Page 18 of Jesse's Girl
“Uh, yeah. Thanks. She’d love that.”
“Does she have a favorite flower or…?”
“Pink carnations.”
Ada tilts her head, evidently impressed. “Wow, you didn’t even hesitate. Major good son brownie points to you.”
I laugh. “Don’t give me too much credit. My sister sent me on a mission to buy her some the other day.”
“Okay, well, then your brownie points are revoked.”
I chuckle, and our gazes lock for a few long seconds, something I can’t name glittering in those brown eyes of hers.
“It’s uh… really good to see you.” Not sure what else to say, I move to pick up the glasses.
“You too.”
Carefully balancing our drinks, I return to the table, where our food has arrived.
Marcus relieves me of his pint glass, and I hand Renee her wine, taking a sip of my drink as I sit back down.
“You were gone a while,” Marcus comments, throwing a glance over his shoulder toward his sister.
“Ada said I looked like Sasquatch. I had to defend my honor,” I say, smiling before digging into my food.
“Sounds about right,” Marcus says.
“Which part? Me looking like Sasquatch or Ada telling me I do?”
He shrugs. “Both.”
I can’t sleep. While the jet lag has lifted, the stress about my mom has brought on its own cruel combination of exhaustion and wakefulness. Feeling guilty about going out for some frivolous social time, I called the hospital for an update when I got back from the bar. Mom’s fine, everything’s stable. That’s good. And yet I’m still feeling so helpless.
I stare at Marcus’ living room ceiling, lit by the dim orange glow of the streetlights outside. Propping one arm behind my head, I let my thoughts drift to Ada, smiling to myself as I remember her grouchy reaction to bumping into me outside the restroom. She’d barely looked up and clearly had no idea who I was—but I’d known it was her instantly. I’d been on the receiving end of that grumpy voice so often when we were younger.
Shaking off my initial surprise at our collision, I’d followed her down that hallway, hanging a few paces back. I’d watched her heft those dish racks over to the bar, the lean muscles in her arms and shoulders straining under the weight she carried. When had she gotten that tattoo? I’d shamelessly let myself study her as she moved in front of me, telling myself it was normal to be surprised about how she’d changed. I’d only snapped out of it when a rowdy bachelorette party lurched in front of me, cutting me off. When I’d finally made it back to the bar and Ada had recognized me, I told myself it was natural to notice that she was beautiful. Anyone could see it was true.
But now I’m struggling to stop thinking it—to stop picturing the curve of Ada’s ass in that fucking miniskirt, or the way her tight tank top hugged her tits.
No fucking way did I just think the words tits and Ada in the same sentence.
This has to stop. She’s Marcus’ little sister, for fuck’s sake. The first commandment of best friendship has got to be Thou shalt not covet thy best friend’s sibling.
Guilt gathers heavy in my gut.
Restless and uncomfortable, I shift on the couch. It’s too hot in here. I kick the blanket away from my bare feet and run a hand down my face. I can still almost feel the heat of Ada’s soft hands on my skin when she’d marched over and grabbed my cheeks, inspecting me with those gorgeous wide eyes… Shit.
Stop. Just think about regular things. Focus on Mom. Or figuring out how to get your vacation back on track. Anything.
Not that I have much hope of getting back to my vacation; Mom’s gonna need help and Claire lives an hour away in Seattle. I might be here for a while yet.
I turn onto my side and punch the pillow under my ear, trying to get comfortable as the couch springs squawk under my weight. Another smile tugs at my lips as Ada’s incredulous words drift into my mind: That couch is trash. Catching myself once again, I clench my jaw, pushing my amusement away.
Focus on the trash couch—anything but Ada.
5
ADA