He’s judging me too. Seeing if I’ll measure up.
“You don’t like me very much, do you.” It’s not a question Harvey’s asking. More like a statement.
I turn to face him once more, my gaze meeting his direct. “More like I don’t think you like me.”
“Honestly?” I never like it when people use the word honestly. To me, it means they lie—maybe more than they tell the truth. “I don’t know how I feel about you yet.” Harvey crosses his arms, contemplating me. “Lots of questions run through my mind. Are you using Tuttle? Trying to get a piece of his fame?”
My lips pop open but I can’t find any words to say. His accusation takes me aback.
“Any other woman would’ve stomped her feet like a toddler and thrown a major hissy fit last night after I told you two that you couldn’t be seen together.” He tilts his head. “But you didn’t.”
I shrug. Why make our lives more miserable by acting like a baby?
“You earned a few points for that,” Harvey continues.
“Gee, thanks,” I say sarcastically.
“Listen.” He takes a step closer to me, his voice lowering. Like he’s going to tell me a big secret. “This life isn’t easy. It’s not for the faint of heart. Most of the women who come after these guys are in it for the money. Or the fame. That’s it. They don’t give a shit about the man himself. They want his money. They’ll do whatever it takes, even make up lies about being pregnant with their baby. They care more about what the man can give them in their quest for celebrity.”
My bravado wilts a little when he says the word pregnant.
“I’m not out to become a celebrity,” I start to say, but he silences me with a look.
“The ones who stick with their girlfriends from high school? Those long-term relationships tend to work better than any other. These guys know that the girl who stuck by their side since he was a teenager actually fell in love with them, not the celebrity version of themselves.”
Then I should be trusted, right? Isn’t that what he’s telling me?
“But you’re an unusual case. The high school sweetheart who sweeps back into his life out of nowhere, just when his popularity and worth are about to skyrocket? Not so sure about that one.” Harvey starts to walk away, patting me on the shoulder as he passes. “We’ll keep in touch.”
I watch his retreating back, see how he stops and talks to a woman who looks about my age, maybe a little older. She gives him a hug, and his gaze meets mine when they’re mid-embrace.
Harvey mouths, A good one, and points at the back of her platinum blonde head.
Turning away, I face the field once more, contemplating everything Harvey just said. He doesn’t trust me. He thinks my motives are shady when they’re anything but.
Like it matters, what that guy thinks about me. He’s the team publicist. I won’t let him dictate my life.
I blink my vision into focus, excitement filling me when I see the team already out on the field. Specifically Jordan. We’re so high up, he’s like a tiny speck of white and red, the number eight on his back telling me exactly where he’s at.
Taking out my phone, I snap a pic of them down on the field, then open up Instagram, putting together a quick post.
Enjoying my favorite pastime live and in person. Back with the old crew. #eightisgreat #jordantuttle #cannonwhittaker #ninernation #london
I add my location—Wembley Stadium—and post the photo of the team on the field.
Hopefully Harvey won’t care if I made that post. Not that I should let him dictate what I do. But still. Now he’s got me thinking about my every move. Worrying over my behavior, how I might look. How I should act.
And that sucks.
His words linger throughout the first half. To the point I can barely concentrate on the game. Not that it’s a big deal—they’re winning so easily, it’s almost embarrassing for the opposing team.
Yet I can’t shake the fact that the team publicist doesn’t trust my motives for being back in Jordan’s life. Do I look that sketchy? Does he really believe I’m out to cash in on Jordan’s fame? I don’t want to deal with the fame thing at all. I told Jordan he’s a private person, but guess what? So am I. He signed up for this from the beginning. He knew what he was getting into.
Just because I care about the man doesn’t mean I can handle the celebrity that comes with him. Maybe I can’t. Maybe this will all prove to be too much.
“Hello. Please tell me you’re Amanda.”
Whirling around at the lilting female voice, I find a petite dark blonde standing in front of me, clad in a beautiful pale blue dress. The dress matches her eyes. They’re icy blue, sparkling and friendly.
