Yeah, that's my biggest problem right now. I don't know how to deal with last night. Jordan and I kissed. He told me he still wants me. He drove me home and we were quiet for most of the ride, right until he pulled up in front of my house, cut the engine, leaned over and planted a sweet, lingering kiss on my lips that almost made me swoon. He'd cradled my cheeks with both hands and whispered, "I'm sorry" while staring into my eyes.
So where do we stand? What's going on? I have no idea.
"Hurry up then." Mom's shrill voice pulls me from my thoughts. "Your daddy's waiting." She slams the door extra hard, making everything in my room rattle. I reach an arm out from beneath my peach and pale green printed comforter and snatch my phone off my wobbly bedside table, checking my notifications. I have Snapchats from what feels like everyone, including Jordan Tuttle.
I decide to keep the anticipation going and open the other ones first. Most of them are general acquaintances who were at the party, asking if I'm all right. Livvy sent a kissy face selfie with a giant blue circle around her eye and you okay scrawled in red across the photo.
I send her a photo of my ceiling fan with the message I'll live.
Finally, I open Jordan's Snapchat. It's a photo of his room, and I see his reflection in the mirror that hangs above his dresser. He's a distant figure lying on his bed, and I swear he's not wearing a shirt.
There's no message. Just the photo. So I do what every normal teenage girl on Snapchat does and screenshot that sucker before it disappears. Then I open it up in my photos and zoom in on him lying on the bed.
Yep, he's shirtless. Wearing what appears to be black pajama bottoms? Maybe black sweats? One hand is resting on his flat stomach and the other is clutching his phone and taking the photo. I can't see his face, but his dark hair is a mess. The muscles in his arms bulge. And he looks really good without a shirt on, though I already knew this.
Rolling over on my back, I sit up a little, pulling my hair over my left eye so he can't see it. I have no makeup on and I probably look like trash, but screw it. I take a selfie and quickly send it to him before I chicken out.
He immediately texts me in chat.
How's your eye?
I don't know. I haven't looked at it yet.
You're still in bed?
Yeah.
Nice.
I smile. Then scowl. Pervert.
He sends me another message.
You work today?
Oh. That's right. I do.
At three.
I'll take you.
I'm scowling again. There he goes assuming things he has no business … assuming. He can't drive me to work. We're not a confirmed thing. Nothing's changed between us just because of last night. We talked, I got mad, he hit me by accident, he kissed me, I liked it. End of story.
I don't need a ride.
I know you don't. Because I'm taking you.
Jordan, seriously. My dad can drive me to work.
Yep. I'll ask him if he could take me, though he'll probably be annoyed that I'm interrupting his yard project.
I want to do this. Stop arguing with me Amanda. I'll pick you up at 2:45. Be ready.
I don't bother answering him. What's the point? He won't take no for an answer. And deep down inside?
I sort of love it.
After scrolling through my phone for a while, I drag my lazy butt out of bed and sneak into the bathroom across the hall, thankful no one's around. The moment I spot my reflection in the mirror, I suck in a sharp breath and stare. It's like a horrific accident on the freeway-I can't look away.
The bruise around my eye is black and purple with the faintest tint of red. I look … awful.
Terrible.
Lifting my hair away from my face, I lean across the counter and get as close to the mirror as I can. Oh, it's bad. I turn this way and that, hoping I look better in certain angles, but it's no use. I need a professional makeup artist to hide this disaster on my face.
How am I supposed to go into work today and help the public? I'll freak them out. I look like I got beat up. I did get beat up. And my parents are going to freak the hell out when they see me. Mom will probably want to call the cops. Dad will most likely want to kick Jordan's and Cannon's asses.
Yeah. This is bad.
I hop in the shower and take a quick one, not bothering to wash my hair. Before I go to work I'll be back in here anyway, so Mom did have a valid point, but really I'm just stalling for time. Once I dry off, moisturize and brush my teeth, I throw on an old T-shirt and a pair of sweats. Then I pull out all the makeup I own, which isn't much, and start applying layers of foundation and concealer around my eye.
After laboring for five minutes, I lean back and turn my face to one side, then the other, studying my reflection. The makeup helps, but it doesn't really hide the bruise. I don't think anything can hide this bruise. I'm just going to have to face my parents and explain what happened.