Amanda said I should arrive after five at her work, but fuck it. It’s 4:48, I’m already here and I’m walking inside.

The moment I enter the lobby, the receptionist sitting at the front desk stares at me with wide eyes, and rises unsteadily to her feet. “Aren’t you Jordan Tuttle?” She breathes my name like a prayer.

I nod as I approach her desk, then lean against it, wondering if I should smile. I decide against it. “That’s my name.”

Her hand goes over her heart, like she’s ready to say the Pledge of Allegiance. “Please tell me you’re not injured.”

“I’m not.”

She breathes a sigh of relief, shaking her head. “Oh, thank God. How can I help you?”

“I’m guessing you’re a Niners fan?” I lift my brows, tilt my head in her direction.

She nods, her eyes still wide and a little wild, her lips clamped shut, like she can’t even speak. I tend to do that to people, render them speechless, and I don’t mean to. It’s why I say so little.

No one can hold your words against you if you don’t say much.

“I’m looking for Amanda Winters,” I tell the receptionist.

Her eyes are somehow even wider. “You are?”

“Yes, I am,” I say slowly. “She works here, right?”

“Amanda? Yes!” She blinks. “Of course she does! Let me see if I can find her.”

The receptionist bustles away before I can say another word.

I wander around the lobby, looking at the photos on the wall. A group photo of what I assume are the Atlas Wellness Center employees, everyone posing in their red polos. I squint as I study the photo, searching for Amanda, and I finally find her. Second to the last row, on the far right. Her face is scrunched, like the sun is too bright and her eyes are narrow slits, her nose wrinkled, though there’s a smile on her face. She looks cute.

When was the photo taken? During a time when I didn’t really know her, didn’t talk to her. It hurts to realize that, not that I’d ever tell her. But it’s kind of mind blowing, how we’ve gone for years without talking to each other. She went from being the most important person in my life to never seeing her again, just like that.

It took me a while to recover. I swear I fell into a depression, and those who knew me blamed it on going away to college. The readjustment to my life, the constant pressure I was under. That all made sense, so I didn’t protest. No one would have believed me if I told them I was heartsick.

So I kept my opinions—and feelings—to myself.

The receptionist is back, Amanda trailing behind her. My ex-girlfriend stops in her tracks, blinking repeatedly as she studies me. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you I’d be here at five,” I remind her. It’s a shock to my system every time I see Amanda, each time I hear her voice. Having her in front of me makes me instantly crave more. More looking, more talking, more touching…

She turns me into a greedy dick.

The look on Amanda’s face tells me she didn’t think I’d really show up, and I’m blown away. Does she really lack that much faith in me? “But you’re early.”

“Only by a few minutes.” I take a step toward her, my gaze roaming, taking her in. She looks…frazzled. Tired. Her hair is pulled into a low ponytail today, and hangs bone-straight down her back. She’s got faint dark smudges under her eyes and her polo shirt is halfway untucked from her black pants. “Are you ready to go?”

“Um.” She glances over at the receptionist, who is watching us like we’re a live-action movie playing out right in front of her. “Give me a minute.”

The moment she’s gone, the receptionist is sighing loudly, her lips curled into a smug smile. “Are you the one who sent her the flowers?”

I ignore her question. “You saw the flowers?”

“I’m the one who signed for them.” Another sigh, this one softer. “They were pretty hard to miss. Such a romantic gesture.”

Impulsive gesture, I want to tell her, but I keep my mouth shut. I don’t even know this woman. Why tell her something personal? She’d probably sell the story to TMZ or whatever the hell gossip site is hot at the moment. For all I know she’s covertly taking photos of me with her phone. I wouldn’t put it past her. Shit, I wouldn’t half blame her either.

Being grateful for success is one thing, but it’s hard to celebrate the good times when you don’t have many people in your life you can trust. This is why I’m glad Cannon and I are on the same team. I know that guy. He’s my friend. He knew me before everything blew up and I became an actual celebrity.

Life is strange sometimes, isn’t it?

Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to Amanda too. We have so much history together. After seeing her last night, I couldn’t stop replaying everything we said to each other. What was I thinking, telling her she had to make the next move? No surprise that I caved like I always do when it comes to her.

If I’m being real with myself, I have no idea what I’m doing right now, or why exactly I’m doing it, but I’m trying to just go with my impulses and see where they take me.

Even if I might end up getting hurt in the end.