You Promised Me Forever by Monica Murphy
“Definitely.” I nod toward his plate, which is also completely empty, save for a sprig of some unfamiliar herb lying discarded. “You liked yours too?”
“This place is my favorite.”
I prop my elbow on the table, resting my chin on my curled hand. “Is that why you brought me here? To share your favorite restaurant with me?”
He stares at me from across the table, his jaw working, like he’s trying to figure out what to say next. There’s a candle flickering in the votive between us, casting his gorgeous face in shadowy planes and angles, and I realize he’s so close I could reach out and touch him. Trail my fingers across his jawline, cup his cheek, trace his lower lip…
Oh God. I sit up straight, my head feeling a little too wobbly. I’ve had sooo much wine. That must be it. That’s why I feel so much…
Yearning.
Longing.
For Jordan.
“There are lots of things I want to share with you,” he finally says, his gaze never leaving mine. I could get lost in his beautiful blue eyes. Drown in them. Die in them.
Oh, I am feeling downright poetic right now. This is crazy.
“Like what?” I prop my chin on my fist again, sighing happily. I don’t want this moment to end. I feel like I’m having a dream. The best dream ever.
“I want to take you back and show you my townhouse. And eventually, my house in Sonoma,” he says in that velvety low voice of his. I swear, all he did was answer my question and his voice alone made my nipples hard.
“I would love to see your house in Sonoma,” I say breathlessly. “I’ve never been to Sonoma before.”
“It’s beautiful.” His mouth curves into this closed-lipped, lopsided smile. “You’re beautiful.”
My cheeks go hot and I blink away from his intense gaze, staring at the table. “Thank you.”
“You still have a hard time taking a compliment, Mandy?”
I lift my head, my gaze meeting his once more, defiance filling me. “No. Not anymore.”
“Really?” He sounds doubtful.
“Really,” I say firmly.
“So you won’t get embarrassed if I tell you that I can’t stop thinking about the fact that you’re completely naked beneath that dress?” Both his dark brows are up now, looking so ridiculously sexy I wish I could whip my phone out and capture a photo of him like this. So I can keep this moment tucked away forever in my camera roll.
“You like the fact that I’m completely naked beneath my dress, don’t you?” Ah, listen to me, being all flirtatious and daring. This is so unlike me.
“Truth?” I nod and he continues. “I fucking love the fact that you’re completely naked under that dress.”
I swallow hard at all the hunger I see in his eyes.
“And I’m dying to get you alone so I can take that dress off of you,” he continues, so very matter of fact. “But we have to wait.”
Whaaaaat? Why? “Why do we have to wait?” I press my legs together, fighting to calm the tingles between my thighs.
He smiles, but it’s tight, and his jaw is hard, like he’s barely containing himself. “It’s a secret.”
“A secret?” I am so, so curious.
“More like a surprise.”
“I love surprises.” I clap my hands together like a little girl and he actually laughs.
“You’ll definitely like this one.” His laughter fades, but that faint smile is still in place. “In fact, I need to go check on—things. I’ll be right back.”
He leaves the table and I watch him go, my gaze glued to his backside as he walks away. Damn, he is one fine looking specimen. How did I get so lucky to have this man come back into my life? What did I do to deserve this second chance? I could lie to myself and say this isn’t going to work, but I actually think it could.
Yes. I really think it could.
He’s gone for a few minutes and I reach into my purse, pulling my phone out to check my notifications. A couple of Instagram likes, one memory from Facebook today, plus Lena’s sent me three texts, all of them with plenty of exclamation points.
How’s your date with Jordan Tuttle??!!!!
Tell me what’s going on!!!!
OMG it must be good coz I haven’t heard from you!!!!!
Smiling, I type her a quick reply. So far it’s the perfect date.
I add a couple of heart eyed emojis to my text and hit send.
I’m about to slip my phone back into my purse when she responds. I’m so happy for you!!!!!! Her excessive exclamation points almost make me laugh.
