whatever as long as I can spend more time with her.

“Right here,” she says, pointing to a bench that sits in front of the fence, right at the start of the walkway leading to the front door. “Let’s sit down.”

I glance around before sitting on the iron bench, Emily nestled up right next to me. I slip my arm around her shoulders and tug her in closer, liking how easily she fits. Like we were made to sit like this together.

Corny as hell, but true.

“Um, I hate to tell you this, but if we’re going to make out, we’ll be putting on a public display right here,” I say, my ears going hot the moment the words leave my mouth. I’m such an idiot. I don’t know why I’m embarrassed but I need to get over myself.

She giggles. “I didn’t bring you here to hook up, Cannon.”

I fight the disappointment that threatens to take over when she glances up at me, amusement glittering in her eyes. The moon is bright at only half full, yet I can see her clearly, her face gilded silver. She’s beautiful.

I wonder if anyone has ever told her that.

“Then what are we doing?” I ask her, looking around like I’m confused. Because I am confused. By the entire night, by this girl, by the way she’s looking at me, how she kissed me. Everything’s happening so fast and I have no control over it, which is the hard part, you know? I’m usually in control of everything.

“Here.” She reaches out and touches her fingers lightly to my jaw, tilting my head back. “Look at the sky.”

Emily drops her hand and I lean against the bench, my gaze fixed on all the stars. She leans her head against my shoulder and stares up at the stars too. “The sky is clearer out here,” I say.

“I know,” she says softly. “Not as many city lights blocking the stars. Though the moon is pretty bright so we can’t see as many.”

“There’s still a lot up there.”

She turns to look at me, her eyes wide and she’s wearing a pretty smile. “Not as many as there would be if the moon was smaller. Right after a full moon, the sky is full of so many stars, no way could you ever count them all.”

“Have you ever tried?”

Slowly she shakes her head, her smile fading, but not her happiness. No, she looks pleased by my question, by my willingness to sit out here with her and stare at the sky. “I figured it was impossible,” she admits.

“Nothing’s impossible,” I say firmly. “Unless you don’t try.”

“Are you saying we should try?”

“Hell yeah, we should.”

The smile is back, fleeting but there, and then she’s kissing my cheek, her lips lingering close to my jaw. I swear I hear her inhale and I wonder if she’s trying to smell me. God knows I’m trying my hardest to smell her. “I like you, Cannon,” she murmurs against my skin.

“Oh, yeah?” I’m afraid if I move, I’ll ruin the moment so I stay completely still, desperate to keep her close.

Em nods. “Yeah. But don’t let it get around. I don’t want to ruin my reputation.”

Her careless, supposedly joking words are like a punch to the gut. I back away from her, frowning. “Why you always gotta bash yourself like that?”

“What do you mean?” She scowls.

“You don’t want anyone to know that you like me because it’ll ruin your reputation?” I ask incredulously.

She looks away, bracing her hands on the edge of the bench seat, offering up a little shrug. I’d bet money she’s gonna bolt any second, but luckily she remains in place.

“Don’t act like that with me, Emily,” I tell her, talking to the back of her head. I don’t need to see her face as long as she’s listening to my words. “You’re more than a hook up in the back seat of some asshole’s car. And you’re more than the flirty girl in geometry class who pretends it’s okay when the guys make hand gestures at her. Like it’s funny they’re pretending to ask for a hand job when that shit isn’t funny at all.”

Her shoulders flinch at my reminder. I’d seen some guys in the class we had together do that to her time and again and she always laughed. Brushed it off. At first I thought she was cool. Then I thought the guys were jerks.

Then I pulled them aside one day after class and told them to stop with the crude gestures or I’d beat the shit out of them. They never gestured at her again.

She has no idea I made that stop.

“You don’t know me,” she says quietly, still facing away from me. “So don’t act like you do.”

“I’d like to get to know you.”

She glances over her shoulder, her gaze meeting mine, and I swear her eyes are damp with unshed tears. “Please. You just want to feel me up in the hopes I’ll fall to my knees for you.”

