Life is strange sometimes, isn’t it?
Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to Amanda too. We have so much history together. After seeing her last night, I couldn’t stop replaying everything we said to each other. What was I thinking, telling her she had to make the next move? No surprise that I caved like I always do when it comes to her.
If I’m being real with myself, I have no idea what I’m doing right now, or why exactly I’m doing it, but I’m trying to just go with my impulses and see where they take me.
Even if I might end up getting hurt in the end.
“What the shit, Amanda? Jordan Tuttle is out there waiting for you!” Lena is hopping up and down, all of her earlier anger with me gone.
Her reaction is totally annoying. She gave me grief only a couple hours ago and implied I’m a heartless bitch who toyed with Cade’s emotions, and now she’s freaking out because Mr. Superstar Tuttle is in the lobby waiting for me.
“I told you he was my ex.” I grab the flowers and hold them close, surprised at how heavy they are. I look terrible after a long and emotionally exhausting day, but Jordan didn’t seem to mind. His actions made me realize I miss the way he always looked at me.
Like I was his absolute favorite thing.
“He sent you the flowers, huh?” I nod and she exhales loudly. “Very sweet.”
“Right.” Okay, now I’m pissed. “Only a few hours ago you told me I was awful for leading Cade on.”
Her mouth pops open. “I—”
“And now that you know it was Jordan Tuttle who sent the flowers, you’re fine with it.” I shake my head and start to walk past her, disappointment taking over my anger. “That’s not very cool, Lena.”
Lena grabs my arm, stopping me. “You’re right,” she says softly, her hand dropping away from my elbow. “I’m sorry. I just—I didn’t know what was going on, and it looked bad, you know? I thought you were totally playing Cade.”
Now is not the right time to remember—or admit—that I used Cade by inviting him to take me to that game. I don’t know if I can ever admit that to Lena, though I should. “He’s just a friend,” I remind her.
I need to tell Cade that, though. Be honest with him.
“And is Jordan Tuttle just a friend?” She raises a brow. “Because if he is, what a very hot and famous friend you have.”
Just like that, we both start to laugh.
Here’s the deal. I don’t like being mad at people. My mother says I’m too forgiving. That I let people take advantage of me, that I let them walk all over me. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve become better at not allowing someone to take advantage of me, but in turn, that can cause people to keep their distance. And sometimes, that leaves a person lonely, you know? This is why I’ve always been so thankful for Lena. Our friendship has never been distant. She’s warm and fun and open, and I try to be the same to her.
“I’m sorry too,” I say once our laughter stops. I’d hug her, but I’ve got my arms wrapped around the giant vase. “I really had no idea you liked Cade.”
“That’s my own fault. I never told you.” She smiles, her eyes twinkling, and I know we’re good now. “Are you going on a date with Jordan Tuttle tonight?”
I shrug, purposefully nonchalant. “Just dinner.”
No need to get my hopes up.
“Dinner, huh?” Lena fans herself. “I don’t know if I could eat, what with that gorgeous man sitting across the table from me.”
Valid point. My stomach feels like a roller coaster is running through it. Ups and downs and twists and turns, shrieking through the free fall. My appetite has totally left me, replaced with a hefty dose of rattled nerves. “He’s an old friend. It’s—nothing.”
I need to keep repeating that word. Nothing, nothing, nothing. That’s what Jordan and I are doing—a big fat nothing.
“I’m walking you out,” Lena says assuredly, turning on her heel and heading toward the front lobby. “I’m introducing myself to him too. Hope you don’t mind.”
I don’t think I’d really have a choice, not that I care. I want her to meet Jordan. In fact, I sort of want to show him off to her. Like, do you see this very fine male specimen? Once upon a time, he was all mine. He loved me. And I loved him.
Okay, wait. That’s just a reminder of what I threw away…
“Let’s go,” Lena calls as she starts heading for the lobby.
I chase after her, the vase jiggling in my arms, the water sloshing within, flowers batting me in the face. I sort of wish he’d never come to pick me up. I’m desperate to take a shower, to wash my hair, to change into a beautiful outfit and just…make myself look better than this. What I’m working with at this very moment is too close to hopeless, let me tell you.
“Hey.” I can tell by the polite yet vaguely flirtatious tone of Lena’s voice that she’s talking to Jordan. “You’re Jordan Tuttle, right?”
I come to a stop, the flowers still in my face, my eyes scrunching closed when I hear her ask if he’s really…himself.
Lord, kill me now.
“Right.” I hear the amusement in his deep voice, even in that singular word spoken, and—my eyes pop open—a smile teasing the corner of my lips.
“I’m Lena.” She takes a couple of steps, and I’d bet money she’s holding her hand out for him to shake. “I work with Amanda. We’re good friends.”
“Nice to meet you.” They’re shaking hands, and I’m sure he’s sizing her up. I’m guessing she’s sizing him up too, and I sort of want to die. Or maybe sneak out so I never have to face either of them again, but that would mean I couldn’t have dinner with Jordan tonight and I do, after all, want to thank him for the flowers.
There’s more I want to do for Jordan, with Jordan, but I can’t face those dirty details just yet.