Thank you. I’ll fill you in tomorrow.
I’m dropping my phone back into my purse when I spot Jordan striding through the restaurant, heading straight for me. Our waiter is following behind him, carrying a plate with a silver dome covering it. Jordan settles into his seat, his expression serious as the server pauses in front of our table.
“A special treat for the lady,” the server says, and with a dramatic flourish, he lifts the silver lid to reveal a plate filled with one, two, three, four, five, six…
Cupcakes.
“Oh.” I cover my mouth with a shaky hand, barely realizing our server has already walked away. I’m too enraptured by my surprise. They’re all so pretty, each cupcake frosted in a different color, a pastel blue, pink, yellow, green, purple and white. My gaze flies to Jordan to find him watching me, amusement and—yes, affection—in his gaze. “The cupcakes. From that bakery. How did you…”
“I have my ways.” He points at the plate. “I hope you like them.”
“I love them.” This is literally so sweet. Jordan didn’t just notice me ogling the cupcake display at a bakery, he actually sent someone to go buy me a half- dozen cupcakes and had them brought to me. He always used to indulge my sweet tooth. “Thank you.”
“You going to eat one?”
“Yes! Oh my God, will you think I’m a pig? I just ate all that food.” I rest my hand over my stomach, contemplating which one I should eat first. I like chocolate, but truly, I’m a boring old vanilla girl—literally.
“You’re not a pig, Mandy,” he says, slowly shaking his head. “Pick one.”
“Will you split it with me?” I grab the one with blue frosting and hold it up, getting a little bit of frosting on my hand. I bring it to close to my face, licking the frosting off my finger quickly, and my body goes hot when I realize Jordan is watching my every move. “I…don’t think I can eat it all by myself.”
“Yeah. Here.” He holds his hand out and I set the cupcake in his giant palm, my fingers somehow brushing against his as I pull my hand away, sparks flying like they do every time we touch. He sets the cupcake on his never-used bread plate and peels off the wrapper carefully, getting some frosting on his fingers too. He licks it off just as quick as I did, and I feel a stirring low in my belly when I see his tongue.
God, this is like foreplay. I’m going to be a mess by the time we leave the restaurant.
Jordan grabs the clean butter knife and cuts the cupcake in half, then offers me the plate. “Which half do you want?”
It’s hard to tell which side is bigger, he’s cut the cupcake so precisely. The thick frosting is just as tall as the actual cake, and I seriously can’t wait to taste it. I point at the half closest to me and he grabs the other one. Before I can say or do anything, he plops the entire cupcake half into his mouth, leaving a dab of pale blue frosting in the corner of his lips.
“Jordan!” I start laughing as he chews and chews. “What a waste. You ate it all in one bite.”
He chews a little more before he finally swallows. “And it was delicious.” He points at the remaining cupcake waiting for me on the plate. “Try yours.”
“I will, but first.” I point at his mouth. “You have frosting on your face.”
“I do?” He frowns. “Where?” He wipes at his cheek and I shake my head. He dabs at the wrong corner of his mouth and I shake my head again. “Tell me where.”
Leaning over the table, I
“Thanks.” His voice falters when I stick my thumb in my mouth and suck the frosting clean off.
“You’re welcome,” I say with gleeful enthusiasm right before I take a big bite of my cupcake. No way could I eat that all in one bite and besides, I want to savor it.
And oh God, this cupcake is so freaking good. It’s, like, the best vanilla I’ve ever tasted in my life—and I’ve tasted a lot of vanilla, so I should know—and the frosting is perfect. Buttercream, sweet but not enough to give me a cavity.
“This is so delicious, it’s practically orgasmic,” I tell him just as I take another bite.
“Jesus, Mandy,” he mutters, pushing his hair away from his forehead. He looks pained. Like I’m making him miserable and I guess I probably am.
It’s so great.
