Though really? I don’t.
The dad is nice. Likes to talk football, and I’ll always talk football. Our conversation is easy and it’s a relief because Amanda’s father is interested. Genuinely interested in my opinion, in what I tell him, and he doesn’t criticize. My father only wants to tell me what I do wrong when I play. Or he’ll remind me what I need to keep doing in order to move on to the college of my dreams.
More like the college of his dreams.
I have no real dreams. I just go through the motions. I have all the right traits to get what I want and I use them when I need to, but I don’t give a piece of myself to anyone. Not a soul.
My gaze drifts to the girl sitting across from me. The one who’s scowling at her little brother after he teases her about her hair or what she ate or maybe there’s something in her teeth. I didn’t catch what it was. I do know this—even when she’s irritated, she’s gorgeous. Her hair, her face, those eyes, her mouth…all of her is perfection.
I’d give her every piece of me. All she has to do is say the word and I’m hers.
Crazy, right? I don’t do this. And if I think about it too much, I’ll panic and back away from her. Because that’s what I do. Commitment is a dirty word in my vocabulary. I never wanted it before. Yet I want it with Amanda.
Proving the point that you always want what you can’t have. More like what I don’t deserve.
And I don’t deserve her. She’s too good for me.
She snaps at her brother, Trent, and her mom scolds them both, but gently. Everything is gentle in this house. No one yells, no one snaps, no one drinks, no one accuses anyone of any wrongdoing. It’s actually a pretty pleasant atmosphere, despite Amanda’s mom dissing her earlier, which had been weird.
I honestly didn’t think this life could exist. I’m wondering now if they’re on their best behavior and the minute I’m gone and the curtain drops, they’ll all go back to their mean selves.
“Do you want something more to eat?” the mother asks me, a concerned look on her face. I could tell she didn’t like me at first. She was sizing me up, examining me closely. I can’t blame her. She should kick me out and tell me to stay the hell away from her daughter. After what Amanda and I did…
Yeah. We didn’t take it too far last night. But I did have my hands up Amanda’s shirt when we made out in the back seat of my Rover. I tried to take her back to my house, but she wouldn’t do it. So we parked. Like we didn’t have a choice.
That’s okay, though. I’ll do whatever it takes to make her happy. See her smile. Kiss her lips. Touch her body— “Jordan?” the mother asks me again, and I snap out of my dirty thoughts, smiling at her.
“No thanks.” She made a pot roast and potatoes and vegetables that she cooked all in one pot—along with the roast. I’ve never had anything like it before and it was good. “I’m stuffed.”
“Not too stuffed that you’ll have to turn away dessert, I hope.”
I’m intrigued. “Dessert?”
Mrs. Winters smiles. “Homemade cheesecake.”
“It is the best cheesecake you’ll ever have,” Mr. Winters adds.
“It’s really good,” Amanda says with a shy smile.
My whole body goes tight at seeing that smile. She makes me fucking crazy with her sweet smiles and bashful ways tonight. I can’t wait to get her alone and kiss her until she’s begging me to touch her. She did that last night. Begged. Whispered in my ear, pleading with me to put my hands on her. Slip my fingers under her shirt and touch her. Just a little bit, though. Never too much, yet I push every time we’re together. Push a little harder. Push a little more.
“Amanda, will you help me clear the table?” Mrs. Winters says as she starts to stand.
But I stand instead, my gaze locked on Amanda’s. “I’ll help her clean up, Mrs. Winters.”
“Oh, but you’re our guest—”
“I insist,” I say firmly, softening my tone with a smile aimed right at Amanda’s mom.
She smiles back, looking pleased. “Well then. If you insist…”
Amanda doesn’t say a word. Just sends me a cute little smirk as she starts to help me clear the table. I follow her cues since I’ve never cleaned up a table before in my entire life, and we walk into the kitchen, setting the dishes on the counter next to the sink.
“You’re going to help me wash them too?” She flashes a smile at me over her shoulder.
“Whatever you need,” I say easily, fighting the urge to grab her and push her hair away from her nape so I can kiss her neck. My gaze drops to all the exposed skin of her lower back and my fingers literally itch to touch her.
The moment she sets her dishes on the counter, I’m on her. I rest my hands on her back, sliding them to her waist, and I grip her there, standing directly behind her, my nose buried in her fragrant hair.
“Jordan…”