“Don’t worry about it.” She worries about a lot of things, and I wish she didn’t. I’m probably overstepping my boundaries, but I want her to know that since she’s with me, she has nothing to worry about. I’ll take care of her every need.
If she’ll let me.
“I’m just glad they approved my vacation request,” she says.
“Me too.” I relinquish my hold on her and she settles in her seat, smiling over at me as she puts on her seat belt. “Ready to go?” I ask her.
“Yes, please. Get me out of here before you start kissing me again.” She’s teasing. I can tell by the smile on her face. How her dark eyes are sparkling.
Smiling in return, I put the car in reverse and back out of the space, then make my way toward the exit. “If you’re lucky, I’ll be doing a lot more than kissing you later.”
She goes quiet for a moment, finally speaking up when I pull onto the freeway. “I thought we were going to take this slow.”
I can’t believe she wants to. Seriously, what’s the point? We were together before, and it was good. Great, actually. Until she gave up, and I let her.
Well, I’m not going to let her any longer. What we had before was worth fighting for. What we potentially have now—I can’t give up. I can’t let it go.
And I definitely don’t want to move slow.
“We’ve been together before,” I start, and she’s already talking.
“Exactly, so we should learn from our mistakes,” she points out.
“We were young,” I counter, shooting her a quick look. She’s watching me, an incredulous expression on her face. Like she can’t believe we’re having this conversation right now. Guess that makes two of us, because I can’t believe it either. “We didn’t know what we had until we didn’t have it any longer.”
“Do you really believe that?” Her voice is quiet, and I swear she sounds surprised.
“I do.” I want to punch the steering wheel in frustration. This is the last place I want to talk about this. We should be having it at my house. Or hers. Alone, face to face, sharing our secret feelings.
Instead, I’m driving in rush hour traffic, barely able to look at her.
“Are you trying to say that ours was the most meaningful relationship you’ve ever had?” Her voice squeaks on the last word.
“Yes. It was. I’ve always had a thing for you, Mandy. You know this.”
“A thing? Like what? A crush when you were twelve? Thirteen? That’s different than an adult relationship, you know. I had a crush on you too. A meaningless one at first, because I truly believed there was no way you’d be interested in me. In fact, I knew you wouldn’t be interested in me, because you were you and I was…me.” She ends her ramble with a sigh.
“Yet I was interested. I was always interested.” From the moment I started to notice girls, I noticed Amanda first. Seventh grade science class is where my crush turned into full-fledged yearning.
There’s no other word for it. I yearned for that girl like some sort of sap in those awful romantic comedy movies. When you’re thirteen, that shit is embarrassing. When you’re eighteen, that shit drives you to make the girl of your dreams the girl of your reality.
I had my moments. I wasn’t perfect. I did some stupid stuff that I regret. But once Amanda and I were committed, I was all in. I firmly believed we were it for each other. I didn’t want anyone else.
Just Amanda.
I may have had other women since we broke up, but she’s always haunted my thoughts. I’ve only had one other serious relationship besides Amanda, and that one went nowhere. I cared about Mia, but I realized after we split that I wasn’t in love with her.
I wasn’t obsessed with her, like I am with Amanda.
“And you’re still interested,” Amanda says, pulling me from my thoughts.
“More like obsessed,” I mutter, immediately wishing I could take the words back.
But fuck it. If I can’t be my authentic self with this girl, then I have no chance of being authentic ever.
Obsessed.
The word has a bad reputation, am I right?
Stalkers are obsessed with the object of their so-called affection.
Psycho ex-girlfriends are obsessed with the one who wronged them.
Teenagers infatuated with the latest boy band are obsessed.
That amazing new book you just read with the swoony couple who should be together but aren’t? Yep, readers are definitely obsessed.
Being so completely focused on something until you can’t think of anything else is considered a bad thing. Unhealthy.
Wrong.
Yet I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the way Jordan just said he’s obsessed with me.
In fact, I like that he just used that word. I like it a lot. Because guess what?
I’m freaking obsessed with him too.
“You think I’m insane,” he says about a minute after he dropped my new favorite word.
“What? No. I don’t think you’re insane.” I wrinkle my nose, confused. “Why would you say that?”
“Obsessed—maybe that wasn’t the right word choice for how I feel about you.” He’s staring straight ahead, which is a good thing since he’s driving. But I can see the tension in his jaw. The firm line of his lips. He’s stressed out because he just admitted he’s obsessed with me.
It’s taking everything I have not to start bouncing in my seat.
“So you’re not obsessed with me?” I ask innocently.
“I don’t want to scare you off.” The tension eases from his face a little, though his jaw is still tight.
“You can’t scare me off,” I tell him, sounding way more confident than I feel.
He snorts.
Literally snorts.
“Yeah, right,” he mumbles.
“What do you mean by that?” I’m vaguely offended.
“Trust me.” He flicks his gaze toward me for a too-brief moment. “I can definitely scare you off.”
Why do we always have these sorts of conversations? It’s like we talk in circles. It’s also like we’re kids again, trying to outdo each other. We’re sort of ridiculous.
Yet I fall right into his trap anyway.