I have no clue who she is.
“Yes, I’m Amanda,” I say carefully.
“Oh, thank goodness.” She rests her hand against her chest, her shoulders slumping in relief. “Cannon told me to come in search of you, and I was afraid with the mad crush of people in here, I’d never find you.”
She’s British. Her accent is sharp, her pronunciation almost exaggerated. Her posture is perfection. She has an elegant air about her, her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail, her lips covered in a becoming shade of pink.
Oh, and she mentioned Cannon’s name. How does he know this woman?
“You’re a friend of Cannon’s?” I ask.
Her cheeks blaze a deep pink at the mere mention of his name. “We only just met yesterday, but…yes. I’d like to consider him a friend.”
“And you are?”
“Oh, how absolutely rude of me! I haven’t even introduced myself.” She smiles. Does a little curtsy. “I’m Lady Susanna Sumner.”
Lady Susanna? “Shouldn’t I be the one who curtsies to you?” I ask as I take her offered hand and shake it.
She lets go of my hand and laughs, shaking her head. “No, never. I’m not one for all that formality. I can’t help it if I was born the daughter of an earl.”
An earl? That means she’s royalty. From a noble family or whatever. “I don’t mean to be rude, but how in the world did you meet Cannon?”
“At the event yesterday. I accompanied my parents to the meet-and-greet gathering. My father is a huge fan of American football, and he wanted to meet some of the team members. I tagged along because I didn’t have anything else better to do on a Friday night.” She smiles, her cheeks still pink. “My father introduced himself to Cannon, even complimenting him on his massive arms, which was so incredibly embarrassing. I chastised Father for his ridiculous statement, and Cannon took great offense. Said he couldn’t believe his arms didn’t impress me.”
Oh Cannon. “In other words, he was flirting with you,” I tease.
She rolls her eyes. “Right. I told him he was so obvious. Father drifted away after a few minutes of our silly conversation and we ended up chatting for the rest of the night. He even, um, took me to dinner.”
I wonder if took me to dinner is code for something else entirely.
“Anyway.” She waves a dismissive hand. “Cannon invited me to the game, told me I should find you so we could keep each other company. I almost thought I wouldn’t make it, I was running so late, but now here I am.”
A new friend. I already adore her. She’s chatty and nervous and very unsure about this entire thing, I’m guessing. In other words, we can totally relate. “Perfect. Let’s sit together during the second half of the game.”
She wrinkles her nose, looking like a cute little bunny. Maybe it’s the pink cheeks and the dark blonde hair. Her teeth too. The front ones protrude slightly. Kind of like a…bunny. “The second half? I’m ashamed to admit, I don’t know much about American football. Or any other sport, for that matter. I just shout at the TV with the rest of my family when they’re watching a game at the appropriate moments.”
I smile and hook my arm through hers. “I’ll give you a lesson in American football. I just have one question. Should I call you Lady Susanna?”
She appears horrified
by my suggestion. “Heavens no! Please just call me Susanna.”
“Perfect.” I tug her closer to me, our arms still hooked. “Let’s go sit down and watch the game.”
We settle into our seats, Susanna chattering away, her hands fluttering. I get the sense she’s kind of a Nervous Nelly. Or maybe she’s just excited, I don’t know, but I like her. She’ll be the perfection distraction for the rest of the game. At least I won’t have to worry about Harvey lurking around, watching my every move. Or worry about the fact that there’s a chance I could be…
Pregnant.
Ugh. I’m worrying over nothing. I need to stop.
So instead, I focus on Susanna and start explaining the basics of American football.
My favorite subject.
After the game—the Niners won—and the interviews and the photo ops, Jordan and Cannon were finally set free. Susanna and I stayed together the entire time, like sweet little groupies, eager to catch sight of their men.
Us patiently waiting around for them reminded me of high school. When Livvy and I would linger outside the locker room until her boyfriend at the time, Ryan, would finally emerge.
