He sounds so angry, and I have to confess—a pissed off Jordan Tuttle is hot. This is exactly what my teenage self would’ve thought. I remember having these exact same thoughts when we were together in high school. All that pent up anger and frustration spilling out of him is downright sexy.
My lust-driven thoughts probably mean I have a mental problem.
I realize he’s waiting for me to say something, so I do.
“It’s all just happening so fast. Only a few weeks have gone by since we first saw each other again,” I explain, throwing my hands up in the air. I’m frustrated, but not with him. More like I’m frustrated with myself. “I mean really, are we sure this is going to work between us the second time around? There are no guarantees in life, Jordan.”
“It’s been a few weeks and the six years before that,” he reminds me, completely ignoring my last question. “You want me to be honest?”
“Of course I do,” I say.
“I never stopped thinking about you. Ever. I always wondered where you were, what you were doing. Even after we split and I was so damn mad and fucking miserable, I knew if I saw you again, I’d want you back,” he admits.
I blink at him, shocked by his words, the passion behind them, the intense gleam in his eyes. He means every word he says. He still cares. Dare I think…he still loves me. And yes, I still love him.
But is it too soon to admit our feelings to each other right now, when things are so unsure between us?
“Did I just freak you out?” he asks, tilting his head to the side as he contemplates me.
“You didn’t freak me out.” I’m a total liar. He freaked me out a little. “I’m more worried about Harvey. He said some pretty awful things to me. What if he’s saying those same awful things to other people?”
“Fuck that guy. Who cares what he thinks?” Jordan’s mouth goes thin. “Swear to God Mandy, if he’s bad mouthing you to other people, I’ll kick his ass.”
“That is the absolute last thing I want you to do.” I go to him, resting my hands on his chest, desperate for him to listen to me. “But I care about what Harvey thinks. I can’t help it, I care about what everyone thinks. I don’t want people to think I’m some gold digger or famewhore out to get whatever I can from you. I’m just—a regular girl, okay? A regular woman.” I put emphasis on the last word. “It’s scary to be thrust into this world where the spotlight is always on us. On me. I’m not used to it.”
“This is exactly what drove you away last time,” Jordan says grimly.
I curl my fingers into his shirt, feeling the warm, hard skin beneath. My knees go a little weak but I need to stay focused and get my point across. “Image is everything, Jordan. Maybe Harvey’s right. Maybe we should keep a low profile until we know for sure that we’re—serious about each other.”
Oh God, what am I saying? Of course, I’m serious about him. I’m fairly certain he’s serious about me.
But there’s always that niggling doubt in the back of my mind, lingering there. Reminding me that maybe, just maybe I’m not the woman for him.
“You want to keep a low profile? Because we’re not serious about each other?” he asks incredulously.
“Maybe?” I release my hold on his shirt and take a step back, feeling helpless.
He rubs his hand along his tight jaw, glowering at me, just before he starts heading for the door. “I’ll be right back,” he calls over his shoulder.
“Wait, where are you going?” I ask but the door slams shut before I can even get the last word out.
He’s already gone.
“I blew it,” I tell Livvy, who’s yawning in my ear. I called her within minutes after Jordan stormed out of our hotel room, not even feeling bad for waking her up at the crack of dawn. She’s woken me up countless times since she moved to Texas, so this is total payback. “I don’t think he’s coming back.”
He’s been gone for almost two hours. He hasn’t texted, he hasn’t called me, nothing. I’m lying on the bed, wishing I could go after him, but considering I have no idea where he went, I wouldn’t know where to start. So I wait here, hoping he’ll show up.
“You keep repeating yourself,” Livvy says, yawning yet again. “And he’s definitely coming back. His suitcase is there. He needs his stuff.”
“Right, but maybe he doesn’t need me.” Tears spring to my eyes, and I blink them away. I haven’t cried over this yet, and I don’t want to start now. But as more time passes, the more worried I become. “I should’ve just told him I loved him.”
