More than Friends - Monica Murphy

by Monica Murphy

  “I’ll work on it tonight.”

  “You’ll text it to me?”

  “Sure.” I don’t know if I want to do that. Talk about taking a chance. What if he shares the entry with his friends? That would be humiliating. He’ll probably make it sound like I wrote that to him, not Juliet to Romeo.

  Yeah. I am so not sending him the entry via text. Forget that.

  I slip behind the counter and work on closing out the cash register. Once I’m done, I go to the back and stash the money in the safe, then lock it and the office as well. Turning off all the lights, I come out into the store to find Jordan leaning against the counter and typing on his phone, a scowl on his face as he stares at the screen.

  “All done,” I tell him weakly. Why does he look so mad? What’s going on? Who’s he talking to? I kinda lift up on tiptoe to see his phone screen and I can tell he’s texting.

  But with who?

  “Ready to go?” He clicks his phone screen off and shoves it in the front pocket of his sweats, waiting for me.

  “Yeah. Let’s go out the front door.” He heads toward it and I shut off the rest of the lights, then follow him, walking through the door he holds open for me. I pull the door shut and lock it with the set of keys Sonja left with me earlier this afternoon, then shove them into my front pocket. “I did it.”

  “Yeah, you did.” He glances around before he takes my arm and leads me out into the parking lot and toward my car. I hurry to keep up with him, shivering when the cold wind hits me. I’m only in my Yo Town T-shirt and jeans. I didn’t bring a sweater because I came straight from school and earlier in the day it had been warm.

  “Your teeth are chattering,” he says when we reach my car. “Here.” I watch in mute fascination when he tugs his hoodie off, his T-shirt catching on it for a brief moment and riding up, revealing his perfect, flat stomach.

  Oh God. I feel faint. I’ve touched that stomach before. Not enough times, though. I’d give anything to touch him again. Totally dumb, but true.

  Next thing I know, he’s tugging the hoodie over my head and I shove my arms into the sleeves, smiling when the hoodie hits me at about mid thigh. It’s warm from his body heat and smells like soap and spice and Jordan Tuttle. Which means it smells freaking amazing.

  “That better?” He tucks the sweatshirt around my neck, his fingers brushing against my sensitive skin, and a soft gasp escapes me, making him frown. “Mandy? You all right?”

  I finally do it. I give in. I throw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his waist, soaking up his solid warmth, the shape of him, the thin fabric of his T-shirt, the thump, thump, thump of his heartbeat against my ear. Oh God, I could hold onto him forever like this. And when he puts his arms around me, pulling me even closer, I snuggle in and close my eyes.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, my throat scratchy. Raw. “For everything.” I need him to know how much I appreciate what he’s doing for me. How he’s watching out for me. Protecting me.

  It’s sweet. Thoughtful.

  “You’re welcome.” He presses his lips to my hair and I clutch him tighter. I want more. More of Jordan’s lips on my skin, on my lips. But I don’t get it. And I don’t ask for it. I’m too scared.

  Apparently so is he, because eventually he lets go of me and I let go of him with a bashful smile. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. I’ll wait until the car starts, okay?”

  “Okay.” I unlock my car and climb in, then start the engine, sending him a thumbs-up. He nods and then goes to his car, which is parked near mine, and when I pull out of the parking lot a few minutes later, he follows me.

  All the way home.

  When there are away games, the school doesn’t hold rallies. If that was the case, we’d be having rallies every Friday and nothing would ever get done. Not that anything much happens on a Friday at our high school. Though drama always seems to break out on a Friday.

  Or a Monday, or a Tuesday. Pretty much any day that ends in “y.”

  I’ve been on edge all day, worrying about how I’m supposed to get to the game tonight. I don’t want to drive, not in my crap car, considering we’re playing a town over forty miles away. Plus, I don’t want to spend the money on gas. I’m trying to save every dime I’m making right now to put away toward college.

  So when I spot Coach Halsey hovering by the quad near the end of lunch, I approach him with all the courage I can muster.

  Why am I such a coward sometimes? God, I hate it. I need to get a backbone, damn it.

