Grabbing the backpack I use for overnight stays—I packed clothes to change into after work—I sling it over my shoulder, calling out a, “Bye Mom, see you later!” before I slam the front door and dart down the walkway toward Jordan’s car.
“Where do you think you’re going, young lady?”
I skid to a stop and turn to see my dad approaching. He’s dressed in ratty, faded black cargo pants and a white T-shirt that’s seen better days. He’s been working in the yard all morning and he’s filthy. But he loves it. He’s why our yard looks so good.
“Um, work?”
“He’s taking you?” Dad flicks his chin at the Range Rover.
I nod and smile at him. “Yeah. He’s just a friend.” I hate that I’m downplaying what Jordan means to me, but I can’t make a big deal about him. Not right now. Mom would start questioning me and it would end up being a huge mess.
“Some friend. Must be loaded.”
“I guess so.” Okay, this conversation is awkward. Why are my parents so focused on his car?
“What’s his name?”
I sigh. “Do you want to meet him, Dad?”
He grins. “Yes, Amanda. I’d love to.”
Trying my best to shoot meaningful looks in Jordan’s direction, I lead my dad to the driver’s side of the car. I thought Jordan would roll down the window to talk to us, but instead he opens his door and hops out, his expression earnest, maybe even a little nervous.
It’s so…cute.
I smile at him and turn to look at my dad. “Dad, this is Jordan Tuttle. Jordan, this is my dad, Rick.
“Hello, Mr. Winters.” Jordan holds out his hand and Dad shakes it. “Great to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too, son. Your family is a part of Tuttle International?”
Jordan’s jaw goes tight and his eyes turn cold. “Yes,” he bites out.
But Dad doesn’t even notice. “How exactly do you know my daughter?”
“Uh.” Jordan sticks his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, clearly uncomfortable. “We’ve gone to school together since kindergarten.”
“Really?” Dad sounds surprised. “She’s never mentioned you before.”
This is true. There’s no point in talking about Jordan Tuttle to my parents, when I never had a chance with him. Now, though, there’s a chance. And I guess I should’ve been talking about him.
“Jordan’s always been in my honors classes, Dad,” I interject. “He’s also our varsity team’s quarterback.”
Dad’s eyebrows rise. “Impressive. I’ve heard about you.”
“Hope it was all good,” Jordan jokes. And he never jokes.
My dad says nothing. I decide to speak up and end this conversation. I turn to face Jordan.
“We gotta get going. I need to be at work in less than fifteen minutes.”
“Then let’s go,” Jordan murmurs, his eyes never leaving mine.
“So,” my dad says, and I wince, waiting for the bomb to drop. I can tell just by the way he’s taking. “Are you two dating, or what?”
Oh, God. I just want to evaporate into thin air at Dad’s question. He’s so nosy. But then Jordan says the craziest thing.
“We are, sir.” He flashes me a sweet smile.
“Why haven’t we met you until now?” Dad’s demeanor changes in an instant. He’s standing up straighter, his gaze questioning as he checks Jordan out like he’s some sort of criminal.
“We’ve only just started dating.” Jordan’s gaze locks with mine, his mouth curved in this intimate smile that makes me tingle. “But I really like her. A lot.”
“Good,” Dad says gruffly, nodding. “Treat her with respect and we shouldn’t have a problem. Am I making myself clear?”
“Dad.” I’m whining, but I don’t care. This conversation has made a mortifying turn. “I gotta go or I’ll be late.” I shift closer to my father and kiss him on the cheek. “I’ll see you later tonight, okay?”
“Have a good afternoon, Amanda.” He smiles but then turns his icy gaze on Tuttle. “Nice meeting you, Jordan.”
“Nice meeting you, too, Mr. Winters. Bye.”
I walk over to the passenger side of the Range Rover and Jordan keeps pace, opening the car door for me. I climb inside and he shuts the door, rounds the front of the car and then he’s sitting behind the steering wheel, starting the car and smiling at me like we’re in on a private joke together.
“What’s so funny?” I mutter. That conversation had been all sorts of awkward.
“Your dad seems—nice.”
“He can be very nice.” I pause. “But also very protective.”
Jordan pulls onto the road. “I can tell. I’d be protective of you if you were my daughter too, I guess. Wouldn’t want some sleazebag kid who drives a Range Rover and plays football trying to feel up my daughter.”
“Jordan.” He described my father to perfection. I’m sure that’s exactly what Dad’s thinking. “When you put it like that…”
“Yeah, I know. I sound like an asshole.” He glances over at me. “But it’s probably the truth, right? That’s what your dad’s thinking?”
I nod. “Maybe?”
“I’ve never met a girl’s dad before,” he says conversationally, though I notice how he’s gripping the steering wheel extra tight. Did that encounter make him nervous?