“Do you love him?” Livvy asks, sounding genuinely curious.
“I’ve always been in love with him,” I admit. “It’s like my feelings for him were lying dormant in my mind and the minute I heard from him, talked to him, saw him, all those emotions came flooding back.”
“You should tell him that,” Livvy says. “Well, when he eventually returns to your hotel room.”
“What if he never returns?” I practically wail, flopping backwards on the bed. I stare up at the ceiling, my mind racing. I wish he would walk through that door right now. I want him in this room, standing in front of me so I can tell him how sorry I am for saying all those stupid things. And then I can kiss him and touch him and admit my true feelings for him.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Livvy says, being that blunt, unflinching friend you need in situations like this. “Stop wallowing in self-pity and go find him.”
“How can I find him? I’m in a foreign city! I have no idea where he is,” I say, feeling helpless.
“Text him. Call him and profess your love. And if he doesn’t answer, leave him a voicemail and tell him how you feel. Confess everything. He won’t be able to resist you if you cut your chest wide open and bleed out your love for him,” Livvy says.
What an image. “Ew. That’s somehow grotesque and beautiful, all at once,” I tell her.
“That’s what love is. It’s messy and beautiful and awful and exhilarating.” Livvy’s voice goes soft. “It’s scary. But wouldn’t you rather take the risk and tell him how you really feel versus possibly losing him forever?”
Her words make my heart ache. “What if I’ve already lost him forever?” I whisper, my stomach twisting at the mere thought.
“You haven’t,” Livvy says without hesitation. “He hasn’t given up on you that quick. Trust me.”
Her words linger in my head long after we end our call. She’s right. I need to tell him how I feel. I need to pour my heart out to him and reassure him I’m really not scared. I just…he was right. I freaked out and said dumb stuff that I wish I could take back.
Grabbing my phone, I call him, waiting anxiously for him to answer.
But it goes straight to voicemail. I clutch the phone tightly as I listen to his deep voice say, Sorry I can’t take your call right now. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.
The tone sounds, and I start talking.
“Hey. I don’t know where you are, but I hope you’re not mad at me. I just—panicked. And I said stupid things. All those old insecurities resurfaced, when I should’ve never doubted what you said. I don’t really believe we’re moving too fast. I’ve always had feelings for you, Jordan. I missed you so much these past six years, and having you back in my life feels so right. So perfect. I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you. I—”
Another tone sounds, the phone clicks, and the call is over.
“Shit!” I toss my phone onto the bed in frustration and close my eyes, fighting my tears yet again. I don’t want to cry. I refuse to cry. He’ll show up. I know he will. I know he…
A horn sounds once. Twice. Over and over again, insistent. Urgent.
I hear a voice.
“Amanda!”
Jordan’s? Over a loudspeaker?
I climb out of bed and go to the window, shoving the curtains back. There’s a double decker red tour bus idling by the curb. The second level is uncovered, the seats filled with people, and Jordan is
standing in the middle of the aisle clutching a microphone, his focus zeroed in on our hotel window.
His gaze immediately finds me and he speaks into the microphone.
“Open the window, babe.”
Reaching for the lock, I undo it with shaky fingers and slide the window open, gasping when the cold air hits my face. I can smell the exhaust from the idling bus, hear the traffic in the near distance, even the low murmur of the tourists on the upper level of the bus talking to each other with their heads bent close.
“She opened the window,” Jordan tells them and they all lift their heads, their gazes on me as they start cheering.
My cheeks go hot and I slap my hands against them, not sure what to do or say. My heart is thumping wildly and Jordan’s gaze never leaves mine as he starts to talk.
“Yo, Mandy,” he calls out to me with a giant smile.
“Yo, Tuttle,” I call back, grinning stupidly as I rest my hands on the edge of the window and lean my head out.
