“Hey,” he says to Em before his gaze settles on me. “What did Lauren want from you?”
“Nothing.” I smile, trying to communicate with Em with just my eyes. I can see she wants to say something. Tell Tuttle the truth. But I don’t want her to. I don’t need to burden him with my so-called troubles. I can handle Lauren Mancini on my own.
“Really?” He sounds doubtful. “She can be kind of a—”
“Bitch?” Em supplies helpfully, a giant smile on her face. “So accurate.”
“Em. Stop.” I don’t know why I’m scolding her. Do I really want to defend Lauren Mancini? I don’t think so. I decide to change tactics. “Excited for tonight’s game?” I ask Jordan.
He shrugs. “The team we’re playing is number one in the league right now.”
“Oh.” Yikes. That might prove to be a challenge.
“You guys will do great,” Em says cheerfully.
“Yeah,” Jordan says, returning his attention to me. Not that it’s ever really left. He won’t stop looking at me and I’m suddenly self-conscious. I run a hand over my hair, touch the corner of my mouth in case there’s a crumb lingering. Nothing. I drag my finger under one eye, then the other, picking up bits of stray mascara, and I wish I could slick on some lip-gloss. Anything to look prettier. “You look good.”
I blink up at him. “What?”
“You’re fidgeting. Stop worrying.” He reaches out and slides his fingers through my hair. Gently touches the corner of my mouth. Glides his index finger under my left eye, his gaze locked with mine. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs as he trails his finger along my cheek.
I’m also breathless. How does he do that?
Em clearing her throat breaks me free of the trance Jordan just lulled me into. “Guys, I feel like I’m interrupting something, so I’m out. Good luck on tonight’s game, Tuttle. I’m sure you’ll kill ’em.” She flees before we can say anything else.
“You’re friends with her?” he asks once Em’s gone.
“Sort of.” I don’t know how to explain my relationship with Em, so I don’t.
“Her and Livvy were best friends.”
“I know. But now they’re having…trouble.” I wrinkle my nose. No need to go into the details. I think Jordan knows a few of them anyway.
“And you’re wanting to help them out?” He whistles low. “You’re a good friend.”
I laugh softly. “Probably too good of a friend. I’ve let too many people take advantage of me.”
“Like who?”
“Like Tara.” When he frowns I remind him, “My former best friend. The one who was…”
“Screwing your boyfriend at my house? Yeah. She sucks.”
“So does he.”
“Nah, he’s just an idiot.”
“What do you mean?”
“Letting a girl like you go? He didn’t know how good he had it.” He tilts his head to the side, contemplating me while I digest what he just said. Yet again, he renders me silent. “You never did send me your diary entry.”
“For Juliet?” I wrote it late last night, when I couldn’t sleep. Might’ve poured my heart into it too, reliving the hug in the parking lot moment over and over, like I’m twelve.
“Yeah. Where is it?”
“I’ll show you in class.”
“I want to see it now.”
“No, in class.” He grabs my waist, holding me in place, and I look up at him, surprised to see the amusement in his eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for any excuse to touch you?” He raises his brows and I blush. My cheeks go warm and he squeezes me, his thumbs sneaking under the hem of my T-shirt to touch my bare skin. “For once, you’re not fighting me.”
“Jordan.” My voice is a warning, but I don’t want him to stop. “Public displays of affection are strictly prohibited on campus grounds.”
I sound like I’m reciting from the school code handbook.
“Not like I’m trying to kiss you.” His gaze drops to my lips, and it actually feels like he did just kiss me. “I’ll save that for later.”
Um. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ll see.” The bell rings and he curves one arm around my waist, guiding me so I’m walking beside him and into the building. “Need to go to your locker?”
I nod, dumbfounded that we’re walking down the hall and Jordan has his arm around me. Like we’re a bona fide couple. Meaning I’m having a surreal moment. He doesn’t do this sort of thing. He never has. So I don’t get why all of a sudden he’s choosing me.
Jordan stops directly in front of my locker and leans against the one next to mine, waiting for me as I fumble with the lock. It takes me three tries before I can get it open, and once I do, he’s right there, offering to hold my backpack, asking if I have everything I need before he shuts the locker door for me.
“You need to go to yours?” I ask as he slings my backpack over his shoulder. I walk beside him, trying my best to ignore the stares, the whispers that grow into low murmurs, a few snippets of conversation caught as we pass people by.
“Who is she?”
“Why is Tuttle walking with her?”