And I, of course, was there for Tuttle. Not that I ever wanted to admit it back then, before we were officially dating. What we had before our actual relationship was so complicated and confusing. He drove me insane. So much push and pull. All the, I want to be with you but I don’t know how to love stuff. He made my teenage heart ache.
He still makes my heart ache, but for entirely different reasons.
Jordan and Cannon approach us, and I can sense Susanna tensing up. She presses her lips together, a vaguely desperate humming sound coming from her, and when she turns to look at me, I see the panic written all over her pretty face.
I have so been in her shoes. That unsettling feeling of “where do I belong in this equation?” I know that’s what she’s experiencing.
“Hey.” Jordan greets me with a hug and a quick kiss on the lips. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“You have a job to do.” I smile up at him. “I get it.”
That familiar nagging feeling hits me, though. One I remember from when we were younger. Will he always keep me waiting? Is that my role in this relationship? To stand on the sidelines while the bright light constantly shines on the Jordan Tuttle?
“What are your plans tonight?” Cannon asks us, thankfully forcing me to stop thinking about all the negative parts of dating Jordan.
We both turn to face him and Susanna. They’re standing next to each other, Susanna looking a little uncomfortable. A lot awkward.
“Not sure,” Jordan answers. “All I know is I’m starving.”
“Same,” I add.
“All four of us should go to dinner,” Cannon suggests, slipping his arm around Susanna’s waist and pulling her in close. “What do you think?”
Susanna stares up at him adoringly. I think she wants him to be all lovey dovey, which isn’t normally Cannon’s thing. At least, it wasn’t when we were in high school. “That sounds fantastic,” she tells him.
Jordan is watching the two of them in confusion. I’ll have to update him on what’s going on later, but for now we have to just roll with it. “Yes, let’s go to dinner. Have any suggestions, Susanna?” I ask.
She grins and nods. “Definitely. I can even drive us! I brought the family car.”
The family car?
We walk out into the mostly empty parking lot, headed straight for an older, silver Mercedes sedan.
“It’s a beastly thing. My father drove it when he was a teen, if you can even imagine,” Susanna explains while we walk. “It’s one of the safest cars on the road. That’s why he insists I drive it.”
“Protecting his baby girl?” Cannon asks, tugging on the ends of her hair.
Susanna darts away from him, her heels sounding loudly as she walks. “That and, well, I wasn’t the best driver when I first started out.”
Jordan grabs hold of my hand and tugs me close, whispering into my ear, “She’s not going to kill us, is she?”
I shake my head, trying to contain my laughter. “I hope not.”
We pile into the vehicle, Jordan and I taking the back seat while Cannon barely fits his huge frame into the passenger seat. Susanna pulls a pair of glasses out of her purse, putting them on before she starts the car.
“My driving glasses,” she explains when Cannon looks at her funny. “They really do help.”
“Holy shit, you’re adorable,” Cannon says just before he leans over and kisses her on the cheek.
They keep talking as she starts to exit the parking lot, and Jordan sends me another one of those confused looks. He ducks his head, our cheeks practically touching as he says, “You need to tell me what’s going on. Unless you’re just as clueless as I am.”
“Lucky for you, I’m not clueless.” Thankfully, Cannon turns the radio on, and Susanna starts bopping her head to the music. “They met last night.”
Jordan’s frowning. “Last night? I didn’t know Cannon could move so fast.”
“Well, he did. I guess they really hit it off. He invited her to watch the game, so here she is.”
“And who, exactly, is she?”
“Lady Susanna Sumner. Youngest daughter of an earl. She’s twenty-three and doesn’t know a thing about American football.” That’s about all I know. “Oh, and I get the sense that she grew up very sheltered on her family’s estate.”
“Estate?”
“I did mention she’s the daughter of an earl? Meaning she’s nobility.”
“Actually, we’re distant relatives of the queen, so yes. We’re technically part of the royal family.” Susanna’s gaze meets mine in the rearview mirror, her eyes looking huge behind her glasses. “Sorry, didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”
“I should apologize. We’re the ones blatantly talking about you in the back of your car,” I say.