Okay, now I’m sorta pissed. “When did I ever say that? When did I even act like that’s all I want from you?” When she says nothing, I forge on, anger making my voice thunderous. “I’ve been nothing but a gentleman toward you all damn night so at least give me some credit.”

“Why? In the hopes it might score you a blow job?” She leaps to her feet, her hands resting on her hips. “Please. I’m not falling for your shit, Cannon.”

“It’s not shit.” I rise to my feet too, standing above her, my anger fading quickly. I wish I could pull her into my arms and give her a hug. I’m thinking she really needs one right about now. “I’m being completely honest with you, Em.”

“You’re a player.” She flings the words at me like an accusation. “You’ve gone out with so many girls I’ve lost count.”

It’s never fun to have your reputation thrown at you, that’s for sure. And since when was she keeping count of the girls I’ve been with? “So? It doesn’t mean I haven’t been waiting, looking for the right one.”

Her mouth drops open and she’s staring at me like I’m crazy. “What are you saying?”

I shrug. “Assume whatever you want.”

Her gaze falls to the empty bench before it returns to me. “You still want to look at the sky?”

“You still want to sit with me?” Her mood changes are a trip.

She nods slowly. “You won’t try any fast moves?”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

Releasing a shuddery breath, she walks back over to the bench and sits down, patting the empty space beside her. “Then let’s do this.”

I go and sit down, stretching my arm along the back of the bench, careful not to touch her.

Let’s do this.

****

Aw, Cannon! These two are a mess, aren’t they? We’re getting closer to the end…and to the release of JUST FRIENDS (out 9/13)! All preorder links are live so check them out here: http://monicamurphyauthor.com/books/justfriends/

I’m in Tuttle’s room.

I’m on Tuttle’s bed.

It is definitely the most surreal moment of my life, I must tell you.

He’s half-sitting/half-lying next to me, the both of us propped against a mountain of pillows, staring up at the ceiling, which has-I kid you not-twinkle lights. It’s not like my room, where I strung white Christmas lights around my iron headboard because I saw it on Tumblr once and thought it was cute. Though of course, my version is never as cute as the Tumblr version.

And it’s not like the old plastic glow in the dark stars I had stuck on my ceiling when I was a little kid either.

No, this is a sophisticated magical array of stars in a velvety night sky, strewn across Tuttle’s ceiling. It’s crazy. It’s awesome. It must’ve cost a fortune.

I have a feeling this is the theme of Tuttle’s life.

His bed feels like a cloud, soft and cuddly. The pillows are that perfect combination of firm yet sinkable-soft. I can feel his gaze on me, checking me out every once in a while, though he might be on watch, waiting for me to lose my mind or barf my guts out, considering I’m kind of buzzed. But otherwise, he doesn’t really say anything. We’ve been silent for approximately two minutes and already I feel like I’m going to burst.

Maybe it’s the alcohol. I drank a lot of beer earlier-beer bongs are dangerous-and my head is currently spinning. This is the reason I’m laying down. Tuttle made the suggestion and while at first I balked, complaining about how many other girls he’s had to his room, he just shook his head, took my arm and guided me to the extra large bed in the center of his room.

Where I gratefully collapsed on top of it, sighing with happiness when the bed/cloud embraced me. I went completely still when he stretched out next to me, his body so close I could feel his warmth and I discreetly breathed in his scent. He smells like a citrus pine tree, which sounds weird but smells delicious. Trust me.

Remember, this is Jordan Tuttle I’m talking about.

Finally I can’t take it anymore. I need to talk. I need to talk to Tuttle and ask him what’s up with him being so nice to me. I want to ask if he knows what happened to Thad and Tara, but then I tell myself I don’t care what happened to them. They are the rottenest scum of the earth. They are lower than the rottenest scum of the earth. They are everything I despise and hate and want to destroy.

Dramatic much?

