Forever: A Friends Novel

by Monica Murphy

  His voice is a low, sexy murmur that I feel right to the very depths of my soul. Even though I’m in pain with a swimming stomach, a cut tongue and a blooming black eye, he still manages to give me butterflies.

  “Yeah,” I whisper. “It hurts a lot. Your elbow is like a lethal weapon.”

  Jordan makes a face and shakes his head. “I can’t believe that happened. Are you sure it wasn’t Whittaker who nailed you in the eye?”

  “It was you.” I suck in a sharp breath when he brushes wayward strands of hair away from my forehead. I wish he wouldn’t touch me like that. Look at me like that. Like I might still matter. Like he might still care. “You hit me hard.”

  “I didn’t know you were standing that close.”

  “I was right in the middle of you two.” I sound incredulous because I am.

  “You were also beating me up.” He smiles, the arrogant jerk. “Rather ineffectively, but it was cute.”

  I glare at him. “Don’t call me cute. I was trying to hurt you.”

  His smile disappears, though I can tell it’s a struggle for him to remain neutral. “You were trying to hurt me?”

  “Yes.” He touches my forehead again, like he can’t help it, and I want to tell him to stop, but it feels too good. My eyes fall closed and I savor the feeling of his fingers skimming my skin, lightly searching around my eye. I wince again, and he pauses.

  “I see bruises.”

  “I’m sure I’m going to look hideous tomorrow.”

  “You could never look hideous.”

  I can’t stop the smile from curling my lips. “You haven’t seen me with a black eye yet, so never say never.”

  He chuckles. “Where’s your phone?”

  “I don’t have it with me.” I frown. “I left it in the car.”

  “Whose car?”

  “Livvy’s. We came to the party together.” My eyes pop open. “I need to find her. I need to tell her I’m okay. I need to see if she’s okay.” I start to sit up, but Jordan stops me, his hands going to my shoulders and pushing me back down so I’m lying on the bed.

  “I’ll text her,” he says, his voice gentle. Soothing. “Don’t worry about it. You need to rest.” He pulls his iPhone out of the back pocket of his jeans and his fingers fly over the screen.

  “I’m perfectly fine.” I’m also a liar. “I don’t need rest. I need to get out of here.” I sit up this time, so fast my head spins and I rest a hand over my churning stomach, closing my eyes again in hopes it’ll ward off the nausea. But that doesn’t help either, since my head is swimming. I carefully lie back down and throw my arm over my eyes. “I think I drank too much.”

  “How much did you have to drink?”

  “Um, two beers? Maybe three? But I drank them really fast.”

  “Too fast?”

  “Yeah, and plus I was dancing and it was so hot and crowded in the living room. I think that’s my problem. I just need to cool down.”

  Jordan inhales sharply and shifts on the side of the bed, coming closer to me. I can feel his body heat, smell his scent, which isn’t as overpowering as it was just a few minutes ago. “You looked really good out there,” he admits, his voice low and sexy and vaguely irritating. Only because I think it’s sexy. “Dancing with the girls. The dress. Your hair. You look pretty tonight, Amanda.”

  My heart soars at the compliment and I want to tell it to calm the hell down. He’s given me plenty of compliments before, but does he actually mean them? “Thanks.” My stomach makes an embarrassing noise and I rest my other hand on my belly. “I shouldn’t have drunk those beers.”

  “Are you going to be sick?” Now he sounds a little freaked out.

  I shake my head and stop immediately because ow, that hurts. “No, I think I’ll be okay.” I keep my hand there, as if it’ll somehow calm me down. “I told myself I wasn’t going to drown my sorrows tonight in booze.”

  “Drown your sorrows? What sorrows?”

  Ugh, that he would even say that sort of pisses me off.

  “My Jordan Tuttle sorrows.” Thank God my eyes are covered so I don’t have to see him. I’m shocked and pissed at myself for saying those words out loud. “You never heard me say that.”

  He’s silent for a moment, most likely considering what his reply should be. “But I did.” His voice is even softer than before. I think I shocked him.

