She’s right. I’ve gone to school with Jordan Tuttle since the dawn of time and I’ve yet to see his dad materialize anywhere. Not at open houses or back to school nights. Not at evening plays or holiday programs. Not at any of his football games, not at honor roll assemblies, not at any of it.
“He’s out of town a lot,” Jordan says through clenched teeth. I see a tic in his firm jaw, his eyes so dark they almost look black. He’s angry. I can feel the emotion radiating off of his tense body in giant waves. “Not big on family time.”
I want to reach out and touch him, offer some comfort, but he looks like he might shatter if I so much as say something, let alone touch him.
The next few minutes are agony. Liv and I try to make small talk, but it’s uncomfortable. Ryan has completely checked out and focuses on his phone. Jordan sits as still as a statue, only his eyes scanning the room every few minutes, like he’s trying to prepare for that excruciating moment when his dad will pop out of the background and terrorize all of us.
When the waiter returns with our appetizer, Jordan places my order as well as his own, offering me a tight smile after he finishes. The moment the server dashes off, Liv is setting her napkin on the table and sending me a look.
“I need to use the ladies,” she sing-songs. “Want to come with, Amanda?”
Nodding, I push out of my chair and set the cloth napkin on my chair before I follow Livvy to the back of the restaurant, where the bathrooms are. The moment we slip inside, Livvy zooms over to the giant mirror, checking her reflection before pulling a MAC Lip Glass out of her tiny purse and applying the gloss to her lips.
“Your boy got super tense,” she says, her gaze meeting mine in the mirror.
I go to the spot next to her and wash my hands. “I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Clearly he has daddy issues.” The knowing look she sends me makes my blood simmer.
I don’t answer. Her comment is rude. She totally has daddy issues, so who is she to talk? Or judge?
Maybe going on a double date with Ryan and Livvy was a big mistake.
I wish I had a drink. No mixed drink either. I need something strong, straight up. I don’t care what kind of alcohol, I need something to take the edge off. Soften me up. Instead I’m tense as hell, clutching my water glass so tight I bet it could shatter if I squeezed just a little more tighter. Ryan is trying his best to make conversation with me, but my terse responses—or worse, lack of response—is crapping him right out. To the point he’d rather pay attention to his phone while we wait for the girls to come back from the restroom.
Talking about me, I’d bet. Wondering at my reaction. My over-the-top behavior. I can hear Livvy now, wondering why I’m so cranky. I can hear Amanda too, defending me, saying I must be upset.
She would be correct.
My father is here, in this very restaurant on a Saturday night, when he should be home with my mother. His wife. Meaning he’s in town, with someone else instead of coming home—something he does a lot. I haven’t seen him in weeks. And the last time we actually made real eye contact, he was on his way out of the house as I was walking in. When he caught sight of me, his eyebrows had risen and he’d appeared surprised. Like he forgot I even existed.
My biggest dream is to forget his existence, but it never works. The rat bastard always pops up in the most inconvenient places.
Like this stupid restaurant while I’m on this stupid double date, when I wish I could be at home alone with Amanda.
I think of her and she magically appears. I watch as she and Livvy make their way back to our table. Heads turn as both girls pass, and I clutch my right hand into a fist, feeling protective. Primitive. I never feel that way about anyone, least of all some girl.
But she’s not just some girl. She’s Amanda Winters. I’ve had a ridiculous crush on her for years. Not just for her beauty—and she’s pretty, don’t get me wrong—but it’s her mind that I’m attracted to. She’s smart. And funny. She makes me smile and she makes me think. She challenges me. Half the time I think she doesn’t like me and that is a fucking challenge like no other. These last few weeks we’ve spent a lot of time together, and I am determined to make her fall in love with me.
Though what will that get us? Get her? Pain? Unhappiness? I don’t believe in love, not really. So why would I torture her—and myself?
I tell myself I don’t need her. But the more time we spend together, the more I’m starting to believe that’s not true.
They draw closer and I watch Mandy walk, her hips swaying gently. The dress she wears clings to her like a second skin, turning her body into long lines and subtle curves. I remember the times I’ve touched that body. How responsive she always is. The sounds she makes.
I need to quit reminiscing or I’ll be sporting a major boner soon. But I can’t stop thinking about her, about having her in my house, my room, my bed...
Makes me want to keep doing it. Keep her. Which is ridiculous. That sort of thing is what fucks up your life. Falling for someone, needing someone—you’ll only end up getting hurt.
I’ll be hurt. She will be too. This won’t end well.