Ugh. I fall back onto the couch. He’s being his typical evasive self. I can tell you right now, I don’t miss that shit for the world.
They talk about other stuff, but I can’t hear anything. I’m too caught up on his I guess statement. I don’t warrant much, do I? I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m the one who walked away first. I deserve his indifferent treatment.
After the next commercial break, Jordan gives Liz a tour of his home, and it is beautiful. Gorgeous. Like out of a dream. They talk about his future, about football, she tries to talk to him about his past, his family, but he hedges, changes the subject. It’s all coming at me at a rapid-fire pace, throwing me off balance. Sending me into Tuttle overload.
I haven’t experienced anything like this in years.
“So.” Liz smiles. They’re now sitting opposite of each other, the hot lights shining on them, Liz appearing as cool as a cucumber while I swear Jordan looks like he’s sweating. “Do you ever think about the one who got away?”
My heart drops into my toes as I wait for it.
He stares straight at the camera, his expression sincere when he says, “I think about her all the time.”
Ugh. My heart just skipped like, five beats.
“You said it was nothing, though,” she counters, looking pleased with herself, like she just caught Jordan in a lie. Which she totally did. “I’m guessing the relationship was serious.”
“As serious as a relationship can be between two teenagers,” he says. “We were young, sh—stuff happens. And then it was over.”
“You have regrets?”
“I used to,” he says.
Oh my God, what does he mean by that? His answers are so…unexpected. Confusing.
Annoying.
“What do you think she’d do if she saw you right now? During this episode?” Liz leans forward, her eyes gleaming. “Or what do you think she’d say if you two ran into each other in some random spot?”
“She’d probably tell me to grow the hell up and get over it.” He chuckles. Liz actually giggles.
And then they break for another freaking commercial.
My head is spinning. He’s making a mockery of our relationship, and I’m sorry, but that’s not fair. I was young and stupid. So was he. How did we expect to make this work? Were we really that ignorant?
Apparently so.
I grab my phone and open up Instagram, then go to the search feature and type in his name. His profile pops up before I can type the u in his last name and I click on it, scrutinizing every photo he’s shared.
Clearly this isn’t a personal profile. He’s catering to the fans, with photos of him poised and ready to launch a ball, or videos of some of his better plays over the last couple of seasons. Without hesitation, I hit the blue follow button, praying I won’t regret this.
I stare at the newly appeared message bar, temptation making my fingers twitch. The commercials drone on in the background, but I’m not even paying attention anymore. I impulsively click it and send him a message before I can overthink anything.
I would never tell you to grow the hell up and get over it.
That’s all I say.
Setting my phone down, I finish off my first giant glass of wine, wishing I’d brought the bottle into the living room with me. Inside Football starts back up with a quick interview with Jordan’s current coach, talking about how great he is and his potential and how he’s going to have an amazing career and a blah, blah, blah.
My phone buzzes and I check it.
Jordan_Tuttle8 has sent you a follow request.
What the hell? Talk about fast. I immediately go on Instagram and check my followers pending list.
Yep. There he is.
Glancing at the TV, I see he’s back, still wearing the sexy flannel shirt and dark rinse jeans, looking like Hollywood’s interpretation of a lumberjack. He’s talking about wine and grapes and it’s crazy to hear him ramble on about this stuff because he sounds so grown up and mature.