Sad.
Just how Cannon’s acting.
“Hey.” I stand, practically thrust myself in front of Em so she can’t see Cannon. I want her to focus on me, on what I’m about to say. “It really isn’t what you think.”
She tilts her head back because I’m taller than her, and I swear her chin wobbles. Like she’s about to cry. “I thought you were my friend.”
“I am.” I take her hands and give them a shake. “I just got here. I saw Cannon and thought he looked sad, so I started talking to him. I’ve known him a long time, you know.”
Em’s eyes are dark, lined with thick black eyeliner, and so wide as she studies me. She looks like she wants to believe me, but she’s still unsure.
“Em.” I shake her hands again, harder this time, and I lower my voice. “I’m not into Cannon at all. I’m—I’m still in love with Tuttle.”
It took a lot to admit that. And I think Em knows it too.
Realization seems to flicker in her eyes. “So you’re just friends? That’s it?”
“Yes. We’re friends. I don’t want Cannon like that. And I really don’t think he’s into me either.” I squeeze her hands one more time before I let them go and say in a low voice, “But I do think he likes you.”
She blinks once, twice, like she’s startled. “Really?” Her voice is a breathless whisper, and I’m baffled. These two are totally into each other. It’s obvious. So why are they acting like this?
Huh. I could ask Tuttle the same question I guess.
“Yes. Really,” I say, my voice flat. This is what happens when I think about Tuttle and our situation and how stupid it is. Doesn’t he see that? Doesn’t he realize just how ridiculous he’s being by denying that he has feelings for me?
Because I know he has feelings for me. He cares about me. And he’d rather push me away. Keep me out of his life.
It’s so incredibly frustrating.
And stupid.
Em glances over at Cannon before she returns her gaze to mine. “You’re still in love with Tuttle?” Hearing her say the words out loud makes me wince. “You should tell him. He’s here. I just saw him.”
My heart trips over itself. “What? He’s here?” I didn’t think he was coming, though I’d secretly hoped. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. When I first got here, I saw him outside, leaning against his Range Rover, looking irritated and sexy, though I don’t know how he manages to do both.” Em laughs and shakes her head. “You should totally go find him and talk to him. I know he’ll listen to you.”
Yeah right. “He already knows how I feel.” My heart is racing. It never seems to remain calm when Jordan is nearby. “It’s a waste of my time to talk to him.”
“I don’t know about that,” Em says slowly, her attention focused on Cannon. Her lips curl into a flirtatious smile. “Hey, you got anything for me to drink, Whittaker?”
And that’s it. I’m forgotten, which I can’t blame her for, because if she really likes him, I get that. Wanting to spend all her time with the boy she wants, I’ve been there. I’ve so been there.
Walking through the kitchen, I go to the door that leads to the backyard, watching everyone outside. I spot Livvy on the far side of the yard, talking with Ryan, her expression closed off, her arms crossed in front of her like she’s trying to keep him away. Her body language says it all. A breakup is imminent.
I turn away and head for the fridge, where I find another cold Bud Light. I open it and chug half of it in a few gulps, wipe a hand across my mouth before I finish it off. My head is already spinning and I toss the empty can in the sink, turning away from the fridge to glance around the kitchen.
No one’s paying me any attention. I’m alone. It’s like I’m invisible. It doesn’t matter what I do, because no one is going to notice me doing it. Right?
Shrugging, I go into the living room, where loud music is playing and a bunch of girls are dancing. I join them, laughing when they easily accept me. They all yell and cheer and one of them grabs my hand, pulling me into the center. We’re all dancing and singing the words to the popular song currently playing. Guys start to take notice of us and they hover nearby and watch us, though they never join in the dancing.
Chickens.
Speaking of chickens, Jordan Tuttle is nowhere to be seen.
Of course.
The song ends and another fast one starts, making us cheer all over again. More girls join us and it’s getting so hot. My hair sticks to the back of my neck and I lift it up, trying to cool myself off.
“Want a drink, Amanda?”
