“Sounds like you don’t have much time for anything.” This worries me. This is what we ran into before, and after a while, it sent me packing.
Some might say I gave up on him, and I was stupid. Most of the time, I agree with that assessment. But then I remember sad, lonely me six years ago. Still living at home and going to community college while my hot and popular boyfriend was at USC and living the dream—without me.
“I’m busy, yeah. Like, all the time.” He nudges his elbow against mine. “You know this, though. You remember.”
“I do. Yes, I get it,” I say, my voice cool, my thoughts haywire. Crap, I don’t really get it, no matter how much I want to. Brutal truth time: I want to be with a man who’s able to give all of himself to me, no matter what. Not like I want to be attached at the hip and he has no outside interests or whatever—I want us to share in everything we do, and right now, with the way Jordan’s life is going, I’m not sure if he can be that man. No matter how badly I want him to be.
Only an hour ago at the restaurant I was telling myself this could totally work, and now I’m thinking it’s near impossible.
Why is the truth so hard to face?
“Hey.” He touches me, his fingers slipping beneath my chin to tilt my face up so our gazes connect. “I can practically see the cogs turning in your brain.”
My smile is sad, I can feel it. “Reality sucks.”
He understands what I’m really saying, and I appreciate that about him. Reality does suck. We’re having a great time tonight. Being together feels familiar, yet different. Fresh and new, with that comforting, hey we’ve done this before, vibe too.
But tomorrow I’ll go back to work and so will he. He’s so busy who knows when I’ll see him again.
For all I know, this might be my one last chance.
“Fuck reality,” he murmurs as he lowers his head until we’re so close, I can feel his breath waft across my cheek. “Don’t worry about all the bullshit, Mandy.”
“But I can’t help—”
He cuts my words off with a kiss.
My stomach drops, tumbling over itself at that first touch of his mouth on mine. Again, it’s familiar yet new. Thrilling. Exciting. He’s kissing me. Jordan Tuttle is kissing me.
His lips are soft. Not hungry, not demanding. More like a test, a question.
Are we really doing this?
Are you going to let me keep kissing you?
Do you want this?
Do you want me?
Yes.
Yes, yes, yes.
Our mouths meet again and again. Sweet, chaste kisses that make my entire body grow warm. He slips his arms around my waist and pulls me in closer, his lips parting mine, his tongue darting. Retreating. A tease.
A promise.
Feeling bold, I slip my tongue inside his mouth, circling it around his. He growls low in his throat, his arms tightening around my waist, the fabric of my dress lifting the slightest bit, reminding me that yep, I’m still naked beneath the thin fabric.
It feels so good just kissing him. Imagine what might happen once he puts those skilled hands on my bare skin?
We kiss and kiss, our tongues tangling, our hands wandering, until he finally breaks away first, his mouth on my neck, licking and nibbling. I keep my eyes closed, my hands coming up to wrap around his neck, my fingers sliding into his thick, soft hair. He pushes aside my denim jacket so it falls off my shoulder, his mouth on my collarbone, his hands sliding up, causing the dress fabric to draw up even more.
“Are you trying to expose me?” I ask breathlessly, a shiver moving through me when the cool breeze hits.
“Maybe,” he murmurs against my throat, one hand dropping to flirt with the hem of my dress. His fingers brush against my thigh and I whimper.
Is it bad that I want to yell at him to just go ahead and do me? That sounds stupid, even in my thoughts, but it’s so true. I want Jordan naked. I want to touch him, kiss him, feel him slip deep inside me. I want it all.