You Promised Me Forever by Monica Murphy
Right. The first time he sat by me in science class in the seventh grade, I braced myself for an onslaught of insults. He’d been known as a bit of a bully then—smack talking everyone. Short and surly and a little chubby, with braces and pimples and just…all those horrible things that affect us when we’re going through adolescence. I thought for sure he’d take one look at me, tall and awkward and extremely shy, also dealing with pimples and braces, and think I was an easy target.
He never targeted me, though. Instead, he was…nice. He’d make occasional conversation, and I was always so nervous, I’d end up saying something stupid. His kindness threw me off guard. More than once, I caught him smelling my hair, which at the time I thought was just plain weird.
Now I know he liked the smell of my hair. He freaking liked me, even back then.
“We’ve known each other a long time, gone to school together since kindergarten,” I point out. “But that’s our past. And like Ronnie said, we shouldn’t linger there.”
“She’s right, you know. I give solid advice.” Ronnie magically appears by our table, depositing our Modelos in front of us. Jordan releases my hand, leaning back in his chair. “Enjoy your drinks on the house,” she says. “My treat.”
“Thank you,” I tell her, lifting my beer to her like a toast. Jordan does the same, murmuring his thanks.
“And let my words soak in like this beer which will eventually soak into your brain. Dwelling on the past gets you nowhere. Focus on what’s happening between you two at this very moment.” With those wise words, she leaves.
“Want me to tell you what I like about you now?” Jordan asks after he takes a sip of his beer.
I nod, bracing myself. Do I really want to hear this?
Um…yes.
“I like that deep down, you’re still the same Amanda that I’ve known since I was five.” He takes another drink, and I can tell that’s all he’s going to say.
“What do you mean?” I ask after too many beats of silence. I take a drink of my beer, hoping the alcohol will eventually calm my sudden frazzled nerves. “You said just a few minutes ago that I’ve changed.”
“You have.” He points the top of his beer bottle at me. “But you’re also the same.”
“So are you,” I tell him. “Different, yet the same.”
A single brow shoots up. That same sexy move he’s done since he was my teenage dream. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“A good thing,” I say without hesitation.
“I think it’s a good thing too.”
“We agree, then, that we’ve changed yet stayed the same?” Not sure how that’s possible, but I get what he’s saying.
“I totally agree.” He smiles. Drains half his beer in one pull, then sets the bottle on the table between us. “Want a burrito?”
“I’m ordering street tacos.”
“You can’t go wrong with their tacos.” His gaze never leaves mine. “I can’t believe you’re here. With me.”
My heart trips over itself at his raw admission. “I still can’t believe it either.”
“We leave in a few days. Are you excited?”
“Yes.” Excited. Nervous. “It probably won’t be a long enough trip to explore London, but I hope we see as much as we can.”
“We will,” he says with all that Tuttle confidence. “We’ll have a few days to check everything out. I’ve arranged a tour guide.”
“Really?” I pause in my questions when a server appears, ready to take our order. I order tacos and Jordan orders a burrito, and then the waiter’s gone, leaving us alone once again.
“It’s a company that will take us on a private tour to all of the best landmarks in the city,” Jordan explains, knowing that I was waiting for more information.
“A private tour? So we won’t take a hop on/hop off bus?” I wrinkle my nose, fighting the disappointment that wants to take over me. I’ve done some research the last couple of nights, reading articles about the best sights to see in London and how exactly a person can see them all I figured our best option was one of those hop on/hop off buses.
I should’ve known Jordan had a plan already in place.
He shakes his head. “The private tour will be better.”
“But the bus looks like so much fun.”
“I can’t ride one of those buses with a bunch of tourists, Mandy,” he says. “People might recognize me.”
“Oh.” I didn’t even think of that. We haven’t dealt with that sort of thing since he’s come back into my life, and I wonder why. I tend to forget he’s supposed to be some big-time celebrity. “Don’t you ever get recognized around here?”
“No one cares who I am here.” He waves a hand around, indicating the restaurant. “A lot of the players hang out at Santana Row, so no one bothers us there either. “But when I’m anywhere else, or when any NFL team goes to another country for an exhibition game, I’m guessing they’ll be looking for us. Especially in London—the British tabloids are rampant. Or at least I’ve heard.”
Mind blowing. Seriously. “Wow, I guess you’re right. I didn’t even consider that could be a problem.”
“It’s something I’ve had to learn to deal with,” he says just before he finishes his beer. “I think I want another one.”
“Do you need to get drunk because we’re on a date?”
“You still make me nervous,” he says, like I should expect that.
But I don’t. Big, strong football player nervous because of me? I didn’t know I wielded that much power.
I ignore the nervous remark. That could open up another discussion entirely. One I might not like.
“So tell me.” I lean across the table, my voice lowering so no one else can hear me. Not that anyone in this busy restaurant is paying us any attention. “Did you really go out with Gigi Hadid?”
I can’t help it. Amanda’s question makes me laugh.
Loudly.
A few heads turn our way as I continue laughing, and Amanda’s looking at me like I might’ve lost my mind. Her question is ridiculous. Of course I haven’t dated Gigi Hadid. I met her once at a party about a year ago. She was perfectly sweet. Perfectly beautiful in that odd model like way. Better in photographs than in person, if I’m being truthful.