I turn to see a girl I knew from band standing in front of me with a smile, a red cup of foamy beer in each hand. I take one from her with a loud thank-you, ready to bring the drink to my lips when a hand shoots out of nowhere and snatches the cup from my fingers.
“Hey!” I yell, lifting my head to find myself staring into Jordan Tuttle’s eyes. He’s glaring at me, clearly irritated and gorgeous and infuriatingly sexy while gripping the red cup in his hand like he wants to crush it.
My skin tingles.
My heart flips.
He doesn’t move and neither do I—until someone calls out his name.
The moment he’s distracted, I turn and run away.
I’m only here because I knew she would be here. It’s like I have no control. When I got home after the game, I took a shower. Jerked off. Dried off. Thought about shaving but didn’t, because I’m too lazy. Got dressed. Climbed into my car. Made the drive to Cannon Whittaker’s house without even thinking about it. It was like I suddenly found myself pulling into his driveway with no recollection of making the journey there.
I killed the engine and sat there, watching the house for a while. So many people. They were everywhere. At least at my house, it’s big enough you can’t see them all. Here, they’re all I see.
Except for the one person I wanted to see. I knew she was inside. I could feel it—feel her presence. Maybe she’s what drew me here.
Ridiculous. Illogical. Yet here I am. Trying to come up with the courage to go find her.
After a few minutes, I got out of the SUV. Leaned against it, watching people go past, a few of them calling my name in greeting, and I nodded in return. Most of them say nothing at all, they just stare at me as they walk past. I stood outside for a solid fifteen minutes, contemplating my next move. Hesitant. Full of doubt.
Totally unlike myself.
“Fuck it,” I muttered, and headed toward the house, not paying attention to anyone, not bothering to say a word. I opened the front door, pausing as I scanned the room, and she was the first person I lay eyes on.
Amanda. Dancing with a bunch of girls I didn’t recognize, wearing a tight dress that revealed every curve and showcased her long, sexy legs. Her hair down, dark and wavy around her face and tempting me to plunge my hands in it. Wrap those silky strands around my fist so I could drag her back into the nearest bedroom and have my way with her.
Yeah. I’m thinking like a caveman. This is what she does to me.
I was heading toward Amanda when another girl came out of the kitchen with red Solo cups in each hand. She offered one to Amanda and I intercepted it just before she takes a drink.
From the glassy look in her eyes, I’d guess she’s already had plenty of alcohol to drink.
God, she’s beautiful. And this is torture. Coming here. Seeking her out. Her dark eyes go wide when they meet mine and I can hardly move. Neither can she. She sinks her teeth into her lower lip, a look I’ve seen her give me time and again, and I want to be the one who bites her lip. Taste her skin. Kiss her mouth.
“Tuttle!”
I turn away from Amanda to find Ryan is standing in front of me, a drunken smile plastered on his stupid face.
“What’s up dude?” he asks with a laugh.
I acknowledge him with a lackluster one-finger salute, keeping my mouth shut. I don’t want to deal with this guy. I need to talk to Amanda.
But when I
turn back around, she’s gone.
Gone.
Shoving past a questioning Ryan, I go on pure instinct, pushing through the crowd in the living room, ignoring everyone, my only focus on finding her.
The house is small. She couldn’t have gone too far. I need to find her. I have to talk to her.
I have to.
He’s chasing after me. I can feel him getting closer, and I try to push past the crowds of people filling Cannon’s house to gain some distance, but it’s no use. His fingers eventually close around my upper arm, halting my progress, and I whirl on him, jerking against his ever-strengthening hold.
“Let me go!” I’m yelling to be heard above the music, and I don’t care if people are watching. Listening. I want to cause a scene. Maybe it’ll actually force him to react. He’s so cold all the time. So distant.
Even when he tries to talk to me, when he’s almost desperate to make himself heard, he doesn’t make much sense. He talks in circles. Claims he can’t do the things that should come easy to him. How hard can it be, to love someone? What barriers are in his way?
