I wake up the next morning completely naked and sore in the best possible way. Jordan kept me up most of the night. He was insatiable.

He was amazing.

Keeping my eyes closed, I stretch my legs out, surprised my toes don’t bump into Jordan’s muscular, hairy legs. I raise my arms above my head, the bones in my neck cracking with satisfaction, then roll over, reaching across the mattress to find it…

Empty.

As in I’m the only one in the bed.

Huh.

I sit up, pushing my tangled hair out of my face, yanking the sheet up with me to keep my upper body mostly covered. The room is quiet and dark, and I know I’m alone. Jordan isn’t here. He’s not even in the bathroom.

So where did he go?

Reaching for my phone on the nightstand, I check my notifications to see I have a text from Jordan.

Meeting with Harvey. Will be back soon. xo

He sent me the text over a half hour ago.

I chew on my lower lip as I contemplate answering him, my sudden nerves making me anxious. He’s having a meeting with Harvey? God, this has to be about me.

Us.

The restaurant.

The photos.

Immediately I bring up a new browser, Google Jordan’s name and then click images. The photos from last night pop up, one after the other, and while yes, there are quite a few of me and Jordan—though you can barely see my face thank goodness—there are even more of Cannon and Susanna.

The headlines are all about Lady Susanna this and Lady Susanna that. One of the tabloids calls her Lady Sus, and for some weird reason, it sounds kind of lewd. As I read one of the articles, I realize she’s a bit of a minor noble celebrity here in Great Britain. And to think she played it off yesterday like she was no one important, but clearly she was being modest.

It’s almost like everyone in London—everyone in the United Kingdom—knows exactly who Lady Susanna Sumner is.

But I can’t be distracted by the Lady Susanna and American Footballer scandal for too long. My paranoia kicking in big time, I finally give in and send Jordan a text.

Are you almost done? Everything okay?

He takes a few minutes before he finally responds and I work on destroying my thumbnail with my teeth while I wait.

Everything’s fine, he finally says. See you in a few.

I set my phone on the bedside table with a sigh and glance around the empty room. Well. I can’t sit around and let the morning slip by. I’ll make myself crazy. So I climb out of bed and take a long, hot shower. Ponder my outfit before I finally get dressed. Blow dry my hair till it’s nice and smooth. Curl the ends. Carefully apply my makeup—because hello, now every day in London is going to possibly turn into a photo op.

After all that, Jordan still isn’t back yet.

In fact, it takes another thirty minutes for him to finally return. I’m seated on the edge of the bed, eating the breakfast I ordered from room service because I was starving, when he opens the door and strides inside our room, his steps hurried, his expression…grim.

“Hey. Sorry to keep you waiting,” he says, his gaze flicking to mine for the briefest second before he heads straight into the bathroom and closes the door.

He could barely look at me.

What gives?

I shove my worry aside and continue eating, though it feels like I’m chewing cardboard. My stomach is twisted in knots, my hunger evaporating with every bite and I feel like crap for not finishing such an expensive yet basic meal, but I can’t do it.

I just…I can’t.

Is he mad at me? Did Harvey fill his head with lies? I’d hope to God he’d believe me before he ever believed Harvey, but who knows? Jordan’s image is very important. He doesn’t just make his money playing football. He also has extremely lucrative endorsement deals. One wrong step and he could lose out on millions.

But what’s wrong with having a steady girlfriend? Especially if the steady girlfriend is someone from his past who’s loved him for years? Seriously, what’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with me?

Jordan’s in the bathroom only a few minutes, and when he finally emerges, I’m already on my feet, pacing back and forth in front of the window that overlooks the city. I come to a stop when he blocks my way, a solid wall of sexy muscle that doesn’t so much as budge.

“Hey.” He grabs hold of my shoulders and gives me a little shake, but I keep my head bent. I know I’m being ridiculous, but it’s like I’m almost too scared to face him. “Mandy. Look at me.”

