You Promised Me Forever by Monica Murphy
Lena has told me I make bad choices when it comes to men. I thought Cade would meet her approval and he did—to the point that she likes him more than I do. I still feel guilty about her lunchtime confession. And I hate that she saw Cade kiss me on the cheek after I asked him to go to the game. I don’t know how long she was listening to our conversation, or if she actually heard me talk to him about tonight’s game. I didn’t get a chance to speak to her the rest of the afternoon since we were so busy with appointments.
I’ll have to talk to her tomorrow and clear the air. Hopefully she’s not mad at me…
“You’re not eating,” Cade says, knocking me from my thoughts.
I glance down at my still pitifully full plate “I’m not very hungry.”
“Too bad, what with all the free food they’re offering.” He downs his beer, polishing it off. “Want another drink?”
“Um, no thanks.” I want to tell him to slow down on the drinking, that he’s driving tonight, but I keep my mouth shut. The evening is young, and I don’t want to be a nag. It’s not like I’m his mama.
He tosses his plate in the trash and heads for the bar, and I watch him go before dropping my gaze to my plate filled with food I’m never going to eat. So I toss it in the trash too.
The bar is crowded. I know Cade is going to be waiting a while, so I make my way to the stadium seating, smiling politely at everyone I pass. I don’t know a single soul in this place. I have no idea who any of these people are, though some of them look important. Rich. Most of the men are wearing their Niner gear, though there are a couple of guys in full blown suits. Many of the women have massive diamonds in their ears and their giant boobs stretch their blinged-out Niner shirts tight across their chests. They examine me as I walk past, making me self-conscious.
I feel like the odd woman out in my Atlas Wellness Center polo and my faded black pants and my black Nikes. At least the polo is red, right? I’m sort of wearing Niner colors…
There’s an empty seat at the far end of the first seat row and I settle into it, my eyes never leaving the field, searching out the number eight on a red-and-white jersey.
He got to keep his number. Eight is great, after all. I still have Tuttle’s old high school jersey. I bet I could fetch a lot of money for it if I put it on eBay…
Like I would ever do that.
Ah. There he is. Out on the field, his butt looking extra fine in those gold uniform pants, not that I’m checking him out or anything. I watch him get in a huddle with his teammates and I wonder what they think of him. Do they respect him? Back in high school, he earned respect without hardly doing a thing. Like him or hate him, most everyone was at the very least drawn to him. He had a certain kind of magnetism that can’t be described.
I bet he still has it. That gravitational pull that makes everyone want to be near him. The same pull that makes every woman he encounters want to be with him. I’m sure it’s still there. That’s not something that’s just…snuffed out like a lit match. It burns forever within him.
And if I’m being completely honest with myself, I’m dying to see if there’s a spark still between us.
The first half of the game, neither team scores. I suppose you’d think the game is boring when there are no touchdowns, or even a field goal, but that makes the impending first touchdown count even more. So no, this game isn’t boring. I’m praying Jordan throws a touchdown for the Niners as they start the second half, and I’m squirming in my seat once Jordan and the rest of the offensive team comes out onto the field.
“This game is insane,” Cade says with wonder, his gaze glued to the field.
I say nothing, but he’s right. It’s so insane, I feel like I’m about to lose my mind.
Tuttle gets into position. Is it fair that all his muscles seem to flex and work as he pulls his arm back, looking for his receivers out on the field? A sigh escapes me before I can stop it and I clamp my lips shut. When is life ever fair?
Not when it comes to me and Jordan Tuttle.
Jordan throws the ball, and it spirals through the air until out of nowhere—intercepted! The commentators are yelling, the entire suite erupts in jeers and screams, and all I can do is sink lower in my seat.
My gaze flies to Jordan, and I can see the anger and frustration in his posture, blazing in his eyes, even from where I’m sitting.
“Man, is he nervous or what? He’s not on his game tonight,” Cade says.