  “Hey Coach.”

  He smiles when he sees it’s me. “Amanda Winters. Very excited about having you as our new water girl.” We’ve talked about it briefly, but he’s been busy and so I’m a little freaked I might not be the best water girl in the world. But if he has faith in me, I need to have faith in myself.

  “Thanks again for the chance. I really do appreciate it.” I pause. Lick my lips. Fight the nerves. “Um, what time do I have to be at the game tonight?”

  “Bus leaves at four, JV game starts at five.”

  I frown. “Wait a minute. You want me to ride the team bus?”

  His frown matches mine. “You are on the team now, correct?”

  “Um, I guess so…”

  “The team rides together for away games on the bus. The cheerleaders go too.” Great. Lauren Mancini will be there. Can’t wait. “The bus leaves promptly at four.”

  “Okay. Cool.”

  “Don’t be late. You don’t want the bus to leave you behind.” He smiles and starts to walk away. “See you tonight, Miss Winters,” he calls over his shoulder.

  “Why is he seeing you tonight?”

  I turn at the snide tone, surprised to find Lauren Mancini standing in front of me, looking perfect in her cheer uniform. The sleeveless top shows off her perfect toned and tanned arms, and it fits her tight across the chest so her boobs look amazing. The skirt is short, revealing her long, thin legs. She has curves, unlike me, and a beautiful face, beautiful hair…beautiful everything.

  She knows it too.

  “Um, I’m the new water girl for the JV and varsity football teams,” I tell her.

  Lauren sneers, but she still manages to look pretty. “Really? Are you so desperate to get Tuttle’s attention you’ll do anything, even hand him over a water bottle during the game?”

  Ouch. “I’m not trying to get Tuttle’s attention.” I’ve already got it.

  “Oh, really? Could’ve fooled me.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest, plumping up her stupid perfect boobs, and I try not to glance down at my own imperfect, very flat chest.

  “I don’t want to fight with you, Lauren,” I say wearily, just before I turn and start to walk away.

  But she follows after me, so close I can practically feel her breathing down my neck. “You’re not his type, so stop chasing after him. You look desperate. And pitiful.”

  I hear a few snickers, and I realize I’m not only being followed by the captain of the cheer squad—there are other cheerleaders trailing after her. Like I’m being chased by Lauren and her cheer posse.

  Best not to acknowledge them.

  “I’m serious, Amanda.” Lauren grabs hold of my arm and stops me from entering the building. I turn to face her, jerking out of her hold when I find myself surrounded by a group of five cheerleaders, including Lauren. “Give up on Jordan Tuttle. He’s mine.”

  “I don’t see your name stamped on his ass.” I stand up straight and shake my hair back, trying for the you-don’t-scare-me look, but I’m not sure if it’s working.

  Lauren’s mouth pops open as the other girls titter nervously. The glare she sends them shuts them up before she turns it on me. “You should watch what you say. Your words might get you in trouble.”

  “Oh my God, Lauren. Stop being such a bitch and leave her alone.” Em magically appears by my side like my long-lost guardian angel. “Go on, find someone else to terrorize.” She waves her hands at the girls, like they’re annoyin
g bugs she swats away.

  Lauren sends me one last long look before she turns and leaves, her little posse following her. The moment they’re out of earshot, Em turns to me and rolls her eyes. “You sounded like you were holding your own, but she’s a total bully. I had to step in.”

  “Thank you.” I offer up a shaky smile. “Seriously. She was sort of freaking me out.”

  “Don’t let her bother you. She’s just jealous because Tuttle pays attention to you and not her,” Em says.

  “You really think she’s jealous of me?” I’m incredulous. Both at the idea of Lauren Mancini being envious of me, and that Em actually helped me out instead of making the situation worse.

  Em laughs and shakes her head. “Duh. Of course, she’s jealous of you. You have what she wants—Jordan Tuttle.”

  “I don’t really have him,” I mumble, dropping my head so I can stare at my feet. It’s true. I don’t have him have him, but I guess I sort of do? He has been paying attention to me a lot lately. Even after I pushed him away. Even after I hurt his feelings and told him I didn’t want to be with him because I didn’t believe he could be faithful.