I lift my head, my gaze meeting his, and I see nothing but kindness there. He’s so completely open with me—he has been since the moment we reentered each other’s lives. And that’s such a difference from our previous time together. Young Jordan was full of mystery. Turbulent. Brooding. Sometimes even…heartless. He drove me crazy, especially in the beginning of our relationship. He ran so hot and cold. When I was with him, I never knew what I was going to get, or who I was dealing with.

“I talked with Harvey,” he says firmly. “I set him straight.”

“Set him straight how?” My voice is weak. A little shaky. I know I’m overreacting when I shouldn’t.

“I asked him about the conversation yesterday between you two and he said he was just looking out for me. That he was protecting my best interests,” Jordan explains.

I’m sure Harvey believed that. I’d go as far to say that I believe it too. Jordan Tuttle’s image is very important to the franchise.

“But I told him more like he was protecting the team’s best interests, and what you and I are doing, doesn’t affect the team whatsoever.” His expression turns thunderous. “And I also warned him that he couldn’t bully or insult you. That if he has a problem with anything, he should take it up with me, since we’re together.” When I remain quiet for a beat too long, his eyes narrow. “Amanda. We are together, aren’t we?”

“Is that what you want?”

His hands fall away from my shoulders and he takes a step backwards, as if he needs the distance. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“I—but we promised to take this slow.” God, why did I just say that? I sound like I’m backtracking.

He laughs, but the sound lacks humor. “You’re with me in London. We’ve been together as much as possible since you reached out to me on Instagram. You know I don’t make time for just anyone. So I’d call what we’re doing pretty fucking serious.”

He sounds so angry, and I have to confess—a pissed off Jordan Tuttle is hot. This is exactly what my teenage self would’ve thought. I remember having these exact same thoughts when we were together in high school. All that pent up anger and frustration spilling out of him is downright sexy.

My lust-driven thoughts probably mean I have a mental problem.

I realize he’s waiting for me to say something, so I do.

“It’s all just happening so fast. Only a few weeks have gone by since we first saw each other again,” I explain, throwing my hands up in the air. I’m frustrated, but not with him. More like I’m frustrated with myself. “I mean really, are we sure this is going to work between us the second time around? There are no guarantees in life, Jordan.”

“It’s been a few weeks and the six years before that,” he reminds me, completely ignoring my last question. “You want me to be honest?”

“Of course I do,” I say.

“I never stopped thinking about you. Ever. I always wondered where you were, what you were doing. Even after we split and I was so damn mad and fucking miserable, I knew if I saw you again, I’d want you back,” he admits.

I blink at him, shocked by his words, the passion behind them, the intense gleam in his eyes. He means every word he says. He still cares. Dare I think…he still loves me. And yes, I still love him.

But is it too soon to admit our feelings to each other right now, when things are so unsure between us?

“Did I just freak you out?” he asks, tilting his head to the side as he contemplates me.

“You didn’t freak me out.” I’m a total liar. He freaked me out a little. “I’m more worried about Harvey. He said some pretty awful things to me. What if he’s saying those same awful things to other people?”

“Fuck that guy. Who cares what he thinks?” Jordan’s mouth goes thin. “Swear to God Mandy, if he’s bad mouthing you to other people, I’ll kick his ass.”

“That is the absolute last thing I want you to do.” I go to him, resting my hands on his chest, desperate for him to listen to me. “But I care about what Harvey thinks. I can’t help it, I care about what everyone thinks. I don’t want people to think I’m some gold digger or famewhore out to get whatever I can from you. I’m just—a regular girl, okay? A regular woman.” I put emphasis on the last word. “It’s scary to be thrust into this world where the spotlight is always on us. On me. I’m not used to it.”

“This is exactly what drove you away last time,” Jordan says grimly.

I curl my fingers into his shirt, feeling the warm, hard skin beneath. My knees go a little weak but I need to stay focused and get my point across. “Image is everything, Jordan. Maybe Harvey’s right. Maybe we should keep a low profile until we know for sure that we’re—serious about each other.”

Oh God, what am I saying? Of course, I’m serious about him. I’m fairly certain he’s serious about me.