  “Well, act like you didn’t. Pretend the words don’t matter, okay?” I can’t look at him, can’t face the humility of saying what I just did in front of him. He’s the cause of my sorrows. I just told him that. What must he think? Does he pity me? Feel sorry for me? Though I know he’s said some pretty messed up things too. Yet I refused to listen.

  Maybe we’re even.

  “Amanda—”

  I interrupt him. “I don’t want to talk about it. Please. There’s nothing left to say between us, don’t you think?”

  He’s quiet again, and the silence is so unnerving I’m almost desperate to fill it with meaningless words. “Why would you say that?”

  I’m scrambling to come up with a reason. A good one. A strong, valid reason to make him stay away once and for all. I drop my arm from my eyes, though I still keep them closed, and part my lips, ready to say something when the door crashes open and I hear Livvy’s voice.

  “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere!”

  Livvy rushes into the tiny room, filling it up with over-the-top, stressed-out vibes. I crack open my eyes and watch as she approaches the bed, dropping to her knees so she can be face level with me. Her eyes are wide and staring into mine as she reaches out and rests her hand on my forearm, her nails digging into my skin. She zeroes right in on my black eye, her face crinkling in horror just before she lifts her angry gaze to Jordan.

  “You did this to her?” Oh, she sounds mad as hell.

  Jordan stands and takes a step away, almost like he’s afraid of her. “It was an accident.”

  “Oh, so your fist connecting with her eye was an accident? How gullible do you think I am, Tuttle?” Livvy turns to examine me once more, and her voice drops to the barest whisper. “Do you want me to take you to the emergency room? Call the cops? We can make a report. I’ll help you. Whatever you want to do, I’m here for you, but know this. He needs to pay for hurting you, Amanda. He can’t get away with hitting you. Your eye looks terrible. I can’t believe he did this! Has he been abusing you all along?”

  “Oh my God, Olivia. Seriously. You need to chill out.” I grab hold of her hand and give it a tight squeeze. She looks borderline hysterical. “He hit me accidentally with his elbow. He didn’t mean to do it. I promise.”

  The skeptical look she sends me says it all. “His elbow?”

  “Check with everyone who just watched it go down. Half of them were recording it on their phones.” I try not to think about that part because talk about humiliating. I’m sure my getting nailed with an elbow is already making its appearance on everyone’s Snapchat stories.

  I sink my head into the flat pillow and close my eyes. I’m exhausted. My head still hurts. My eye hurts. My tongue hurts, though it stopped bleeding a while ago so that’s good. “I was the one beating up Jordan first,” I explain to Livvy. “I got in between him and Cannon to try and stop their argument, and the next thing I know, I’m taking an elbow to the eye.”

  “Wait a minute. Are you saying Cannon and Tuttle were fighting over you?” I crack my eyes open to see her brows are so high they’re practically in her hairline. She turns to look at Tuttle. “What’s going on there?”

  “Ask Amanda. I don’t know what’s up with them.”

  I roll my eyes, but that’s painful too, so I stop. “He’s into Em,” I tell Livvy. “Cannon is, I mean. He doesn’t like me like that. They weren’t fighting over me, I swear.”

  “Cannon Whittaker likes Em? Really?” Livvy shakes her head with wonder. “Who knew?”

  “He acts like he’s into you. He was trying to stop us from talking,” Jordan says, his voice t
ight as he stares right at me. “Like I’m a threat to you or whatever.”

  Livvy sighs. “This is sounding way too familiar.” She studies me. “Are you really okay? Do you want me to drive you home? I can. I don’t mind. I’m completely sober.”

  “I’ll take her home,” Jordan says, making both of us turn and glare at him.

  “Is that what you want?” Livvy asks me.

  Yes. Yes, it’s exactly what I want. But is it a smart move? Am I just setting myself up for heartbreak yet again? How many times can we do this to each other? How many times can I endure the back and forth with my emotions before I finally can’t take it anymore?

  “Hey.” We all turn toward the door where Ryan is standing, looking contrite. “You okay, Amanda? I brought ice for your eye.” He holds up a Ziploc bag full of ice cubes.

  “I’m fine,” I say as I sit up, wincing at the pain lancing through my head. “Is everything okay out there?”

