He laughs, but the sound lacks humor. “You’re with me in London. We’ve been together as much as possible since you reached out to me on Instagram. You know I don’t make time for just anyone. So I’d call what we’re doing pretty fucking serious.”
He sounds so angry, and I have to confess—a pissed off Jordan Tuttle is hot. This is exactly what my teenage self would’ve thought. I remember having these exact same thoughts when we were together in high school. All that pent up anger and frustration spilling out of him is downright sexy.
My lust-driven thoughts probably mean I have a mental problem.
I realize he’s waiting for me to say something, so I do.
“It’s all just happening so fast. Only a few weeks have gone by since we first saw each other again,” I explain, throwing my hands up in the air. I’m frustrated, but not with him. More like I’m frustrated with myself. “I mean really, are we sure this is going to work between us the second time around? There are no guarantees in life, Jordan.”
“It’s been a few weeks and the six years before that,” he reminds me, completely ignoring my last question. “You want me to be honest?”
“Of course I do,” I say.
“I never stopped thinking about you. Ever. I always wondered where you were, what you were doing. Even after we split and I was so damn mad and fucking miserable, I knew if I saw you again, I’d want you back,” he admits.
I blink at him, shocked by his words, the passion behind them, the intense gleam in his eyes. He means every word he says. He still cares. Dare I think…he still loves me. And yes, I still love him.
But is it too soon to admit our feelings to each other right now, when things are so unsure between us?
“Did I just freak you out?” he asks, tilting his head to the side as he contemplates me.
“You didn’t freak me out.” I’m a total liar. He freaked me out a little. “I’m more worried about Harvey. He said some pretty awful things to me. What if he’s saying those same awful things to other people?”
“Fuck that guy. Who cares what he thinks?” Jordan’s mouth goes thin. “Swear to God Mandy, if he’s bad mouthing you to other people, I’ll kick his ass.”
“That is the absolute last thing I want you to do.” I go to him, resting my hands on his chest, desperate for him to listen to me. “But I care about what Harvey thinks. I can’t help it, I care about what everyone thinks. I don’t want people to think I’m some gold digger or famewhore out to get whatever I can from you. I’m just—a regular girl, okay? A regular woman.” I put emphasis on the last word. “It’s scary to be thrust into this world where the spotlight is always on us. On me. I’m not used to it.”
“This is exactly what drove you away last time,” Jordan says grimly.
I curl my fingers into his shirt, feeling the warm, hard skin beneath. My knees go a little weak but I need to stay focused and get my point across. “Image is everything, Jordan. Maybe Harvey’s right. Maybe we should keep a low profile until we know for sure that we’re—serious about each other.”
Oh God, what am I saying? Of course, I’m serious about him. I’m fairly certain he’s serious about me.
But there’s always that niggling doubt in the back of my mind, lingering there. Reminding me that maybe, just maybe I’m not the woman for him.
“You want to keep a low profile? Because we’re not serious about each other?” he asks incredulously.
“Maybe?” I release my hold on his shirt and take a step back, feeling helpless.
He rubs his hand along his tight jaw, glowering at me, just before he starts heading for the door. “I’ll be right back,” he calls over his shoulder.
“Wait, where are you going?” I ask but the door slams shut before I can even get the last word out.
He’s already gone.
“I blew it,” I tell Livvy, who’s yawning in my ear. I called her within minutes after Jordan stormed out of our hotel room, not even feeling bad for waking her up at the crack of dawn. She’s woken me up countless times since she moved to Texas, so this is total payback. “I don’t think he’s coming back.”
He’s been gone for almost two hours. He hasn’t texted, he hasn’t called me, nothing. I’m lying on the bed, wishing I could go after him, but considering I have no idea where he went, I wouldn’t know where to start. So I wait here, hoping he’ll show up.
“You keep repeating yourself,” Livvy says, yawning yet again. “And he’s definitely coming back. His suitcase is there. He needs his stuff.”
“Right, but maybe he doesn’t need me.” Tears spring to my eyes, and I blink them away. I haven’t cried over this yet, and I don’t want to start now. But as more time passes, the more worried I become. “I should’ve just told him I loved him.”
“Do you love him?” Livvy asks, sounding genuinely curious.
“I’ve always been in love with him,” I admit. “It’s like my feelings for him were lying dormant in my mind and the minute I heard from him, talked to him, saw him, all those emotions came flooding back.”
“You should tell him that,” Livvy says. “Well, when he eventually returns to your hotel room.”