“Remember how I told you I didn’t want to ride one of these buses because I didn’t want anyone to recognize me?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah.” I’m shouting, but how else can he hear me?
“Well, I don’t care if they recognize me. Some of them know who I am, but most of them don’t care, because they’re from another country. None of that matters, though. You want to know why?” he asks.
People are stopping on the sidewalk to watch him, since it’s not every day this kind of thing happens, you know? The side street our hotel is on isn’t very busy, but there’s a car waiting behind the bus. And then another.
“Why?” I ask when I realize he’s waiting for me.
“Because you’re not with me. Nothing really matters if you’re not by my side. I didn’t realize that until you came back into my life. Before, I was just living. Doing my thing. And it wasn’t bad, you know?” He chuckles into the microphone and I can’t help but laugh too.
I can’t believe he’s doing this.
I never want him to stop talking.
“But then you slid into my DMs and the message you sent me was just so…you. It made my heart ache in the best way.” His voices goes a little deeper, and my own heart wants to melt at his words.
“You make my heart ache in the best way,” he continues. “You said earlier maybe we’re moving too fast, but if I’m being real with you right now, I don’t think we’re moving fast enough.”
I wait for him to continue on, but he remains quiet.
As in, he’s killing me.
“What do you mean?” I finally ask.
He moves the mic away from his face and clears his throat before he resumes talking.
“I love you, Mandy. I will always love you. Till the end of fucking time.” He glances at his captive audience on the bus, his expression sheepish. “Sorry.” Then he looks up at the window. Looks up at me. His eyes, his entire face is shining with emotion. All of it for me. “But it’s true. I know it’s only been a few weeks, but when you’re ready to spend the rest of your life with someone, why not start right now?”
The tears finally flow down my cheeks and I rest my hand over my mouth, trying to contain the sob. “Oh Jordan,” I practically wail.
His brows furrow and he brings the mic so close to his mouth I can hear him breathing. “Get your pretty ass down here right now, Amanda,” he practically growls.
I leave the window. Dart out the room, run down the hall, frantically hit the down button for the elevator. It feels like it takes hours, but I’m finally outside in front of the hotel, and Jordan is standing there waiting for me, the bus directly behind him, a line of traffic filling both sides of the street. The sidewalk is crowded with onlookers too and yep, there’s even two photographers taking photos and calling out Jordan’s name.
He ignores them all. He doesn’t look at anyone else.
Just me.
“I love you,” he whispers as he steps toward me, taking my hands in his. “If this isn’t proof enough, I don’t know what is. I hijacked a tour bus and made an ass of myself in front of everyone on this street, all for you, Mandy.”
I sniff, ready to say I love him too but then he pulls me into his arms and holds me tight, my face pressed against his chest, my tears soaking his shirt. He tangles his fingers in my hair, his mouth at my temple. I’m so overwhelmed, so freaking relieved, all I can do is stand on this sidewalk and cry in Jordan’s arms.
I wait for Amanda to say something. Anything. My entire body is tense, nerves buzzing inside me, making me feel antsy. I grab hold of her slender shoulders and take a step backward, causing her to tilt her head so her gaze meets mine.
Her eyes shine with tears and her cheeks are flushed—and damp. She smiles at me and shakes her head, a little laugh escaping her. “You hijacked a tour bus, Jordan. For me?”
“For you.” I gave the driver a huge tip and when I spoke to his manager on the phone I promised I’d film a commercial for the tour company. I was that desperate to prove my point to Amanda.
I’d do anything for her.
Anything.
The laughter dies, and she smiles, her eyes glowing. “I love you too,” she whispers. “I’ve loved you for what feels like forever.”
Before she can say something else she’s back in my arms, my mouth fused with hers. The crowd on the sidewalk, on the bus, even the people waiting in their cars start cheering and I can hear the click of the cameras taking our photo.
This is the biggest declaration I can make. She can never doubt me again. I’m in love with Amanda. And she’s in love with me.