  Which was…stupid. I don’t know him, not really. But I never claimed to be smart when it comes to relationships. My experience is limited. The only real boyfriend I ever had was Thad, and look where that ended up.

  “Please. He’s totally into you.” Em leans in close, her mouth at my ear. “He’s watching you right now. In fact—oh shit—he’s headed this way.”

  I glance up to see Tuttle walking toward us, his expression grim. My heart starts to thump wildly and I take a deep breath, remind myself to calm down.

  “Hey,” he says to Em before his gaze settles on me. “What did Lauren want from you?”

  “Nothing.” I smile, trying to communicate with Em with just my eyes. I can see she wants to say something. Tell Tuttle the truth. But I don’t want her to. I don’t need to burden him with my so-called troubles. I can handle Lauren Mancini on my own.

  “Really?” He sounds doubtful. “She can be kind of a—”

  “Bitch?” Em supplies helpfully, a giant smile on her face. “So accurate.”

  “Em. Stop.” I don’t know why I’m scolding her. Do I really want to defend Lauren Mancini? I don’t think so. I decide to change tactics. “Excited for tonight’s game?” I ask Jordan.

  He shrugs. “The team we’re playing is number one in the league right now.”

  “Oh.” Yikes. That might prove to be a challenge.

  “You guys will do great,” Em says cheerfully.

  “Yeah,” Jordan says, returning his attention to me. Not that it’s ever really left. He won’t stop looking at me and I’m suddenly self-conscious. I run a hand over my hair, touch the corner of my mouth in case there’s a crumb lingering. Nothing. I drag my finger under one eye, then the other, picking up bits of stray mascara, and I wish I could slick on some lip-gloss. Anything to look prettier. “You look good.”

  I blink up at him. “What?”

  “You’re fidgeting. Stop worrying.” He reaches out and slides his fingers through my hair. Gently touches the corner of my mouth. Glides his index finger under my left eye, his gaze locked with mine. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs as he trails his finger along my cheek.

  I’m also breathless. How does he do that?

  Em clearing her throat breaks me free of the trance Jordan just lulled me into. “Guys, I feel like I’m interrupting something, so I’m out. Good luck on tonight’s game, Tuttle. I’m sure you’ll kill ’em.” She flees before we can say anything else.

  “You’re friends with her?” he asks once Em’s gone.

  “Sort of.” I don’t know how to explain my relationship with Em, so I don’t.

  “Her and Livvy were best friends.”

  “I know. But now they’re having…trouble.” I wrinkle my nose. No need to go into the details. I think Jordan knows a few of them anyway.

  “And you’re wanting to help them out?” He whistles low. “You’re a good friend.”

  I laugh softly. “Probably too good of a friend. I’ve let too many people take advantage of me.”

  “Like who?”

  “Like Tara.” When he frowns I remind him, “My former best friend. The one who was…”

  “Screwing your boyfriend at my house? Yeah. She sucks.”

  “So does he.”

  “Nah, he’s just an idiot.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Letting a girl like you go? He didn’t know how good he had it.” He tilts his head to the side, contemplating me while I digest what he just said. Yet again, he renders me silent. “You never did send me your diary entry.”

  “For Juliet?” I wrote it late last night, when I couldn’t sleep. Might’ve poured my heart into it too, reliving the hug in the parking lot moment over and over, like I’m twelve.

  “Yeah. Where is it?”

  “I’ll show you in class.”

  “I want to see it now.”

  “No, in class.” He grabs my waist, holding me in place, and I look up at him, surprised to see the amusement in his eyes. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for any excuse to touch you?” He raises his brows and I blush. My cheeks go warm and he squeezes me, his thumbs sneaking under the hem of my T-shirt to touch my bare skin. “For once, you’re not fighting me.”

  “Jordan.” My voice is a warning, but I don’t want him to stop. “Public displays of affection are strictly prohibited on campus grounds.”

  I sound like I’m reciting from the school code handbook.