Yet my heart hurts too much over their betrayal, so I don’t want to talk about them at all, let alone think about them. I don’t want to talk about Tuttle’s motives either. So I stick with the safe stuff.

“What’s up with the stars?” I nudge his arm with my elbow and wow, his arm is rock hard with muscle. I’m tempted to skim my fingers over his biceps but I keep myself under control. What if he slapped my hand away? Talk about mortifying…

“You like them?”

I glance over in his direction to find him watching me yet again. This guy likes to stare, but it’s not creepy. No more like it’s kind of hot because with the way he’s intently staring at me, I feel like I’m the only girl in his universe. “They’re amazing,” I admit when I realize he’s waiting for an answer.

He stares up at the ceiling once more. “They’re also in our movie screening room. Something about the material helps with acoustics. Back when the house was being built, my mother had a moment of supposed good-mom feelings and decided my room needed stars in the ceiling too.” He hesitates, then murmurs in a higher pitched voice, “Nothing but the best for my baby boy.”

My heart actually aches at all the sarcasm and bitterness I hear in his tone. He doesn’t like his mother. That much is clear, just by that one sentence. “You’re their only child?”

“I have a sister. She’s thirty-two, married with three kids and miserable.” His gaze remains fixed on the stars twinkling down upon us. “I’m the let’s-see-if-we-can-save-our-marriage-baby. My sister was fifteen when I was born and she’s resented the hell out of me ever since.”

“Your family sounds…” My voice drifts because what can I say? They sound miserable? Awful? Rude?

“Fucked up? Yeah, we are.” He chuckles, but there’s no humor there. “We’re the classic case of money doesn’t always make you happier. I know that sort of thing pisses people off, so let’s not talk about it.”

“Talk about what? The fact that you’re richer than anyone else at our school, yet you’re miserable and your family sucks?” When he frowns at me I sit up and start gesturing with my hands, jabbing my finger at him like I’m a nut job. I’m thinking the beer is making me bold. “I don’t feel sorry for you. You can have whatever you want. Buy whatever you want, go to the college of your dreams and sleep in a room with fake stars twinkling above your head every single night. Your life is everyone’s dream come true.”

He slowly shakes his head, his gaze growing darker. He almost looks…disappointed? In me? “Now you’re all pissed off. I told you we shouldn’t talk about it.”

“Whatever. I’m not falling for your poor little rich boy routine.” I wave a hand, dismissing his words and he laughs. Actually laughs, the sound full bodied and rich and wonderful. His laugh does something to my insides. Twists them up and reminds me that I’m totally overstepping my boundaries with Jordan Tuttle while sitting on his giant bed in his giant room. Oh, and I can’t forget that we’re all alone and there’s this weird crackling energy brewing between us. Chemistry? Is that what it feels like?

No freaking way. Not me and Tuttle.

“You really think I’m a poor little rich boy?” he asks with a frown.

I point at him, ready to blurt out a big hell yes, when he snatches my hand and curls his fingers around mine. His thumb skims across my palm slowly and tingles scatter over my skin, making me hyper aware of his proximity.

“Aren’t you?” I sound breathless. My heart is racing from his touch and he glances down at our linked hands, which of course allows me to see just how thick his eyelashes are. But what’s worse? The eyelashes or his beautiful blue eyes?

Kill me now. He is too gorgeous for words.

“Yeah. I guess I am.” His gaze lifts to mine and lingers. “So you don’t feel sorry for me?”

“Who in their right mind ever feels sorry for you?” I laugh nervously, but the sound dies in my throat when he gently tugs on my hand so I have no choice but to move closer to him.

“Is this the beer talking, Mandy?” His voice is low, his gaze locked on mine and I swallow hard, almost too scared to speak.

Frowning, I let my gaze roam over his face. He has great skin, the bastard. Not a zit in sight. I’m still recovering from the honker I had on my cheek last week thanks to PMS. I can see stubble skimming his jaw and my fingertips literally itch to touch him there. “No.” Um, be real. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. Why do you ask?”