But there’s always that niggling doubt in the back of my mind, lingering there. Reminding me that maybe, just maybe I’m not the woman for him.

“You want to keep a low profile? Because we’re not serious about each other?” he asks incredulously.

“Maybe?” I release my hold on his shirt and take a step back, feeling helpless.

He rubs his hand along his tight jaw, glowering at me, just before he starts heading for the door. “I’ll be right back,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Wait, where are you going?” I ask but the door slams shut before I can even get the last word out.

He’s already gone.

 

 

“I blew it,” I tell Livvy, who’s yawning in my ear. I called her within minutes after Jordan stormed out of our hotel room, not even feeling bad for waking her up at the crack of dawn. She’s woken me up countless times since she moved to Texas, so this is total payback. “I don’t think he’s coming back.”

He’s been gone for almost two hours. He hasn’t texted, he hasn’t called me, nothing. I’m lying on the bed, wishing I could go after him, but considering I have no idea where he went, I wouldn’t know where to start. So I wait here, hoping he’ll show up.

“You keep repeating yourself,” Livvy says, yawning yet again. “And he’s definitely coming back. His suitcase is there. He needs his stuff.”

“Right, but maybe he doesn’t need me.” Tears spring to my eyes, and I blink them away. I haven’t cried over this yet, and I don’t want to start now. But as more time passes, the more worried I become. “I should’ve just told him I loved him.”

“Do you love him?” Livvy asks, sounding genuinely curious.

“I’ve always been in love with him,” I admit. “It’s like my feelings for him were lying dormant in my mind and the minute I heard from him, talked to him, saw him, all those emotions came flooding back.”

“You should tell him that,” Livvy says. “Well, when he eventually returns to your hotel room.”

“What if he never returns?” I practically wail, flopping backwards on the bed. I stare up at the ceiling, my mind racing. I wish he would walk through that door right now. I want him in this room, standing in front of me so I can tell him how sorry I am for saying all those stupid things. And then I can kiss him and touch him and admit my true feelings for him.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Livvy says, being that blunt, unflinching friend you need in situations like this. “Stop wallowing in self-pity and go find him.”

“How can I find him? I’m in a foreign city! I have no idea where he is,” I say, feeling helpless.

“Text him. Call him and profess your love. And if he doesn’t answer, leave him a voicemail and tell him how you feel. Confess everything. He won’t be able to resist you if you cut your chest wide open and bleed out your love for him,” Livvy says.

What an image. “Ew. That’s somehow grotesque and beautiful, all at once,” I tell her.

“That’s what love is. It’s messy and beautiful and awful and exhilarating.” Livvy’s voice goes soft. “It’s scary. But wouldn’t you rather take the risk and tell him how you really feel versus possibly losing him forever?”

Her words make my heart ache. “What if I’ve already lost him forever?” I whisper, my stomach twisting at the mere thought.

“You haven’t,” Livvy says without hesitation. “He hasn’t given up on you that quick. Trust me.”

Her words linger in my head long after we end our call. She’s right. I need to tell him how I feel. I need to pour my heart out to him and reassure him I’m really not scared. I just…he was right. I freaked out and said dumb stuff that I wish I could take back.

Grabbing my phone, I call him, waiting anxiously for him to answer.

But it goes straight to voicemail. I clutch the phone tightly as I listen to his deep voice say, Sorry I can’t take your call right now. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.

The tone sounds, and I start talking.

“Hey. I don’t know where you are, but I hope you’re not mad at me. I just—panicked. And I said stupid things. All those old insecurities resurfaced, when I should’ve never doubted what you said. I don’t really believe we’re moving too fast. I’ve always had feelings for you, Jordan. I missed you so much these past six years, and having you back in my life feels so right. So perfect. I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you. I—”

Another tone sounds, the phone clicks, and the call is over.

“Shit!” I toss my phone onto the bed in frustration and close my eyes, fighting my tears yet again. I don’t want to cry. I refuse to cry. He’ll show up. I know he will. I know he…

A horn sounds once. Twice. Over and over again, insistent. Urgent.

I hear a voice.

