There were no friendly greetings, no acknowledgement of Kyla. He just looked at me and said, “Let’s go.”
Now we’re hanging out in the kitchen and he’s given me a Coke to drink. He has a beer. Odd choice for a Monday afternoon, but I don’t question him. He seems tense. Annoyed. And I don’t know why. He won’t talk to me.
“Are you okay?” I finally ask.
“Tough practice today.” He looks away, staring out the giant window that sits above the sink. “Really, it was the talk afterward that was tough.”
“Why?”
His gaze meets mine. “We were talking about our futures.”
“Do you not have a plan?” I figured he would. We’re all supposed to have one. My plan includes taking the SAT this upcoming Saturday. I should study for it.
I will later.
He shrugs. “I have a plan. My father’s plan.”
I frown. “Is it what you want to do though?”
“I’ve never really thought about it.” I catch a flicker of emotion in his eyes that tells me he’s…holding back.
I set my drink on the marble counter and approach him. “What does your dad want you to do?”
“Go to the same college he went to.”
“And where’s that?”
“University of Oregon.”
“He’s a Duck?”
Jordan cracks a smile, but his eyes are still dark. Full of anger. “Yeah.”
“And you don’t want to be a Duck.”
Another shrug, but no words are said. They don’t need to be said.
He doesn’t want to go there. He’s only going along with that plan to please his father.
An ache tugs at my heart and I set my hands on his chest. “What do you want to do, Jordan?”
“Stay here in California. Go to UC Berkeley or USC.” He blows out a harsh breath. “They both have excellent football teams. Excellent academics. But my father doesn’t believe they’re good enough in his eyes. He wants me to follow in his footsteps. He doesn’t care what I think or what I want.”
I can’t help but wonder if his father doesn’t think Jordan is good enough either.
“I don’t want to talk about this.” His voice is hard, as is the look on his face. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me in closer to him. “Let’s do something else.”
“Like what?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer me with words.
He kisses me instead.
It’s an aggressive kiss. Hungry. Possessive. No gentle brushing of lips, no tender explorations. He’s consuming me, his tongue thrusting into my mouth, his hands gripping my hips. I let him, because it feels good. The kiss is raw and full of untethered emotion and that’s what I want from him.
I want Jordan to lose control.
Out of nowhere he lifts me up and sets me on the kitchen counter, the marble cold beneath my butt. He pushes my legs open and steps in between them, devouring my mouth once more, his hands slipping under my hoodie, the hem of my T-shirt, to touch bare skin. His hands are big and warm, and they slide over my stomach, shift up to touch my bra, and then he’s breaking the kiss to pull off my hoodie.
He’s so frantic, it feels like he’s trying to pull off my head.
“Jordan.” I want him to slow down, but it’s like he can’t. “Hey.” I touch his cheek and he lifts his gaze to mine. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t want to talk,” he murmurs. “Please.”
“All ri—”
He cuts off my words with his lips and I lose myself in his kiss. He seems almost desperate, like he’s trying to chase after something he can never catch, and I try to calm him down. Soothe him. I run my hands over his shoulders, down his chest. I try to slow the tempo of the kiss.
But he won’t have it. He just keeps pushing, becoming bolder. I’m not scared—he doesn’t scare me, I know he would never hurt me. I am confused, though. And worried. This has nothing to do with me.
He’s upset about something else. Something he’s not really telling me.
“Really, Jordan? In my kitchen? You could at least take her to the theater room.”
An unfamiliar female voice makes me jerk away from him. He doesn’t move, though. Just stands there right next to me, his hands still on my hips, his entire demeanor changing in an instant.
A woman stands in the doorway of the kitchen. She’s elegantly dressed in a pale gray sweater and black pants. Her blonde hair is swept back into a ponytail and giant diamonds dot each ear.
“What are you doing here?” Jordan snaps.
The woman enters the kitchen, not ruffled by Jordan’s hostile tone in the least. “I came home early.”
He mutters a curse under his breath and lifts me off the kitchen counter, setting me on my feet. “We’ll leave then.”
“Don’t go on my account.” The brittle smile the woman offers me looks downright painful. Like she’d rather be anywhere else than dealing with me. “Are you Jordan’s friend?”