I’m hiding at the end of the hall, just behind the wall so they can’t see me. My spying is making me feel totally awkward, especially if someone found me doing this, which could totally happen. I should just walk out there and talk to them, yet I can’t help but linger for a few minutes more…
Lena gets right to the point. “So you two used to date.”
“Yeah.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Um…” He sounds wary, and I can’t blame him. “Sure?”
“Did she really break up with you?”
Okay. I want to die.
He’s quiet for a moment, as if he’s weighing his words and what he’s about to say next, and I lean against the wall, clutch the vase to my chest and pray I don’t sneeze because of the flowers.
“She did break up with me,” he finally says, his voice grim. “And she broke my heart.”
Oh.
God.
I swear Lena gasps. “Really?”
There’s nothing said so I can only assume he nods or whatever, and I can envision her offering him comfort while he plays it up. A light touch on the arm or whatever while he drums up sympathy.
Ugh.
Without thought I stride out into the lobby, holding the extravagant flower arrangement up, like I’m showing it off. “Thank you for the flowers, Jordan.”
His eyes widen slightly when he spots me and Lena takes a step away from him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “You’re welcome. They’re—”
“Huge?” I smile, my gaze going from him to Lena. “Yes, they are.”
“I hope you like them.” His beautiful blue eyes are only for me.
“She loves them,” Lena gushes for me, sending me a look. One I can’t really interpret.
“They’re gorgeous!” Rhonda calls from her spot at the front desk.
I have a total audience here. We need to go, stat.
“You ready?” he asks, like he knows how much I want to bail.
The smile I send him is full of relief. He’s once again my knight in shining armor. “Yes, let’s go.”
We walk out of the building, Rhonda and Lena’s loud goodbyes still ringing in my ears. I know I’m going to he
ar from Lena later. She’ll probably apologize for not believing me when I told her I was the one who broke up with him, and then she’ll lay it on thick about how handsome and wounded he is. Because he is. Handsome.
And wounded.
Makes me crazy because I’m the one who wounded him.
“You want me to carry those?” Before I can even answer, Jordan is grabbing the vase from me, ridiculously sexy carrying a giant assortment of flowers while wearing a dark gray henley shirt, jeans and rugged boots. He’s got that sexy city lumberjack thing down well. All he needs is a beard. “Your friend seems nice.”
“She’s very nice,” I agree. “She didn’t believe me when I told her I broke up with you.”
“Why not?” He veers right and I follow after him.
“Most people don’t believe me when I tell them.” He appears surprised and I shrug. “They all think you’re the one who dumped me.”
“Yeah. Not the case though, right?” He actually chuckles.
“I heard you tell her I broke your heart.” When he glances over at me, I try my best to look mad. Because I am, damn it. He shouldn’t admit those kinds of things out loud, to other people, even if it is the truth. “Why would you say that?”
He shrugs those impossibly broad shoulders of his. “It’s the truth.”
I want to hit him. I also want to hug him. The conflicting emotions swirling within me battle it out, my brain fully engaged in the struggle. What do I say to that, how does he expect me to respond? He’s acting like it’s no big deal now, so maybe I should do the same.
“There’s my car,” he says, and we both come to a stop, my mouth hanging open.
He’s driving a Range Rover. Still. He had one in high school, and we had many moments in that car. Most of them awesome teenage experiences, if you know what I mean.
The new one is silver, and it’s gorgeous. I turn to look at him and find he’s already watching me, the first real smile on his face since we’ve started talking again.
Seeing him look so happy steals my breath, and I just stare at him for a long moment, wallowing in the beauty that is Jordan Tuttle’s face.
“A Range Rover, huh?” I finally ask, my voice teasing.
He shrugs again, hits the keyless remote, and the car lights flash, the doors unlocking. “Old habits die hard.”
“Oh yeah?” What’s he saying? Am I an old habit he can’t kick?
“Yeah.” He makes his way to the passenger side and opens the door for me so I can slip inside. “Once I find something I like, I tend to stick with it. Not like some people I know.”
My mouth falls open once again, my brain scrambling.
Really. Really? Did he just say that?
Jordan shuts the door firmly before I can manage a reply.
Amanda lives in a shit hole.
It’s a three-story apartment building with a parking garage on the bottom floor, and I’m guessing it was built in the 1960s. Don’t think it’s been remodeled since then either. The windows face the extremely busy street, and it doesn’t look safe. Not by a long shot.
Yet she’s babbling on like it’s the best option ever. Almost feels like she’s making excuses to me for living there.
“It’s so close to everything, including the bus stop I take to work.” She sends me a relieved smile. “So glad you picked me up, though. It would’ve sucked to ride the bus home with the flowers. Though I guess I could’ve left them at work.”
I say nothing. My brain is too busy trying to comprehend the fact that she takes the bus every day to and from work. That she lives in this shitty apartment complex we’re about to park in front of. That she seems perfectly happy with her life.
If she would’ve stuck with me, I could’ve given her so much more.
So much fucking more.