“Just try me,” I dare him, the smugness in my voice so very obvious.
Again, he glances in my direction, and I hold my breath, steel my spine just at the look I see on his beautiful face. Oh lordy, maybe he can scare me off—just by looking at me. “Want to hear about my plan?”
“What plan?”
“I call it my get Amanda back to my house and naked in my bed plan.” He says it casually, like it’s no big deal, that he wants to get me naked in his bed.
This is a huge deal. Yes, yes, I know I was the one who told him we needed to slow things down, but I don’t know.
Maybe I was wrong about that.
“Oh.” My voice is small, only because my brain has gone into immediate overload, thinking of all the fun things Jordan and I can do naked in his bed.
“See?” It’s his turn to sound smug. “I just scared you.”
“No.” I shake my head. “You really didn’t.”
“You up for it then?”
“You’re talking to me like we’re discussing a pickup game of basketball or whatever.” I roll my eyes, barely able to contain my smile. “You up for another round, bro? Want to meet later? Hash this thing out? Play a little one-on-one?”
He laughs, and the sound is joyous. Amazing. I love it when he laughs. He doesn’t do it often enough. “Well, Mandy? You up for another round? Wanna play a little one-on-one?”
Our gazes meet, hold. My entire body feels like it just caught fire.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He takes me to dinner first, most likely to torture me. Draw this thing out. He’s good at that. The torturing part.
He’s good at everything he does.
We go to a small Mexican restaurant in a quiet part of town, not too far from where he lives, but
not in the swank area he took me to for our last date. This place is small and old, and almost every single booth and table is occupied. The lighting is dim, the atmosphere party-like with all the loud chatter and the music playing in the background. The smells that hit me the moment we walk inside make my stomach growl.
“Tuttle!” An older woman with ruby red lips and substantial curves approaches us, wrapping Jordan up in a big hug. He lets her hug him. In fact, he wraps his arms around her ample frame and squeezes tight. “It’s so good to see you,” she says. “We’ve missed you around here.”
“I’ve missed you too.” He disentangles himself from her arms and angles her so that she’s facing me. “Veronica, this is…Amanda.”
“Hi.” I smile at her, but she’s too busy turning to gape at Jordan, her mouth hanging open.
“This is Amanda?” Her voice lowers, her gaze cutting to mine. “Mandy?”
Oh God. For some reason, he’s talking about me to this Veronica? I can’t even begin to wrap my head around this. I brace myself, waiting for her animosity. If he’s talking about me, he can’t be telling her anything good.
“This is her.” Jordan nods, his expression solemn.
“Mandy.” She steps forward and pulls me into her arms, her embrace so tight I struggle to breathe. “It is so, so good to finally meet you. And please call me Ronnie.”
“Um, nice to meet you too,” I say, confused by her reaction.
She pulls away from me, clutching my shoulders and giving me a little shake. “You’re beautiful! Oh, I knew you would be. Tuttle’s told me plenty.”
Jordan groans.
“Don’t you act like that.” She lets go of my shoulders to turn on him, wagging a finger at his chest. “You’re the one who spilled your guts to me.”
“You spilled your guts?” I ask him. It’s shocking to think of Jordan telling someone else, a complete stranger, all about our failed relationship.
“He told me plenty.” She tilts her head, contemplating me. “Enough to know that I should tell you that you have another opportunity right now. Don’t blow it.”
I’m taken aback by the urgency in her voice. I do know I have another opportunity right now. I’ve just never had anyone say it out loud to me before.
“Ronnie.” Jordan’s voice is firm. “Leave her alone.”
“She needs to hear the truth.” She turns and taps him lightly on the chest with her index finger. “Follow me. I’ve got a special table for you two.”
Her quick change of subject leaves me reeling. Well, that and the fact that Jordan told her about our relationship.
Talk about weird.
The moment Ronnie hands us our menus and walks away, I’m leaning across the table, my gaze locked on Jordan’s. “What was that all about?”
“I used to come here a lot, especially during my first season.” He opens up the menu, then immediately shuts it and sets it on the table, as if he’s already made up his mind. “I had a thing for their burritos. Still do.”
“Great. So Ronnie gave you a burrito and you told her about your love life?”
“Yeah. So?” He shrugs, oh so nonchalant. I sort of want to punch him.
And I also sort of want to hug him.
“You don’t even know her,” I point out.
“I do too. She’s nice. Nicer than my mother’s ever been.” His tone is bitter, and my heart aches for him.
“So Ronnie is like a mother figure.”
“During my first season, I came in here once a week. She’d always ask me why I didn’t have a woman in my life, and that led me to confess about our relationship,” he admits.
Sighing, I drop my head, studying the menu, though I’m barely focused enough to read my dinner options. “Great. She probably hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” he assures me.
“I can’t believe you told her everything.” I decide on street tacos with carnitas and shut my menu.
“I was hurt.” He shrugs.
In my head, I calculate how many years are between our break up and his first season. “But that was what? Three years after we split? Four? And you were still hurt?”
He rests his hand over his heart. “You’ve always had a major effect on me.”
“Are you trying to make me feel like shit?” Because it’s totally working.