Again, I don’t answer. I’m too busy chewing my nail.
This could end up being a long and terrible night.
“A few of the players are going to join us after the game, so please do stick around.”
I hear the 49er Ambassador say this to everyone as she moves about the suite with that giant smile pasted on her face. The game just finished, and oh my God, they won, but barely. It had been such a fight, especially during that tortuous second half. I could tell Jordan was so freaking pissed.
If he’s anything like his high school self, he will still be pissed. And disappointed despite the win. He was always hard on himself.
He learned that from his asshole father.
“You’ll want to stay, right?” Cade asks me. “To see your ex? Or is he even going to show up?”
“I want to stay,” I tell him quietly, trying my best not to betray my nerves, because they’re fluttering like a million and one butterflies in my stomach, dipping and swirling and reminding me that I drank two glasses of wine on an empty stomach and my head is a little spinny.
Jordan will show up. How I know this, I’m not exactly sure, but I have complete confidence that his butt will be in this suite within thirty minutes, mark my words. There’s a reason he gave me those tickets and wanted me to watch his game in the fancy suite. It wasn’t out of the graciousness of his heart.
He brought me here on his turf and knew I wouldn’t be able to resist his request. Maybe he wants to show off, rub it in? Let me know what I’ve been missing all these years? Remind me of just how successful he is and I’m a complete idiot for dumping him?
Or maybe those are my own thoughts, my own insecurities shining through.
The suite clears out pretty quickly. There are two guys in suits who are sticking around, clutching watered down drinks as they talk in low murmurs, their expressions intense. And there’s an older couple still standing in front of the giant window who are practically vibrating with excitement, making me think they must be related to one of the players. There are a few women here too. Beautiful women of various shapes and sizes, all of them eyeing each other up like they’re in some sort of competition.
And maybe they are. God, maybe they’re all waiting to see…Jordan? No, they can’t all be waiting for him.
Right?
“I hope they don’t take too much longer.” Cade stifles a yawn, his eyes droopy. “I’m exhausted, and I have to be at work at seven tomorrow. Have an early appointment.”
Oh wow, I feel terrible for making him stick around. He does have a life, after all. But I kind of need him by my side too, for emotional support. I’m working hard at playing it cool, calm and collected on the outside, but inside? I’m a total wreck. I’m so nervous I feel like I could hyperventilate.
“Do you want to go ahead and leave?” I offer like an idiot, praying he says no.
He sends me a relieved smile instead. “Maybe? Yeah, we probably should. Sorry we can’t meet your ex, but I’m tired. We still have a long drive home too.”
Disappointment crashes within me as I let Cade take my hand and lead me out of the suite. My mind is racing, screaming at me to stay. Stay. STAY. But I don’t protest, I don’t tell Cade to stop, I just follow after him like a good little girl.
What the hell am I doing?
We’re barely down the expansive hallway when I see them. Two giant men headed in our direction. I know without a doubt who one of them is.
Jordan.
And to his left, walking directly toward me? It’s our old friend from high school,
“Amanda Winters, is that you?” Cannon holds his hand at eyebrow level and squints at me like I’m a shining sun too bright for him to stare at. Without thought, I let go of Cade’s hand, making my way toward Cannon, keeping my eyes averted so I don’t have to look at Tuttle.
I am a coward, but at least I’m aware of my faults.
Cannon’s arms open and I throw myself at him, giving him a long hug. I haven’t seen him in person since the summer after we graduated high school, and he looks great. Somehow, he’s bigger and taller, though his dark blond hair is shorn close, like usual. He definitely looks more grown up now, and I squeeze him as close as I can, though really it’s like hugging a stone wall.
“It’s so good to see you.” My voice is muffled against his hard-as-a-rock chest.
“It’s great to see you too.” He shifts away from me, his hands on my shoulders, his gaze taking me in. “You look amazing.”
