Read Online More than Friends - Monica Murphy by Monica Murphy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Monica Murphy
Tags: Fiction
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king.
“Hey.” Someone taps on the scale in front of me and I startle, turning to find a guy waiting for me to weigh his frozen yogurt. It’s piled high in the cup and covered with every topping imaginable. So gross. “You giving it away for free tonight, or what?”
The guy starts laughing and so do his friends. I glare at him as I ring him up, trying my best not to pay attention to Tuttle.
But it’s so hard. I watch as he walks down the row of machines beside Lauren—at least she’s not hanging on him anymore—a patient look on his face as she whines about calories and how we don’t have her favorite flavor and what sort of toppings should she dump on her frozen yogurt because oh my God—and I quote—she loves them all.
He never says a word. Just nods in all the right places and occasionally looks my way. I occasionally look his way too, so our eyes meet far too much. And I sort of hate myself for it. I shouldn’t look at him. I should forget all about him and focus on my job. On my life.
He’s a distraction I don’t need.
“Aren’t you having any frozen yogurt, Jordan?” Lauren asks sweetly, her voice carrying through the shop despite the noise level. Her voice also makes me feel stabby.
Oh, and it’s like a knife to the heart, how casually she calls him Jordan. I swear I see irritation flash in his blue eyes, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he wants her to call him Jordan because she’s earned the right and I lost it. They’ve become close. Homecoming king and queen close—maybe even kissing close.
Maybe she’s the only one who gets to call him Jordan now.
The realization makes me sick to my stomach.
“I don’t want any,” he starts, but Lauren practically leaps on him, she’s such a rabid Yo Town fan.
“Oh, but you really, really should. It’s so delicious and besides, you need to celebrate your team’s win tonight. And your own win. Our win,” she tells him with a dazzling smile. “Come on. Pick something out.”
He glances at me and without missing a beat he asks, “What flavor do you recommend?”
My mouth drops open. Is he seriously drawing me into their conversation right now? What the hell? “Um…what flavors do you usually like?”
Tuttle shrugs those impossibly broad shoulders, his gaze never wavering from mine. It’s like everything else in the room fades away, and it’s just me and him. “I like lots of flavors.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, my brain scrambling for a better answer. “Such as?”
“I like fruit flavors, like peachy skin and cherry lips. Oh, and dark chocolate eyes.” His gaze slowly sweeps over me and I’ve never felt so self-conscious in my life. I look like hell in my battered jeans and Yo Town T-shirt smeared with frozen yogurt and melted candy, my hair a haphazard mess despite being in a bun. All while he looks like a god. Figures. “I also like pretty girls who bust my balls and make me feel like a jackass every time I so much as look at them.”
My cheeks are on fire because he is so talking about me. He’s with Lauren-the-most-popular-girl-in-high-school-Mancini yet he’s flirting with me.
“Sounds like you need to leave those types alone,” I say, my voice firm. Lauren is watching us, her head swiveling from Tuttle to me and back to Tuttle again. Like we’re playing some sort of game, volleying the ball back and forth to each other.
But someone calls her name, one of her friends, one of the princesses of the homecoming court, and Lauren darts off to see what she wants.
So it’s just me and Tuttle.
“Maybe I don’t want to leave her alone.” He stops directly in front of me with only the counter separating us, and presses his hands against the counter. “Maybe I just need to work a little harder to get her to believe we’re meant to be together,” he murmurs in that low, rumbly voice that makes my stomach twist and turn.
Meant to be together. He shouldn’t say such romantic, swoony things. He doesn’t believe that,
“Hey.” Someone taps on the scale in front of me and I startle, turning to find a guy waiting for me to weigh his frozen yogurt. It’s piled high in the cup and covered with every topping imaginable. So gross. “You giving it away for free tonight, or what?”
The guy starts laughing and so do his friends. I glare at him as I ring him up, trying my best not to pay attention to Tuttle.
But it’s so hard. I watch as he walks down the row of machines beside Lauren—at least she’s not hanging on him anymore—a patient look on his face as she whines about calories and how we don’t have her favorite flavor and what sort of toppings should she dump on her frozen yogurt because oh my God—and I quote—she loves them all.
He never says a word. Just nods in all the right places and occasionally looks my way. I occasionally look his way too, so our eyes meet far too much. And I sort of hate myself for it. I shouldn’t look at him. I should forget all about him and focus on my job. On my life.
He’s a distraction I don’t need.
“Aren’t you having any frozen yogurt, Jordan?” Lauren asks sweetly, her voice carrying through the shop despite the noise level. Her voice also makes me feel stabby.
Oh, and it’s like a knife to the heart, how casually she calls him Jordan. I swear I see irritation flash in his blue eyes, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he wants her to call him Jordan because she’s earned the right and I lost it. They’ve become close. Homecoming king and queen close—maybe even kissing close.
Maybe she’s the only one who gets to call him Jordan now.
The realization makes me sick to my stomach.
“I don’t want any,” he starts, but Lauren practically leaps on him, she’s such a rabid Yo Town fan.
“Oh, but you really, really should. It’s so delicious and besides, you need to celebrate your team’s win tonight. And your own win. Our win,” she tells him with a dazzling smile. “Come on. Pick something out.”
He glances at me and without missing a beat he asks, “What flavor do you recommend?”
My mouth drops open. Is he seriously drawing me into their conversation right now? What the hell? “Um…what flavors do you usually like?”
Tuttle shrugs those impossibly broad shoulders, his gaze never wavering from mine. It’s like everything else in the room fades away, and it’s just me and him. “I like lots of flavors.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, my brain scrambling for a better answer. “Such as?”
“I like fruit flavors, like peachy skin and cherry lips. Oh, and dark chocolate eyes.” His gaze slowly sweeps over me and I’ve never felt so self-conscious in my life. I look like hell in my battered jeans and Yo Town T-shirt smeared with frozen yogurt and melted candy, my hair a haphazard mess despite being in a bun. All while he looks like a god. Figures. “I also like pretty girls who bust my balls and make me feel like a jackass every time I so much as look at them.”
My cheeks are on fire because he is so talking about me. He’s with Lauren-the-most-popular-girl-in-high-school-Mancini yet he’s flirting with me.
“Sounds like you need to leave those types alone,” I say, my voice firm. Lauren is watching us, her head swiveling from Tuttle to me and back to Tuttle again. Like we’re playing some sort of game, volleying the ball back and forth to each other.
But someone calls her name, one of her friends, one of the princesses of the homecoming court, and Lauren darts off to see what she wants.
So it’s just me and Tuttle.
“Maybe I don’t want to leave her alone.” He stops directly in front of me with only the counter separating us, and presses his hands against the counter. “Maybe I just need to work a little harder to get her to believe we’re meant to be together,” he murmurs in that low, rumbly voice that makes my stomach twist and turn.
Meant to be together. He shouldn’t say such romantic, swoony things. He doesn’t believe that,
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