“Saying only good things, I hope.” Susanna appears truly worried.
“Just giving Jordan the rundown.” When Susanna frowns, I continue. “He didn’t know who you were, so I was letting him know.”
“She’s my future girlfriend,” Cannon says proudly.
Susanna pushes his shoulder, not that he’s going anywhere. He’s such a giant hulk of a man. “Please. You’re leaving in a few days.”
“I’ll miss you.” He sounds sincere. “You’ll spend the next few days with me, right?”
“Um…” A horn honks and Susanna jerks the steering wheel, causing the car to veer sharply. Another horn honks and she hits the brakes, glaring at Cannon once she has the situation under control. “You’re distracting me.”
“Stop distracting her,” Jordan tells Cannon, his voice firm. “I want to make it to the restaurant in one piece.”
Jordan’s scowling so hard, I almost start laughing, but don’t.
This is going to be an interesting night.
We end up at an Italian restaurant not too far from our hotel, and the food is amazing. The place is packed when we arrived, but the maître d’ is an old family friend of Susanna’s—and the son of the owners of the restaurant. We’re whisked to a table almost immediately, and given extra appetizers and wine.
“I’m so full,” I say, pushing my plate away from me. I ate almost every bit of my carbonara, especially the bacon. I love bacon.
“Aw, you can’t be full.” Susanna mock pouts. She’s sitting directly across from me, her half-eaten plate already pushed aside. “You must save room for dessert. Their cannoli are to die for. Or the tiramisu.”
“You should’ve warned me. I wouldn’t have eaten all this.” I wave my hand at my plate. “Tiramisu is my favorite.”
“We’ll share a dessert,” Jordan suggests, resting his hand over mine and giving it a squeeze.
I smile at him, enjoying how relaxed, how happy he looks tonight. The game is over and they won. Now we’re just two people with friends, on vacation in one of the most exciting cities in the world.
r /> “Let’s order the entire dessert menu,” Cannon says as he looks it over. “They all sound amazing.”
“That’s because they are amazing,” Susanna says, plucking the menu from Cannon’s fingers. Her eyes bug out when she takes in the entire list. “But we can’t eat them all, Cannon. There’s so many!”
“We can try,” Cannon says with a shrug, taking back the menu. Our server happens to choose this moment to stop by our table and check on us. “We want every dessert on the menu.”
The server frowns. “Excuse me?”
“The dessert menu? We want all of them. One of each,” Cannon explains.
Susanna starts giggling, then takes a sip from her wine. I think she’s drunk. I barely touched my glass, not that anyone noticed.
Thank goodness.
“Are you serious?” the server asks incredulously.
“He’s serious,” Jordan says, his voice firm. He’s scowling at the server, and I almost feel sorry for the guy. “One of each, like he said.”
“Right away, sir.” The server nods once and then buzzes away.
A shiver moves down my spine as I gawk at Jordan. I love it when he takes command of a situation, which is often. He’s a natural born leader, and it’s so damn sexy I sort of want to throw myself at him.
Fine, I totally want to throw myself at him.
“You are so demanding,” I tell him, resting my hand on his rock-hard thigh.
Jordan turns to look at me, his scowl immediately softening. “I got tired of hearing him argue with Cannon.”
“He wasn’t arguing. I think he was in shock by the order.”
“Whatever. They were annoying me.” Jordan shrugged.
I squeeze his thigh, my fingers trailing up. “You are so sexy when you act like that.”
His brows lift and he leans in closer. “When I act like that?”
“Like you own the world.” My fingers brush the front of his jeans.
He grabs hold of my wrist, stopping me. “Wine making you daring tonight?”
Nope. I barely drank a drop. I’m a little too freaked out by our having sex with no condom to want to drink. “You make me daring,” I tell him, trying to work my wrist out of his grasp so I can touch him again. He’s smirking, looking far too cocky for his own good. Susanna and Cannon aren’t even paying attention to us. They’re too engrossed in their own intimate conversation. “Stop being so sexy all the time and maybe I won’t try and grab you.”