“Jordan,” Amanda finally says when my laughter finally starts to die. “That was a serious question.”
“I know, and I’ll give you a serious answer.” I try my best to remain solemn as I say, “No. I never dated Gigi Hadid.”
“Her sister Bella then.”
“No.”
“Kendall Jenner.”
“No.”
“Kylie Jenner.”
I scoff. “Come on. She’s a baby.”
“Not really,” Amanda points out. “She’s only a few years younger than us, and she’s a mother now, so…”
I wave my hand, dismissing the Jenner crew. Kendall is the one I find the most attractive from that clan. Tall and thin with a beautiful face and long, dark hair.
Like Amanda.
“Miley Cyrus.”
“Not my type.” At all.
“Selena Gomez.”
Well, shit. I did go on a couple of dates with her. Set up by her publicist. It was nothing serious.
I must remain too quiet for too long because Amanda starts bouncing in her seat, pointing her finger at me. “You did. Oh my God, you went out with Selena freaking Gomez? How can I compete with that?”
“It was nothing,” I protest, but she’s shaking her head, making me go quiet.
“You went out with Selena Gomez, Jordan. She dated the Biebs.”
I remember her bringing up Justin Bieber when we were in high school too. The guy has been around for a long time. “So?”
“So the Biebs is still a big deal. Selena is too. She’s gone out with a few famous guys.” Amanda snaps her fingers. “She dated The Weeknd for a while.”
No way do I want to go over Selena’s dating history. “Who the hell calls hims
“You’re trying to change the subject. I want details.”
“Details on what?” I know exactly what she wants.
“Your relationship with Selena! Is she nice? Is she as cute in person as she is in photos? Did you have fun with her? Did you have sex with her? Wait a minute, scratch that last question. I don’t want to know.” She’s shaking her head, reminding me of a little kid.
Reaching across the table, I settle my hand over hers once again, trying to calm her down with just my touch. I can still feel how jittery she is, though. “Our relationship was all of three very public dates and nothing else. She’s very nice, and she’s beautiful, but I didn’t have any chemistry with her. Pretty sure she felt the same way. Meaning, I didn’t have sex with her.”
“Oh thank God.” Amanda practically slumps in her chair. “I was afraid I’d end up worrying you’re always thinking of Selena when you’re with me.”
“Not a chance.” More like I always thought of Amanda, no matter what woman I was with. Even Selena Gomez.
The server appears with our dinner plates and I can tell Amanda’s surprised. My favorite thing about this place—beyond Ronnie and her sage advice—is the service is incredibly fast. Which my never-ending appetite totally approves of.
She slips her hand away from mine and smiles down at her plate before she checks out mine. Her eyes go wide. “You’re going to eat that entire burrito?”
The burrito is massive. Fills up practically my entire plate. “That’s my plan.”
“Where do you put it all?” she asks in wonder.
“When you exercise as much as I do, you can eat pretty much whatever you want.” Well, almost.
We eat and talk, mostly about people we went to school with and where they are now. I don’t really care about any of them, though I pretend interest because I can tell the subject makes Amanda comfortable. She doesn’t want to talk about my dating Selena Gomez anymore, not that I can blame her. I don’t want to talk about any of the guys she’s dated after we broke up either.
And they exist. I know they do. She’s too pretty, too smart, too goddamned nice to not attract more than a few guys in the last six years. In high school, most guys passed her over for the flashy girls. The brave, popular ones who weren’t afraid to talk to boys, who enjoyed any type of attention, whether it was good or bad. Amanda always lurked in the background, doing her thing, no guy really paying her any mind.
Except for me.
Well, and that one asshole who broke her heart and had her running into my arms by pure chance. What was that guy’s name? Thad?
His mistake that night, the summer before our senior year, turned into my opportunity. One I almost trashed more than a few times.
Christ, I was an idiot back then. Young and dumb and, deep down inside, totally insecure. I pushed Amanda away so many times, yet we couldn’t help but gravitate toward each other. Like we were meant to be.
How’d I get so lucky that she wasn’t snapped up by another guy and engaged to him by now? Or worse, married? I thought about it over the years. What if she met the man of her dreams? What if she married that guy and had his children?
Those thoughts were like a punch to the gut.
I’d look her up on occasion, though I didn’t find out much about her. Social media-wise, she’s pretty private. I’d ask Cannon if he knew anything, but he was clueless in regards to Amanda’s whereabouts. So I just hoped and actually prayed that if I ever ran into her again, she’d be single.
I’m taking it as a sign that she is. That we’re here together on our, what? Second date? Talking about how we’re going to give this—us—another shot.
As we eat and she talks, I can’t stop staring at her. She’s beautiful, even in her work clothes. I prefer it when she wears her hair down, but I do like the braid. With her hair pulled back, I can fully see her face, and she’s gorgeous. Smooth skin, high cheekbones, full lips. Those big brown eyes are sparkling as she tells me about Livvy and how she lives in Texas with Dustin. She has tiny silver hoops in her ears, but no other jewelry.
