“As long as I’m the one benefitting from this fantasy, then hell yes.”
Her fingers brush against my skin with every button she slips undone, and then my shirt is open and she’s spreading the fabric away from my chest, trying her best to tug it completely off. I sit up and get rid of it, tossing the shirt on the floor before I rejoin her.
“Not good enough.” She’s reaching for the fly of my jeans and it’s my turn to bat her hands away. She accidentally brushes her fingers against my dick, and I’m done for. I’ll probably come in my jeans and that would be all sorts of messed up.
“It’s either we do this or talk about your dad,” she tells me, sincerity glowing in her pretty brown eyes.
And there goes my erection.
I fall onto the mattress right next to her, exhaling loudly. “You want to talk about my dad right now?”
She shrugs and pulls the comforter over us, then snuggles in close to me. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. I know that what happened at the restaurant wasn’t—pleasant for you.”
The mildest way she could’ve put it. I’d barely looked at the man and became enraged. My behavior was completely over the top.
But my family is pretty fucking ridiculous, so…
“I’m here for you, Jordan, if you ever need to talk. Or even if you don’t want to talk, you know?” She hugs me. Kisses my chest with those lush, beautiful lips.
I say nothing. How can I answer her? I love that she wants to be there for me, but I can’t rely on her. I can’t rely on anyone.
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” she whispers against my chest before she lifts her gaze to mine. “I don’t want to mess this up.”
“Mess what up?”
She shifts so she’s now kissing my stomach. Again and again, her lips soft and damp and making me shiver. Her fingers fumble over the front of my jeans and she hesitates.
“Do you want this?”
Fuck yes, I want to shout, but I remain calm. Neutral. I don’t need to act like a crazy man when I’m with her.
But Amanda makes me want to lose my mind.
She starts undoing the front of my jeans and I help until I’m as naked as her. Her slender fingers slip around my erection and I close my eyes. Grit my teeth. Tell myself I need to keep my shit together.
“Tell me what you like,” she whispers, a direct copy of what I asked her earlier. “I want to make you feel good, Jordan. Tell me. Show me.”
So I tell her. I show her. And she’s hesitant at first. A little puzzled yet fascinated, and it’s the fascination that gets me. She just wants to make me happy. She’s not using me for my money or my status. Amanda likes me. And I don’t get why.
I don’t.
When she puts her mouth on me, it’s nothing like those other times. With those other girls, girls whose names I forget, girls who meant nothing to me. It’s so much better with Amanda. Everything’s better as long as she’s part of it.
And that’s the scariest part of all.
“We need to talk.”
The four worst words in the English language, spoken by my father. My day couldn’t get any shittier than this and it’s only just begun. I’m in bed, it’s—I look at my phone—almost ten o’clock in the morning and here he is, bringing me down. Ruining everything.
Like usual.
“What about?” I snap as I sit up in bed, then run a hand through my hair. My respect for him went out the window a long time ago. I can’t hardly look at him. After what happened at the restaurant between us last night, I’m done. Yet here he is, strutting into my bedroom on a Sunday morning like he has every right.
I guess he does, since this is his house. But it’s like he’s a stranger. An imposter. A man that doesn’t belong here—and who isn’t wanted here. His showing up like this has ruined my good mood. Being with Amanda last night soothed me. She’s good for me.
Too good for me.
“Your mother and I have been talking.” He looms near the door, as if prepared to leave if he needs to. The way I’m glaring, I guess I can’t blame him. “You need to get serious about college.”
“How am I not serious about college?” I ask incredulously. “I play football. I’m in honors classes. I get good grades. I’m doing everything I can here to make this shit happen.”
He ignores everything I say. “I want to take you to Oregon this afternoon. I’ve already arranged for a plane, and I’ve scheduled some appointments first thing Monday morning.”
“With who?” This is my opportunity to tell him I don’t want to go to the University of Oregon. That’s his dream for me, not my dream. I don’t want to leave this state. There are better colleges here. I don’t understand his fixation.