  Jordan goes to Ryan and takes the bag of ice from him before bringing it over to me. I take it from him and gently set it over my eye, sucking in a sharp breath from the coldness.

  “Someone broke a glass vase in the living room, but otherwise, everything’s fine. Cannon made everybody go out to the backyard.” Ryan smiles at Livvy. “Ready to go, baby?”

  I think I just threw up a little in my mouth. I hate the way he just called her baby. Not even an hour ago she was spitting fire and ready to hook up with Dustin just to prove some weird point. Now she’s looking at him with hearts in her eyes like he’s her personal savior.

  “Amanda? You’ll be okay with him?” She sends Jordan one of her famous death looks.

  I shift the bag of ice over my eye, hoping this helps, because the icy cold against my skin sucks. “I’ll be fine. Promise. Text me when you get home.” Realization dawns. “Wait, my phone is in your car. I should go—”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Jordan interrupts before he turns to Ryan. “Can you grab Amanda’s phone from Livvy’s car for me?”

  “Uh, sure.” Annoyance flashes on Ryan’s face, and then he’s gone.

  Livvy starts to giggle. “He doesn’t like it when someone tells him what to do.”

  “I know,” Jordan says smugly, making us all laugh.

  Ryan returns minutes later with my phone in his hand and Cannon in tow. He’s the one who delivers my phone to me, his cheeks ruddy with embarrassment.

  “You okay, Amanda? I didn’t mean to cause all that trouble.” He sends a look toward Jordan. “We cool, man? I don’t want to fight with you.”

  “I don’t want to fight with you either, so we’re cool. And I didn’t mean to cause a scene. Your house didn’t get trashed, did it?” Jordan asks.

  “Nah, it’s all good. I made everyone go outside. The temperature will drop and then they’ll all bail.” Cannon shakes his head with a faint smile. “This’ll be the talk of school come Monday, won’t it?”

  “Most likely.” Jordan pauses. “You mind if we stay here for a few more minutes? I want to make sure Amanda’s okay before she starts moving around.”

  Geez, what is he? My dad? Though it’s kind of sweet, how worried he is about me.

  “Yeah, sure. No problem. However long it takes,” Cannon says easily. “Sorry again, Amanda. I was just trying to help.”

  I send Cannon a smile. “I know. And I appreciate it.”

  “We’ll get out of your hair,” Livvy says, steering both boys out of the room. She glances at me over her shoulder, mouthing, “text me later” right before Jordan closes the door behind them.

  And now once again, we’re all alone.

  He walks over to the bed and sits on the edge of the mattress, closest to the end. “How you feeling?”

  “I’m okay.” I run my tongue over my teeth and grimace. “My tongue hurts.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I bit it when I got hit and I think I cut it.”

  He scoots closer. “Let me see.”

  I clamp my lips shut. “No.”

  “Come on. Let me see. What if it’s serious?”

  “Serious as my black eye? I doubt it.”

  “Your eye isn’t black.” He tilts his head to the side. “Yet.”

  “Whatever. You can’t even see it.” I drop the bag of ice beside me on the bed. “I need a break from the ice.”

  “You should keep the ice on your eye. It’ll keep down the swelling and bruising.”

  “It’s cold.”

  “That’s the point.”

  He makes a growling sound that’s part scary, part sexy. “Show me your tongue, Amanda,” he demands.

  I stick my tongue out at him and he leans in, examining it closely, which is just…weird. It makes me think of his tongue. How it’s been in my mouth, curling around mine. How he’s licked my neck, my chest, many parts of my body. How he went down on me and proved that his tongue was downright magical…

  And now my head is spinning for an entirely different reason. I close my mouth and our eyes meet. “See anything awful?”

  “No.” He slowly shakes his head. “A tiny cut, but nothing major.”

  I don’t know what to say. How to act. So I hold the ice against my eye once more instead. “I feel better now.”

  Jordan frowns. “Are you sure? You want fresh ice? Ibuprofen?”

  “No, I’m fine. Really.” I smile and make to get off the bed so I can stand on my own two feet like a normal person, but he grabs hold of my ankle, stopping me.