“I want to talk to you,” he starts, but I shake my head, cutting him off. I’ve heard this all before. We won’t get anywhere.
I’m over it.
Maybe someday I’ll be over him too.
“I don’t want to listen to you. I’m done listening to you.” My skin is tingling where he touches me, and I’m so annoyed by my body’s reaction, I tug even harder, trying to get out of his grip. “Let me go, Tuttle.”
The anger on his face is obvious. He hates it when I call him Tuttle. Well, too damn bad. “You’re being unreasonable.”
“You’re being unreasonable,” I throw back at him like a child ready to launch into a major temper tantrum. “You want to start fighting in front of everyone? Because I’m up for it. I can yell and scream and kick and tell them you’re holding me against my will.”
His expression turns dark. Thunderous. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“Try me,” I say smugly.
The music is still playing but people have stopped dancing, talking, laughing. They’re watching us with wide eyes, some of them holding up their phones. Recording the argument? Maybe they’re snapping a few photos to throw up on social media? For once, I really don’t care.
“You’re being unreasonable.” His tone softens and I tell myself not to let my resolve do the same. “Just hear me out, Mandy. Please.”
I hate it when he calls me Mandy. And I really hate it when he says please because he so rarely does. Hearing him say that word makes me want to give in and let him talk to me. Let myself believe in what he wants to say.
Murmurs start and the crowd slowly parts, a fuming Cannon emerging from its depths. His face is red and his eyes are narrowed as he strides toward the two of us. I sneak a quick glance at Tuttle, but his face is a mask. He almost looks…
Bored. By the entire situation.
I’m tempted to stomp on his foot just to make him react.
“Hey.” Cannon’s voice is sharp as he tries to wedge his broad body between Tuttle and me. His back is to me and I can’t see anything around him. He’s as big as a wall. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Tuttle? Let her go.”
“Stay out of it, Whittaker,” Jordan says between clenched teeth just before he lets me go. I take a step back, needing the distance from the sudden testosterone-fueled air. “Leave us alone.”
“We were having no problems at my party until you decided to show up.” Cannon takes a step toward Jordan, looming over him. They’re so close their chests are practically touching, but neither one backs down. “Leave her alone.”
Cannon’s voice leaves no room for argument. But seeing the look on Tuttle’s face, all that earlier supposed boredom is gone. He appears enraged, his hands clutched into fists, like he’s ready to throw one straight at Cannon’s face.
Fear trickles through me, leaving me cold, and I wrap my arms around myself.
“Stay out of our business.” Jordan’s voice is hard, as is his expression. His jaw is so tight it looks like it might shatter.
“If you two have business, then take it elsewhere. You don’t need to start anything at my house.” Cannon turns to look at me, his gaze imploring. My new friend Cannon, rushing to my defense. Who knew he’d do this? Definitely not me. “Do you want to talk to him, Amanda? You don’t have to.”
I’m torn. Part of me wants to listen to what Jordan will say. The other part wants to tell Jordan to kiss my ass and never speak to me again.
“Say yes, Amanda,” Jordan commands like he’s the boss of me. Hearing him talk like that makes me want to punch him. The fear switches to anger just like that, and I stride toward him, ready to push, punch, scream, whatever gets my point across, when someone shouts and shoves Cannon from behind.
It all happens so fast. Cannon yells. Jordan starts swinging. I hear phones clicking, flashes going off as people in the crowd snap pictures. Two of our best football players are going at it, and I’m stuck in the middle.
“Fight!”
I get caught, both boys having a shoving match with me in between them. Cannon grabs hold of my arm. “Get out of the way!”
I try to, slithering out of Cannon’s loose grip before stumbling into Jordan. He grips me by the shoulders, his gaze locking with mine and I suck in a sharp breath at the anger I see on his face, in his eyes.
But I know it’s not anger toward me. He’s mad at Cannon.
“Let her go, Tuttle! She doesn’t want to talk to you!” Cannon roars.
Jordan holds up his empty hands, sending Cannon a death look. “Give me a break. I’m not even touching her.”