“You are too kind,” I say with a laugh, suddenly feeling shy. And inadequate in my rumpled work clothes. I can feel Jordan watch me, his glowering presence making my legs wobble, the intensity of his gaze making me feel faint. Thank God Cannon still has a grip on me or I’d probably collapse to the floor.
“Mandy.” Jordan’s deep voice rumbles along my nerve endings, causing me to shiver, and Cannon turns me toward him just before he releases me, like they planned it beforehand. I’m face to face with Jordan Tuttle for the first time in six years—six freaking years!—and I do the dumbest thing ever.
I stick my hand out for him to shake it.
Of course, I’m not going to shake Amanda’s hand.
Instead I grab hold of it, that unmistakable jolt of electricity sparking when our skin connects, just like every other time we’ve touched. I pull her to me and wrap her up in my arms because I can. I’m the one who offered up the tickets so I could…what? Show off? Let her know exactly how great my life is?
I can’t lie. My life is pretty damn great. I have everything I could ever want—except for one thing.
“Hi Jordan,” she breathes against my neck, and I swear she melts into me a little. Like she can’t help herself. Like we somehow still fit together even after all these years.
Either she got smaller or I grew bigger since the last time I touched her, and I’m guessing it’s the latter. She smells familiar, yet different. Better. I recognize the scent of her shampoo, but nothing else. Her hair is longer. Thick. Dark and wavy, up in a ponytail and a little disheveled, like she’s had a long day. Her body is curvier, something teenaged Amanda would’ve never believed could happen. She still has those sexy long legs, though.
Finally, she pulls away from me, her lips curled, her eyes sparkling, nervousness written all over her face, and I watch her carefully in return, my expression as neutral as I can make it. Honestly, I’m still a little pissed over that garbage game we just played, and I’m tense like I usually am after. Her understanding gaze meets mine and I know she knows what I’m feeling. We’ve always been in tune with each other…
She’s my Mandy, all grown up. But not my Mandy anymore. In fact, there’s a guy standing off to the side, silently watching us, and Cannon’s watching us too. Like we’re putting on some sort of performance and they’re judging our interaction with each other.
With Cannon, I get it. He was there from the beginning. He knows me, he knows Amanda. But the guy with her? I don’t know him.
And for some reason, I immediately don’t like him.
“Cade.” Her voice is light and high, and she steps toward the guy, grabbing his hand and pulling him closer to us. “These are my friends, Cannon Whittaker and—Jordan Tuttle.”
She hesitates when she says my name, and I wonder at her choice of the word friends. Does this guy—Cade—not know we used to be together?
“Nice to meet you.” I stick out my hand before Cannon gets a chance and squeeze Cade’s hand extra hard, like an asshole.
“It is so great to meet you too,” Cade says enthusiastically, wrenching his hand from mine. Then he’s shaking Cannon’s too, though Cannon is a lot kinder. He doesn’t try and break the bones of Amanda’s date. “Thanks for the tickets. You guys played a fantastic game tonight,” Cade says to both of us.
Cannon nods enthusiastically. He did play great. I didn’t.
It was a bullshit game. We barely won. But whatever.
“Thanks,” I say easily. I can feel Amanda’s gaze on me, but I refuse to look in her direction.
“It’s wild to see you here tonight,” Cannon tells Amanda, staring at her like she’s a ghost from his past.
More like she’s my ghost, still haunting me.
“Jordan invited me,” she says, her gaze cutting to mine, and this time I look back. She did not dress to impress. I’d guess she came to the game straight from work, and so did her date, considering their matching polo shirts.
It doesn’t matter. She could be wearing a paper bag and I’d still think she was beautiful.
“Thank you for letting us watch you in the suite,” she tells me, her voice soft, her brown eyes seemingly extra dark. Full of secrets.
I used to live for those brown eyes to look at me. And now, all those old feelings swamp me, taking me back in time.
Leaving me confused as hell.