  “Rest for a few minutes longer. You don’t want to move too fast and make it worse,” he says, his voice low, his gaze roaming over me hungrily, like he wants to eat me up.

  My skin goes tight and I’m tingling. I should not be—turned on by the way he’s looking at me. My eye is throbbing. I feel like I’ve been beat up. I have been beat up.

  So why am I wishing he would just lean over and kiss me?

  I must be crazy. Something was knocked loose when he hit me with his elbow.

  “Why did you come to the party?” I ask him.

  He appears startled for a moment, but then that smooth, Jordan Tuttle mask appears, and I can’t get a good read on him. “Cannon invited me.”

  “Right. And you always come to parties when someone else throws them.” I raise a brow. “Were you looking for someone?”

  “Yeah,” he says slowly. “I was, actually.”

  Not the answer I expected. And if he says Lauren Mancini, I will lose my mind.

  “Well, maybe you should get back out there and keep looking,” I suggest. Then I remember his offer to take me home and how I agreed to it. “I’ll be fine by myself for a few minutes. I just want to rest.”

  “But I don’t need to look anymore. I already found her.” He’s watching me like I’ve completely lost my mind, which yeah, is probably true. I’m torturing myself by trying to figure out who he’s trying to hook up with tonight.

  Did he come here tonight to find someone to hook up with? Did I get in his way? I know he said he wanted to talk to me, but that’s nothing. Maybe he was just going to tell me to stay out of his way. Stay out of his business.

  Not that I care. Not really.

  Okay fine, I care a lot. But I can fake it with the best of them when I need to.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Go back out there and talk to her. Or whatever it is that you do to work your sexual magic on her.” I wave at him like I’m shooing away a fly.

  Jordan frowns, his dark brows furrowing. “Are you really feeling okay? You’re not acting right.”

  I heave out a big sigh and pull my leg out of his grip, which makes my skirt ride up way too far on my thighs. I tug on it, not wanting to flash him my panties, and of course his gaze drops right there. Like he’s trying to figure out what color my panties are.

  In case anyone’s curious, they’re black. Like Jordan Tuttle’s soul.

  “I’m fine. Stop asking,” I tell him before I drop my head and fixate on the tops of my thighs. It’s easier than looking a
t Jordan. I don’t know what’s going on between us, and I hate how natural this feels when he is so clearly still fighting what’s happening between us.

  “When I said I found her, I was talking about you, Amanda.” I lift my head, our gazes clashing. His face is so serious, so handsome and earnest. I try to glare, to pretend he has no effect on me, but I can feel my resolve melting when I see the tenderness in his gaze.

  Why does he have to look at me like that?

  “Are you saying this to make me feel better? Because you’re afraid I have a concussion or whatever? Or you feel guilty because you gave me a black eye?” I reach out and rest my hand on his knee, unable to stop myself from touching him. “Be real with me. Be honest.”

  His gaze drops to where my hand rests on his knee and stays there for long, quiet seconds, allowing me to get lost in the moment. Pretending that we’re together and he’s totally into me and I’m totally into him. When he lifts his head, he’s staring at me in the same way, like he can’t believe we’re here together and it’s—nice. His gaze does a lazy perusal of me, starting from the top of my head and ending at the tips of my toes, lingering on what he’d probably consider the good bits.

  Like my (nonexistent) boobs. My waist, my hips.

  He’s such a typical boy.

  “Jordan.” My voice is wobbly and I clear my throat. “Are you going to say something?”

  His gorgeous blue eyes flicker with unmistakable pleasure. “You said my name.”

  Is that all he can focus on? Figures. “Is that it?”

  He frowns. “No. I don’t know. It’s like I get near you, and I don’t know what to say next. I can’t help it, Mandy.”

  “Don’t call me that,” I snap, and he rears his head back, clearly startled at my show of anger.

  Well, good. I never act angry toward him. It’s about time Jordan feels my wrath.

  “I’m sorry.” His deep voice is quiet, reverberating within me. I love his voice. His face. His thick, dark hair and his square, masculine jaw, which is currently covered in stubble. I bet he’d give me beard burn if he kissed me for even a few minutes, and I’d also bet I’d love every moment of it.