“Leave her alone!” Cannon continues, his face going red. I appreciate his rushing to my defense, but it’s not necessary. Jordan isn’t hurting me. He’s not even touching me. I don’t get what the big deal is.
It’s a big deal though. The entire party is starting to fall apart. People begin shouting. Arguing. The music shuts off and girls scatter in all directions, screaming at the top of their lungs. I hear the crash of glass, an agonizing yowl, and I realize quick everything’s fallen into complete chaos.
“This is ridiculous,” Jordan mutters just before he hooks his fingers around my elbow. “Let’s get out of here.”
“No.” My defiant tone is loud and I shake my head. “I’m not leaving with you.”
“Wanna make a bet?” One brow lifts and he smirks. It’s adorable.
And infuriating.
“Tuttle.” Cannon steps around us, grabbing hold of Jordan’s arm, but Jordan pulls back, sending his elbow straight into my left eye. He nails me so hard I fall backward, landing on the floor with a hard thud that makes my teeth slam shut and my butt hurt. My skirt is wound around my thighs and I can taste blood on my tongue. Not to mention the throbbing that’s started below my left eye.
A groan leaves me and I let my head drop to the floor, my hand flying up to cover the left side of my face. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth and I close my eyes, fighting the dizziness swamping me.
“Jesus!” I hear Jordan yell and then he’s kneeling next to me, his hands roaming over my body, fingers pulling my skirt down over my thighs. “Are you okay? God, tell me you’re okay.”
I crack my right eye open, my hand still covering the left. “You hit me.”
His expression is nothing less than horrified. “I didn’t hit you.”
“Your elbow hit me. By accident.” I close my eyes, the beer sloshing around in my stomach making me nauseous. Everything’s making me nauseous. All the yelling. The scent of Jordan’s cologne. The people darting around us. I’m scared someone’s going to step on me and hurt me even more. “It hurts.”
“Damn it,” he mutters just before he scoops me up in his arms and stands, cradling me close. “We’re getting you out of here.”
“Put me down,” I protest weakly, but he ignores me, which is best.
I don’t really want him to put m
e down.
I hear Cannon yelling at everyone to calm their tits and it makes me laugh. But laughing only makes me feel worse, so I stop. Instead I gaze up at Tuttle, studying him as he walks down the short hall where the bathroom is located, carrying me like I don’t weigh a thing.
He looks so handsome and worried and furious. His jaw is still tight. I can see a tic there, hear him exhale extra hard. There’s the shadow of stubble on his cheeks and jaw, his hair is unruly—he seriously needs to get a haircut—and his eyes are dark, hooded. Full of fire.
Without warning he lifts his leg and kicks a door open, making a couple kissing on the center of a bed leap apart in shock. It’s got to be Cannon’s room. There are posters all over the wall, some of beautiful girls wearing little clothing, but most of them are of NFL football heroes. Future aspirations, I guess.
“What the hell?” the guy yells at Tuttle, but neither of us say a word.
He starts to check the next door, but I rest my hand on his chest, stopping him. “That’s the bathroom.”
Jordan glances down at my hand resting on his chest before lifting his gaze to mine. “Still want to hit me?”
I slowly shake my head, waiting for the embarrassment or shame to come. But surprisingly, it doesn’t. “I’m over it.”
“Good.”
We finally find a tiny room with only a plain desk and a narrow single bed in it. Jordan turns on the overhead light after he shuts the door behind us and takes me over to the bed, carefully setting me down. His gaze is searching, roaming all over my face, lingering on my left eye.
“Can I touch you?”
“Why?”
“I want to make sure your eye isn’t worse than I think it is.” He reaches out, hesitant, his hand hovering in the air between us. “Can I?”
I remain quiet, getting lost in his eyes for a moment before I finally give a tiny nod of permission.
His fingers are gentle when they land on my cheek, just below my eye. He presses down on my skin, shifting up until he’s feeling along my cheekbone, getting closer and closer to my eye until I finally wince when he touches one particular spot. “That hurts?”