“Come on,” I whisper against her lips when I break the kiss seconds later. “Let’s go inside.”
We rush into the hotel lobby, her hand clasped in mine as I lead her over to the elevator, thankful when the doors slide open immediately. We slip inside and I press the number six button, Amanda wrapping her arms around my neck just as the doors slide closed, her mouth on mine before the car even begins its ascent.
Her kiss is hungry, her tongue seeking mine, her fingers playing with the ends of my hair. I return the kiss with matching hunger, guiding her out of the elevator when we reach the sixth floor. I tear my lips from hers and practically drag her to our room, my shaky fingers having a hell of a time pulling the card key out of my wallet.
She laughs and takes the key from me, as if she knows I’m having difficulty, and she unlocks the door with ease. We enter the room in a rush, me pressing her against the door as soon as it shuts, my mouth back on hers, my hands sliding beneath her shirt, encountering warm, bare skin.
I tug the shirt up, and she helps me shed it, tossing it onto the floor. Her bra is white. Trimmed in satin and lace. Virginal when she’s anything but. I shove the cups up, exposing her breasts, her rosy pink nipples hard and begging for my mouth. I draw one in, sucking and biting, licking away the sting when I hear her harsh intake of breath. I do the same to the other nipple, my hand dropping in between her legs, rubbing her there, pressing the seam of her jeans against her pussy.
She writhes against me, her legs squeezing around my hand, like she never wants me to escape. With my other hand I undo the button, pull down the zipper, and then I’m delving my hand inside, brushing my fingers against her panties.
They’re damp. She’s so fucking wet right now.
All for me.
Our overeager hands start pulling at each other’s clothes, and within seconds we’re naked. I pick her up, carry her to the bed and deposit her there, following after her. Our kiss is long, full of circling tongues and heat, my cock ready to plunge inside her wet depths and just fuck her already, but I hold myself back.
I want to savor her.
Without warning I roll us over, so I’m lying on my back and she’s on top of me, her legs splayed across my hips, my cock nudging against her. My hands find her ass and I grip her firmly, trying to get her to move.
She rests her hands on my shoulders and lifts up, staring down at me, her brow wrinkled
. “What do you want me to do?”
“Sit on my face.” I smile.
Her mouth drops open in shock, but come the fuck on. She’s got to be pretending. “Jordan.”
I mimic her. “Amanda.”
Her cheeks turn pink. I guess she is actually a little…what? Embarrassed? “Are you serious?”
“Serious as fuck,” I tell her in my most solemn tone. I tug on her ass again. “Come on.”
“Oh God.” She releases a shuddery breath and closes her eyes, her entire body trembling. Pressing her lips together, she moves away from me, and my hands fall away from her ass. Now it’s my turn to frown at her in confusion. But the confusion evaporates quickly, because she crawls closer, so she’s right next to me, my mouth mere inches from her thigh. She rises up on her knees, grabs hold of the headboard, swings her leg over my head and straddles me so that we’re face to pussy.
I place my hands on her lower back, lift my head, and make first contact.
The moment his tongue touches my clit, I’m gasping. His hold on me is firm, I can’t make my escape, not that I want to. His tongue takes deep, dragging licks. No part of me is untouched, and I grip the headboard tightly, my knuckles white, my thighs trembling.
God, his tongue feels so…incredibly…good.
We used to do this all the time. Back when we couldn’t seem to get enough of each other. Every chance he got, he’d go down on me. I think he enjoyed turning me into a screaming, gasping mess. It wouldn’t take much—he’d slip his fingers deep inside me, suck my clit, and bam. I’d go off like a rocket. Again, and again, and…
Again.
It feels the same way at this very moment. This entire trip, it’s like we’re young and insatiable. Like we can’t get enough of each other. I thought that would calm down with time and age, but I guess I was wrong.
I’m just as frantic, just as needy as I was when we were eighteen and dying for it—for each other.