If she hadn’t ended it between us, I would’ve bought her diamonds to wear in her ears. And a big fat diamond for her finger so I could claim her as mine.
What is it about this girl that makes me feel so damned primal?
And why am I wasting my time sitting around eating dinner and drinking another beer while we gossip about old high school friends when we could be back at my place alone?
I finish my burrito in record time, and Amanda finishes pretty quickly too since she only ordered two tacos. The moment she wipes her mouth with her napkin and drops it on top of her plate, I’m asking, “You ready to get out of here?”
“You haven’t finished your second beer—” She quits talking when I grab my beer and drain it in one swallow. “Okay. Guess you’re done then.”
“Yeah, I’m done.” I rise to my feet, reaching for my wallet in the back pocket of my jeans. I toss a couple of twenties on the table, shove the wallet back in my pocket and grab Amanda’s hand when she stands. “Let’s get out of here.”
We wave at Ronnie as we exit the restaurant, and I catch the knowing smile on her face just before I push open the door. Not that her reaction fazes me. Ronnie has me all figured out. She knows how much Amanda means to me. Now that she’s back in my life, I’m not about to let her get away from me again.
“In a hurry?” Amanda asks as I practically drag her through the parking lot toward my SUV.
“Yeah.” I gently push her against the side of the Range Rover, my arms going around her to keep her body from actually hitting the car too hard. “I am.”
Before she can say anything, I press my mouth to hers, stealing her words, catching her breath. I turn the kiss deep in an instant, my tongue sweeping the inside of her mouth, my hands exploring, landing on her ass, squeezing her. I pull her closer, letting her know exactly how much I want her, and when she breaks the kiss first, she’s staring up at me, her eyes wide. Unblinking.
“You’re taking me back to your place, right?” she whispers.
I nod. Kiss her again. Catch her plump bottom lip with my teeth, giving it a nibbling bite. “Yeah.”
“You capable of driving?” When I frown, she continues, “You had two beers.”
The only thing I’m drunk on is her. “I’m fine.”
Now she’s frowning. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to put yourself at risk.”
“At risk of what?”
“Of a scandal.” She tilts her head back when I press my lips along the underside of her jaw. “A DUI would ruin you, Jordan.”
That she’s thinking of me, my career, my future, makes my heart want to crack wide open for her. She’s always known how to get past my defenses.
Always.
“You want to drive my fancy car?” I murmur against her skin.
She giggles, the sound sweet. “You’ll let me drive your fancy car?”
I lift away from her neck, my gaze meeting hers. “You’re the only one I trust enough to drive it.”
The giggles vanish, and Amanda visibly swallows. “I’ll drive then.”
“Good.” I drop a kiss on her lips.
“Let’s go.” She pushes me off of her and I go willingly, hitting the keyless remote as I guide her to the driver’s side of the car and deposit her into the seat. I give her another kiss before I slam the door and jog around the front of the car, sliding into the passenger’s seat with ease. I instruct her on how to adjust the seat and mirrors and watch with amusement as she sets about her task so seriously. Her forehead wrinkled in concentration as she moves the seat forward, her teeth sinking into her lush lower lip as she adjusts and readjusts the rearview mirror.
We’re out of the parking lot in seconds. Pulling into my garage within minutes—twenty too-long minutes, to be exact. The entire drive we remained quiet beyond me giving her driving instructions to my house. The need for e
Once we’re in the garage, I hurl myself out of the car, slamming the door with extra force. She follows after me, both of us practically running into my house. We enter the kitchen first, the lighting dim, the room almost eerily quiet, and I catch her around the waist, bringing her in close, my mouth landing on hers.
I’m hard for her. Hell, I’ve been sporting semi-wood for hours. It’s been too long—years since I’ve been inside her.
That’s all going to change tonight.
Keeping my mouth on hers, I lift her up, plop her ass on the edge of the kitchen counter. She wraps those long legs of hers around my waist, anchoring herself to me, her arms curling around my neck, her fingers sliding into my hair, clutching the short strands. The kiss goes on and on, the only sound the connection of our lips, her sighs and my moans, the rustle of fabric as our hands wander.
Forget finessing her into my bed. Taking it slow. Seducing her. I want her right here, right now. Tug her pants down, shove the Atlas Wellness Center polo off, and fuck her in the kitchen. The mental image is so powerful, my cock jerks beneath the fly of my jeans, desperate to gain freedom.
“I want you,” I whisper in her ear after I break the kiss, making her shiver. “I want you so fucking bad.”
“Please tell me you have condoms,” she says, her tone urgent, her hand moving down my chest, fluttering around the front of my jeans.
“I have condoms,” I confirm, my mouth exploring the soft, soft skin of her neck. I bought a giant box off Amazon a few days ago. Thank Christ for Prime shipping. “Lots of them.”
“Thank God.” She sounds agonized yet relieved. “Maybe we should take this somewhere else?”
“Not yet.” I reach for her polo, untucking it from her black pants, catching a glimpse of bare skin. I pull the shirt up and she shifts away from me, raising her arms obediently so I can completely remove the shirt, leaving her sitting on my counter in her bra.