“Just pull in right there,” she instructs, and I park on the street, putting the SUV in park and killing the engine. I glance around, my gaze going to the side mirror as I contemplate getting out of the car when the light finally turns red. There is too much traffic coming at me to make a safe exit.
“How long have you lived here?”
When I don’t move to get out of the car, she drops her hand from the door handle. “About a year.”
“You like it?” I don’t see how she could.
“I like that I have my own place versus having a roommate, like I did at my other place.” She shrugs. “It’s kind of old, but it works.”
It’s awful, but I refrain from saying anything insulting. I don’t want to make her mad. Feels like we’re walking a fine line together already. Didn’t help that I say stupid shit without thinking.
Amanda’s right—I should’ve never told her friend that she broke my heart, but the words came out without thought. Just the automatic truth. Though maybe she needs to hear it…especially since we haven’t really talked about it.
Once the traffic lightens up, I get out of my car, and Amanda does the same. I grab the flower arrangement from the back seat and follow her to the building and then up the stairs, relieved that none of the apartments are on the ground floor. At least that’s semi-safe—a creeper has to climb up to get through the window.
But I’m constantly looking around as we head to her apartment, noting the dark corners, the scummy guy who leaves his door open so I can see inside his trashed place. She walks faster when we pass by his, and I practically want to growl my disapproval.
She finally comes to a stop in front of apartment number forty-two and whips out a set of keys, unlocking two locks before the door swings open. I follow her inside, coming to a stop in the center of the room when I realize this is it. This is the entirety of her home.
“You live in a studio?” My tone is accusatory and I immediately regret saying it like that, but come the fuck on.
“Well, yeah.” She shuts and locks the door, then throws her arms up in the air. “But it’s all mine.”
It’s not much. There’s a tiny kitchen and, from what I can tell, an even tinier bathroom. The couch is still folded out into a bed, and the sheets and blanket are a haphazard mess, one of the pillows on the floor. Amanda makes a dash for the makeshift bed—her actual bed—tossing the other pillow onto the floor and trying to fold the bed away.
“God, how embarrassing. I’m so messy,” she says, completely bent over the couch and giving me a perfect view of her perfect ass.
“Leave it,” I tell her, and she stands up straight, turning to face me. “Don’t worry about it,” I say, my voice gentler. “Just—go get ready.”
“Can I take a shower?” she asks hopefully.
Her question sends an immediate image to my brain. One of Amanda in the shower completely naked.
And me joining her.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice gruff. “Go for it.”
“I’ll be fast,” she assures me, and then she’s gone, the bathroom door shutting behind her.
There was a time long, long ago, in high school, when I asked her to come back to my place, and I took a shower while she wandered aimlessly around my room. So I do the same now, looking around her tiny apartment. There really isn’t one personal thing on display. Not even a photograph of her family, of her friends, of a past boyfriend.
Nothing.
I fold up the couch for her, shove the cushions back into place and then settle in, checking my phone. I ignore the texts from my agent—she can wait—ignore the text from my father—he can definitely wait—and read the one text I received from Mia.
My ex-girlfriend.
Miss u! Get 2gether soon?
We broke up over a year ago, after my career got in the way of our relationship. As in, I was rarely home, or always busy, so I never spent enough time with her. I do see her on occasion because we’re…
Fuck buddies.
Her “get 2gether soon” is total code for “wanna fuck”? And most of the time, I meet up with her, we have dinner, we talk, we have a few drinks and then we get down to business.
No fu
ss. No strings. She’s the perfect hookup because she’s become just as busy as I am. She’s an influencer whose fashion blog and Instagram took off right after we broke up. Mia likes to say that thanks to my breaking up with her, her life has never been better.
The last six months, I started to wonder if Mia and I could make the perfect relationship work after all. She doesn’t demand much of my time, which is a plus. She’s so busy now, she’s not sitting at home wondering when she can see me again. That would be ideal. I always felt guilty, having to cancel plans with her. With the women I’ve dated in the past, I canceled on them all damn time.
Not that there’s been a lot. After Amanda broke up with me, I steered clear from women in general. They were too much trouble. Too demanding of my time, which I have so little of.
And now here I am, sitting on Amanda’s couch, waiting for her to finish with her shower so I can take her to dinner. Once dinner is over, I want to take her back to my place, and show her my bedroom. Just like I did all those years ago, when I was trying my damnedest to convince her I wanted her.
No one else.
Just her.
My phone buzzes with a text notification and I check to see it’s another one from Mia.
U busy tonite? Wld luv 2 c u
One thing I’ve always disliked about Mia was her adolescent texting style. It’s like she can’t spell out a word to save her life, yet she somehow can string together coherent sentences in her blog and Instagram posts. But I usually never let that bother me.
Not really.
Until now, at this very moment. Amanda is one of the smartest people I know. I’ve always respected that girl—that’s what drew me to her. I’m just as attracted to her face and body as I am to her very attractive, very intelligent brain.
Can’t get together tonight, I text Mia. Have plans.
Her response is immediate.
:( :( Maybe some other time?
This is where it gets tricky. Where I have to admit to myself that I don’t want to see Mia anymore because I’m hoping this rekindling with Amanda could possibly work.