“It’s a company that will take us on a private tour to all of the best landmarks in the city,” Jordan explains, knowing that I was waiting for more information.
“A private tour? So we won’t take a hop on/hop off bus?” I wrinkle my nose, fighting the disappointment that wants to take over me. I’ve done some research the last couple of nights, reading articles about the best sights to see in London and how exactly a person can see them all I figured our best option was one of those hop on/hop off buses.
I should’ve known Jordan had a plan already in place.
He shakes his head. “The private tour will be better.”
“But the bus looks like so much fun.”
“I can’t ride one of those buses with a bunch of tourists, Mandy,” he says. “People might recognize me.”
“Oh.” I didn’t even think of that. We haven’t dealt with that sort of thing since he’s come back into my life, and I wonder why. I tend to forget he’s supposed to be some big-time celebrity. “Don’t you ever get recognized around here?”
“No one cares who I am here.” He waves a hand around, indicating the restaurant. “A lot of the players hang out at Santana Row, so no one bothers us there either. “But when I’m anywhere else, or when any NFL team goes to another country for an exhibition game, I’m guessing they’ll be looking for us. Especially in London—the British tabloids are rampant. Or at least I’ve heard.”
Mind blowing. Seriously. “Wow, I guess you’re right. I didn’t even consider that could be a problem.”
“It’s something I’ve had to learn to deal with,” he says just before he finishes his beer. “I think I want another one.”
“Do you need to get drunk because we’re on a date?”
“You still make me nervous,” he says, like I should expect that.
But I don’t. Big, strong football player nervous because of me? I didn’t know I wielded that much power.
I ignore the nervous remark. That could open up another discussion entirely. One I might not like.
“So tell me.” I lean across the table, my voice lowering so no one else can hear me. Not that anyone in this busy restaurant is paying us any attention. “Did you really go out with Gigi Hadid?”
I can’t help it. Amanda’s question makes me laugh.
Loudly.
A few heads turn our way as I continue laughing, and Amanda’s looking at me like I might’ve lost my mind. Her question is ridiculous. Of course I haven’t dated Gigi Hadid. I met her once at a party about a year ago. She was perfectly sweet. Perfectly beautiful in that odd model like way. Better in photographs than in person, if I’m being truthful.
“Jordan,” Amanda finally says when my laughter finally starts to die. “That was a serious question.”
“I know, and I’ll give you a serious answer.” I try my best to remain solemn as I say, “No. I never dated Gigi Hadid.”
“Her sister Bella then.”
“No.”
“Kendall Jenner.”
“No.”
“Kylie Jenner.”
I scoff. “Come on. She’s a baby.”
“Not really,” Amanda points out. “She’s only a few years younger than us, and she’s a mother now, so…”
I wave my hand, dismissing the Jenner crew. Kendall is the one I find the most attractive from that clan. Tall and thin with a beautiful face and long, dark hair.
Like Amanda.
“Miley Cyrus.”