“Yeah, thanks again. And what a view, watching the game from here,” Cade adds way too enthusiastically. He reminds me of an exuberant puppy, wanting to please everyone.
“You’re welcome.” I glance over at Cannon. “Should we head to the suite?”
“Yeah.” Cannon nods. “My aunt and uncle are waiting.”
“I need to talk to the sponsors.” I study Amanda once more. “Were you guys leaving?”
“Yeah. It is so awesome meeting you guys. Like seriously, lifetime memory-type stuff, so I hate to say it, but I’m beat,” Cade says with a yawn he stifles behind a closed fist. “Have to get to work early tomorrow. You know how it goes.”
Our lives couldn’t be more different. I have no idea how it goes.
The disappointment on Amanda’s face is clear at hearing Cade’s words, and seeing her like this gives me a strange kind of satisfaction. As if I want her to miss me. “I guess we’re leaving,” she says softly.
“You need a ride home?”
She blinks up at me, clearly shocked by my question. As am I.
What the fuck am I doing?
“I can stay a little longer,” Cade interjects, slipping his arm around Amanda’s shoulders like he owns her, the prick. “I’ll drive Amanda home.”
“Cool,” I say with a nod, but deep inside I’m seething. I don’t like how he took control of the situation. I don’t like how he’s touching Amanda possessively.
More than anything, I don’t like the way seeing her after all this time is making me feel.
This is, after all, the girl who held my nineteen-year-old heart in her hands.
And crushed it.
Wincing, I brace myself just before I splash cold water on my cheeks, then reach blindly for a paper towel. I pat my face dry, careful not to smudge mascara beneath my eyes, and blink once, twice, staring at my reflection in the mirror in the suite bathroom, where I made my escape a few minutes ago.
I look awful. There’s no mascara smudges because it’s all gone. There’s not a lick of makeup left on my face. My skin is pale, though the icy water brought a little color to my cheeks. There are dark circles under my eyes and my hair is a total disaster. I drop the paper towel into the trash and then finger comb the messy strands, trying to calm them down, make them look better, but it’s hopeless.
I am hopeless.
Knowing I can open the bathroom door and Jordan will be in the next room makes my heart want to gallop straight out of my chest. It was downright exhilarating to see him again after so long. Despite what happened to us in our past, despite my breaking up with him like the stupid teenaged girl I was, he’s perfectly polite. Sweet, even.
Okay, fine, I can’t e
He had been a little growly, a little moody. I know it’s because he didn’t feel good about that game. Throwing that interception must’ve infuriated him.
And then there’s the fact I tried to shake his hand like a dork.
I mean, seriously. I’ve had sex with him. Multiple times. He was my first. I was his first. I see him six years later and the first thing I want to do is shake his hand? What the hell was I thinking?
Dumb. He makes me dumb. Staring into his blue eyes and seeing him like that, all big and gorgeous and masculine and beautiful and handsome and oh my God, I sound like an idiot even in my thoughts.
With fumbling fingers, I find my favorite pinky-nude lipstick in my tiny purse and slick it on my lips, rubbing them together, pleased with the results. That’s about as pulled together as I’m going to get, and yet again I hate that I’m wearing my work polo. I don’t look half as beautiful as the women who are still hanging out in the suite. Their eyes lit up when Jordan and Cannon first entered the room. I just knew they all wanted a piece of them, and seeing the women’s reactions filled me with an old, familiar and ugly emotion.
Jealousy.
Lame. I’m also super-duper lame.
Resting my hands on either side of the sink, I look myself in the eyes and tell my reflection, “Don’t be stupid.”
I drop the lipstick back in my purse and go to the door, throwing it open with firm determination.
Only to find Jordan standing there in the tiny hall, like he was—oh, I don’t know—waiting for me?
No. Way. Just a coincidence. It has to be.
“Hi.” I come to a stop, the bathroom door almost hitting me in the backside.