Once I’m finished—and I lick my thumb again just to drive him crazy—I smile and point at the remaining cupcakes. “What are we going to do with the rest of them?”
“Do you want another?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I’m stuffed.” I mean, I could probably attempt one more cupcake, but I don’t want to make myself sick.
“I’ll get a box for them then.” He flags down our server as he passes by and asks, “To-go box?”
“Right away, sir,” the server answers before he takes off.
“I already paid the bill,” Jordan tells me. “Are you ready to go?”
I almost want to tell him no. That I don’t want to end the most perfect date I’ve ever been on in my life. There’s no real awkwardness when I talk to Jordan. We have this shared history, an easy camaraderie from being friends first, and our friendship started long, long ago. We played catch up while waiting for our dinner to arrive earlier, mostly gossip about people we went to high school with, but we never took it too deep. Or too personal.
We’re probably too scared to try that just yet.
This is a good start, though. This is what I want. Ease into it, find our footing, find our old selves, the ones who made up Tuttle and Amanda, the teen years.
Wait a minute. Maybe we shouldn’t try to find our old selves. We should be focusing on our new and improved selves. I’ve grown up a lot, learned a few things about myself, and now about Jordan too. I don’t want to be the same ol’ Amanda, the one filled with too much self-doubt. The one who sabotaged the only real relationship I’ve ever had and gave up on it way too soon. The one I thought was hopeless from the start, because high school relationships never last, right?
That’s what I thought.
But maybe I thought wrong.
It was easy, getting her to come back to my townhouse. I asked, and she said yes, and we haven’t talked much since then. Together we went in search of my car and I drove us to the Levare housing development, where my place is. I park the SUV in the garage and lead her into my home, stepping back as she comes to a stop in the living room and slowly turns in a circle with her head tilted back.
“How many levels are there?” she asks.
“Three, if you don’t count the garage or the roof deck,” I answer.
“Oh my God.” She stares at me, her mouth hanging open. “Jordan, this is amazing.”
Her words fill me with pride. I can’t help but want to show off. Does that make me an asshole? Well, great. Then I guess I’m an asshole. “I’m glad you like it.”
She walks farther into the living room, stopping at the floor-to-ceiling windows for a moment before she turns to look at me. “How many bedrooms?”
“Three.”
“Bathrooms?”
“Three. Well, two and a half,” I correct.
“Wow.” She’s now in the kitchen, running her fingers along the marble counters, lightly touching the stainless steel refrigerator. “I’ve always wanted a fridge with French doors,” she murmurs almost to herself, opening the refrigerator to reveal…
Nothing much.
“Jordan, you barely have any food in here,” she chastises as she takes in what little I do have. She grabs the milk carton and checks the date. “It’s expired.”
I shrug.
“You have ketchup, expired milk, Kraft American cheese slices and a six-pack of beer.” She shuts the doors, her accusatory gaze meeting mine. “That’s it.”
“I’m not home much.” If ever. And when I am home, I’m not cooking. What’s the point of that when there’s takeout readily available? Uber Eats is the greatest invention ever.
“I’ll say.”
She continues her inspection of my home, examining the giant closet across from the half bathroom, stepping out onto the balcony so she can admire the view. I let her do her thing, following her up the stairs to the second level so she can check out the two bedrooms that only have beds and nothing else, the bathroom, and the huge hall walk-in closet that is completely empty.
“This house has so much storage space.” She shakes her head as she closes the closet door. “I would die for this.”
If she would’ve stuck with me, this would be hers. She’d be the queen of my castle and I would’ve worshipped at her perfect feet every single day for the rest of our lives.
Amanda hesitates at the foot of the stairs, her hand on the railing as she stares up at me with wide brown eyes. “Your bedroom is up here?”
I nod.
“Is it huge?”
“You know it,” I boast. “I could fit your entire studio apartment up in there.” Exactly what I told her earlier.
“Ha, don’t remind me.” She starts up the stairs and I follow after her, my gaze locked on her ass since it’s pretty much in my face, and yet again I remember she has no panties on under that dress.