  “Not like I’m trying to kiss you.” His gaze drops to my lips, and it actually feels like he did just kiss me. “I’ll save that for later.”

  Um. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ll see.” The bell rings and he curves one arm around my waist, guiding me so I’m walking beside him and into the building. “Need to go to your locker?”

  I nod, dumbfounded that we’re walking down the hall and Jordan has his arm around me. Like we’re a bona fide couple. Meaning I’m having a surreal moment. He doesn’t do this sort of thing. He never has. So I don’t get why all of a sudden he’s choosing me.

  Jordan stops directly in front of my locker and leans against the one next to mine, waiting for me as I fumble with the lock. It takes me three tries before I can get it open, and once I do, he’s right there, offering to hold my backpack, asking if I have everything I need before he shuts the locker door for me.

  “You need to go to yours?” I ask as he slings my backpack over his shoulder. I walk beside him, trying my best to ignore the stares, the whispers that grow into low murmurs, a few snippets of conversation caught as we pass people by.

  “Who is she?”

  “Why is Tuttle walking with her?”

  “Are they—together?”

  But the worst moment is when I glance up to find Lauren Mancini headed straight for us, the scowl on her face right out of my nightmares. She looks furious, her eyes going from Jordan to me back to Jordan again. I watch as she switches it on, that beaming, perky cheerleader smile aimed right at him.

  “Jordan! Ready for tonight’s game?” She stops directly in front of him but he dodges her, grabbing my hand and pulling me along with him.

  “Yeah,” he says, not even looking in her direction. He laces our fingers together, giving mine a squeeze, and I just want to die on the spot.

  Somehow I keep moving, keep walking straight like a normal person, though deep inside I’m warm and fuzzy and tempted to launch myself at him.

  “I’ll see you tonight!” Lauren shrieks from behind us, but he doesn’t even give her a second glance. Instead he looks at me with an intimate smile, like we share this big secret.

  It’s my most favorite Jordan Tuttle smile ever.

  By the time we walk into the classroom, the bell is ringing. I let go of his hand and scramble for my seat. Jordan ambles over to his like he has all the time in the world, a
nd I turn around to watch him, letting all of my inhibitions go. Not caring what anyone else thinks.

  We just walked down the hall together. First with his arm around me, then holding hands. I can look at him all I want.

  “Let’s not waste any time,” Mrs. Meyer says after she takes attendance. “Get with your group partner and work on your projects, please. You should at least have one diary entry each, maybe even two.”

  I immediately feel behind. Panicked. The guy who sits next to me moves out of his desk to go join his partner and Jordan is there, easing into the desk and scooting it toward me. We’re so close our arms practically touch.

  “You look freaked out.”

  Leaning in closer, I whisper, “Did you hear Mrs. Meyer? She said we should have at least two entries done each. We only have one.”

  He’s so close I might be able to count every single eyelash that lines his eyes. There is the faintest bit of stubble on his cheeks and I want to touch it.

  “Maybe I’ve already finished my two entries,” he murmurs, his eyes sparkling.

  I suck in a breath. “You have not.”

  “I have.” He flicks his chin in my direction. “Let me read your first entry.”

  Nerves assail me and I swallow hard. I don’t want him to read it right in front of me. But how else can this go down?

  “Um…” My voice trails off.

  “Hand it over.” Ugh. He can be so bossy sometimes.

  I grab my backpack and unzip it, randomly digging around even though I know exactly where the paper is. Jordan leans back in his desk with a bored expression on his face, like he knows I’m trying to fake him out, and I give up. I reach for the thin folder, pull the sheet of paper out of it, and hand it over, just like he asked.

  Then I lay my head down on the desk and wait quietly for the humiliation to be over.

  Amanda hands me the fluttery piece of paper and I realize her hands are shaking. She’s nervous, those big brown eyes staring at me, her teeth sinking into her plump bottom lip. I want to lean in and suck on that lip so damn bad it’s killing me.

  Killing. Me.

  She lays her head on top of the desk and buries her face against her arm while I start to read her Juliet diary entry.