Jordan drops his hand over mine, completely engulfing it. “No, I’m just being honest. You had your issues, and I had mine.”
I blink at him, hating the sting of tears that appear out of nowhere. I don’t want to cry. Not here, in the middle of his favorite Mexican restaurant with Ronnie the mother figure watching us. My timing is all wrong. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
He squeezes my hand but doesn’t say anything.
“I figured you were so busy, you’d get over me quick,” I continue.
His eyes dim and he slowly shakes his head. “I don’t know how you ever believed that was possible.”
Ronnie suddenly appears, a tiny notepad and pen in hand. “Are you two done living in the past and ready for me to take your drink order?”
Her words make me sit up straight, and Jordan removes his hand from mine. I order a glass of water, the words coming out of my mouth automatically, though I’m thinking of something else. What she said. How she said it, the tone of her voice no-nonsense.
Are you two done living in the past?
The past is there. Undeniable. But Ronnie’s right. I’m too hung up on it. Too worried about what I did to him versus thinking of what we could possibly do together. Here.
Right now.
Ronnie asks what Jordan wants to drink. He orders a Modelo and looks at me, silently asking if I want one too. I nod my answer, and he tells Ronnie, “Make that two,” before she bustles away, headed for the tiny bar in the far corner of the room.
“You okay?” he asks.
Taking a deep breath, I nod, smiling faintly at him. “Have you forgiven me for what I did to you?”
He leans back, his brows drawn together. “Yeah. I have.”
“Really? Because there’s no way we can go forward unless you can truly say you’ve forgiven me for breaking your heart.”
He touches my hand again, just his fingertips skimming my skin, making me tingle. “Trust me, Mandy. I’ve forgiven you,” he says, his deep voice extra low. Intimate.
Despite the loud conversations surrounding us, the music, the not-so-distant sound of Ronnie yelling at someone back in the kitchen, it feels like we’re the only two people in this room. “Okay. Good.” It feels like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. That tried-and-true cliché is most fitting for this moment.
“Have you forgiven me for what I did to you?” he asks.
I frown. “What did you do to me?” He’s still stroking the top of my hand, and his touch feels so good. I never want him to stop.
“Ignored you. Made you feel neglected. I never meant to hurt you. I was just so…overwhelmed with everything. That first year in college, it was rough. I didn’t handle it right.” His exhale is ragged, his expression full of regret.
Oh. My heart aches at the look on his face, the sincerity in his voice.
“I forgive you,” I whisper and he shoots me a small smile just before he ducks his head. I decide to change the subject. “Ronnie’s right, you know.”
“Right about what?” His head is still bent, and he’s drawing circles on the back of my hand, making it hard to focus.
“We can’t live in the past.”
He lifts his head, our gazes locking. His vivid blue eyes gaze into mine, nearly undoing me. All by a simple look. “I don’t want to live in the past. As much as I loved teenaged Amanda, I want to get to know adult Amanda better.”
My lips curve. I like how he just said that. I like even more that he actually used the word love. “I haven’t changed that much.”
“Yeah, you actually have.” He picks up my hand, sliding our fingers together so their interlaced. Palm to palm. His thumb
caresses that patch of skin between my thumb and index finger, and it’s like his touch makes every nerve ending come alive. “You’re much more confident.”
“I don’t feel it,” I immediately say, and he sends me a look that shushes me.
“Trust me, you are.” His fingers tighten on mine. “You’re even more beautiful.”
“Flatterer,” I tease, but his compliment turns my cheeks pink.
“Still modest.” His smile is faint. Sexy. “I always liked that about you. There were a lot of things I liked about you.”
“Like what?” I can’t help but ask the question, though I guess I shouldn’t. It’s like I’m fishing for compliments.
“Your innate kindness. You’re not mean to anyone.”
“Except Lauren Mancini.” His ex from high school. One of the most popular girls in our class, she was the bane of my existence back then.
“You were allowed to be mean to her. She was mean to you.”
“True.” Okay, I may sound like an egomaniac, but I want to hear more. “What else did you like about me?”
“Your big, beautiful, sexy brain.” He brings our linked hands to his mouth and brushes a kiss against my knuckles. “You were always so fuckin’ smart, Mandy.”
Guys don’t tell you that sort of stuff. At least not most of the guys I’ve dated. Except for Jordan. He’s always been impressed with my brainiac ways. “You were a closet nerd too, you know. You were in all of my honors classes.”
“It’s true.” He taps our still linked hands against his chin, and I feel the faint scratch of stubble there. “Did you ever want to shake me?”
“Never.” I liked having him in class. There were other jocks in my classes, and that’s what Jordan was. A jock. The others, they were loud. Brash. Complete show offs, always performing. Some of them said dumb stuff when the teachers called on them, and all of their friends would laugh, which only egged them on.
Not Tuttle. He was quiet. Intense. When any teacher called on him to answer a question, he always got it right. When he raised his hand to offer his opinion, it was thoughtful. Intelligent.
“I never wanted to shake you either. Sometimes we even sat by each other.” He pauses before he further explains, “T and W aren’t too far away from each other in the alphabet, you know.”
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