“Amanda!”

Jordan’s? Over a loudspeaker?

I climb out of bed and go to the window, shoving the curtains back. There’s a double decker red tour bus idling by the curb. The second level is uncovered, the seats filled with people, and Jordan is standing in the middle of the aisle clutching a microphone, his focus zeroed in on our hotel window.

His gaze immediately finds me and he speaks into the microphone.

“Open the window, babe.”

Reaching for the lock, I undo it with shaky fingers and slide the window open, gasping when the cold air hits my face. I can smell the exhaust from the idling bus, hear the traffic in the near distance, even the low murmur of the tourists on the upper level of the bus talking to each other with their heads bent close.

“She opened the window,” Jordan tells them and they all lift their heads, their gazes on me as they start cheering.

My cheeks go hot and I slap my hands against them, not sure what to do or say. My heart is thumping wildly and Jordan’s gaze never leaves mine as he starts to talk.

“Yo, Mandy,” he calls out to me with a giant smile.

“Yo, Tuttle,” I call back, grinning stupidly as I rest my hands on the edge of the window and lean my head out.

“Remember how I told you I didn’t want to ride one of these buses because I didn’t want anyone to recognize me?” he asks.

I nod. “Yeah.” I’m shouting, but how else can he hear me?

“Well, I don’t care if they recognize me. Some of them know who I am, but most of them don’t care, because they’re from another country. None of that matters, though. You want to know why?” he asks.

People are stopping on the sidewalk to watch him, since it’s not every day this kind of thing happens, you know? The side street our hotel is on isn’t very busy, but there’s a car waiting behind the bus. And then another.

“Why?” I ask when I realize he’s waiting for me.

“Because you’re not with me. Nothing really matters if you’re not by my side. I didn’t realize that until you came back into my life. Before, I was just living. Doing my thing. And it wasn’t bad, you know?” He chuckles into the microphone and I can’t help but laugh too.

I can’t believe he’s doing this.

I never want him to stop talking.

“But then you slid into my DMs and the message you sent me was just so…you. It made my heart ache in the best way.” His voices goes a little deeper, and my own heart wants to melt at his words.

“You make my heart ache in the best way,” he continues. “You said earlier maybe we’re moving too fast, but if I’m being real with you right now, I don’t think we’re moving fast enough.”

I wait for him to continue on, but he remains quiet.

As in, he’s killing me.

“What do you mean?” I finally ask.

He moves the mic away from his face and clears his throat before he resumes talking.

“I love you, Mandy. I will always love you. Till the end of fucking time.” He glances at his captive audience on the bus, his expression sheepish. “Sorry.” Then he looks up at the window. Looks up at me. His eyes, his entire face is shining with emotion. All of it for me. “But it’s true. I know it’s only been a few weeks, but when you’re ready to spend the rest of your life with someone, why not start right now?”

The tears finally flow down my cheeks and I rest my hand over my mouth, trying to contain the sob. “Oh Jordan,” I practically wail.

His brows furrow and he brings the mic so close to his mouth I can hear him breathing. “Get your pretty ass down here right now, Amanda,” he practically growls.

I leave the window. Dart out the room, run down the hall, frantically hit the down button for the elevator. It feels like it takes hours, but I’m finally outside in front of the hotel, and Jordan is standing there waiting for me, the bus directly behind him, a line of traffic filling both sides of the street. The sidewalk is crowded with onlookers too and yep, there’s even two photographers taking photos and calling out Jordan’s name.

He ignores them all. He doesn’t look at anyone else.

Just me.

“I love you,” he whispers as he steps toward me, taking my hands in his. “If this isn’t proof enough, I don’t know what is. I hijacked a tour bus and made an ass of myself in front of everyone on this street, all for you, Mandy.”

I sniff, ready to say I love him too but then he pulls me into his arms and holds me tight, my face pressed against his chest, my tears soaking his shirt. He tangles his fingers in my hair, his mouth at my temple. I’m so overwhelmed, so freaking relieved, all I can do is stand on this sidewalk and cry in Jordan’s arms.