I know I shouldn’t rush things. As in, I shouldn’t rush her into my bed. But my body isn’t listening to my logical head tonight. All it can think about is fucking. Fucking Amanda on my bed. Fucking Amanda against a wall. Fucking Amanda up on the rooftop deck…
“Oh, your bedroom is gigantic!” she exclaims, pushing me out of my dirty thoughts. She points at my bed. “What the hell size is that?”
“Custom.” I’m tall and I wanted a big ass bed. So I had it made for me.
“Holy crap.” She walks all the way around it, her fingers trailing across my pale gray comforter. “I bet you could fit ten women into this bed.” Her cheeks go red the moment she says it, and she sends me a horrified look. “Not that you’ve ever had ten women in this bed. Well, maybe you have, but not all at once. Or maybe not at all? God, please tell me to shut up before I make this worse.”
I approach her hesitantly, like one might approach a scared animal, and once I’m standing in front of her, I grab both of her hands in mine. “You seem nervous.”
“I am,” she admits readily. “This is—weird, being in your house with you.”
“Why?” I tilt my head, contemplating her. I’m nervous too, but it has nothing to do with Amanda being here and everything to do with the idea of getting her completely naked.
I’m nervous with anticipation. I’ve done this before, specifically with Amanda, plenty of times. But it all feels new and different.
Maybe because we’re such different people than we were six years ago.
“You’re such a grown up, Jordan.” She smiles tremulously. “You have your own house—two houses—and another fancy Range Rover in your two-car garage. You’re a responsible adult, and it’s hard for me to wrap my head around that fact. Plus, you’re famous. Everyone knows who you are and they probably all want a piece of you too. It’s…it’s so mind blowing that you’ve come this far, that you’ve done so much.”
“Is that why you’re here with me tonight?” I ask, the doubt sweeping through me slowly, like the thick gray fog that rolls into the San Francisco Bay. “Because of what I do and the fame that comes with it?”
“Of course not,” she
I wince. Yeah, I remember when I was shorter than her and hadn’t quite shed the baby fat yet. My mom wanted to send me to a weight loss camp the summer after seventh grade, but thank Christ I grew like six inches in a matter of a few months. The diet lectures and camp mentions disappeared. “Why you gotta bring up the bad times?”
She laughs and squeezes my hands. “I’m just saying I’ve known you for a long time. And while we haven’t been in each other’s lives for over six years, I don’t think that matters. I still know who you are, Jordan. And I don’t care about the money or the fame.”
I want to believe her. I also want to trust her. I do.
But she broke up with me. She gave up on me first. I can’t forget that. No matter how hard I try, the doubt is still there, reminding me I shouldn’t trust her. Not completely.
Not yet.
He takes me up to the rooftop deck, where a breathtaking view of the city lights greets me. We’re so high up, there’s a strong breeze, causing me to wrap my arms around myself to ward off the chill.
“This view is great,” I tell him as I lean against the railing, tipping my head down so I can see the traffic below. Not that there are many cars out at this time of night, but there are just enough to keep my interest.
Well, that and I’m avoiding looking at him. I’m on edge, unsure. What’s going to happen next? He hasn’t even tried to kiss me, or touch me beyond holding my hands. My body is demanding more, more, more, but it’s almost like he’s—withholding his affection on purpose, maybe?
I sincerely hope not.
“I never come up here,” he says as he stops to stand right beside me, resting his arms on the railing.
I turn to look at him, surprised by his admission. “Really?”
“Yeah. Don’t have time.”
“Sounds like you don’t have much time for anything.” This worries me. This is what we ran into before, and after a while, it sent me packing.
Some might say I gave up on him, and I was stupid. Most of the time, I agree with that assessment. But then I remember sad, lonely me six years ago. Still living at home and going to community college while my hot and popular boyfriend was at USC and living the dream—without me.